Marcel was strictly Wall Street.

“We’re doing some lessons in applied economics.” Ms. Erickson draws her long blond-tipped hair behind her ear and shoves her glasses farther up her nose. A touch of pride hints in her voice. “It’s too bad you’re not in here—I think you’d really enjoy this project. It was Marcel’s idea. The kids are running little businesses. They’re tracking inventory, setting prices, keeping ledgers, and even managing payroll accounts. I don’t think they even realize how much they’re learning.”

“Can I watch?” I ask.

“Only from the back corner. I don’t want you distracting anyone.”

Like the lone guard of the cubbies, I wander toward the door. Her classroom theme centers around colleges. Banners from Indiana University, Purdue University, and Butler University; framed ones from Alcorn State, Wilberforce, Tuskegee, and Spelman.

“You have ten minutes to wrap up any transactions, then we transition into our university of mathematics portion of the day,” Ms. Erickson announces. “Remember, I’m going to have to see proof of work before I let you get ready for . . .”

“Recess!” The class chimes in on cue. Like I say, just because you label something one way—like calling recess “enrichment” to make it sound more educational—doesn’t mean it fools anyone into not recognizing it for what it is.

Marcel discusses a matter with Ms. Erickson before meandering toward the sink, which happens to be right next to me.

“What you doing in here, Felonius?” Marcel says with her back to me. “Ms. Erickson could’ve run your assignments to you, so I figure you must want something.”

I examine the door, one, to give the appearance of waiting for Mr. Blackmon, and, two, to keep my back between me and Ms. Erickson. “I wanted to check out your operation for myself. Been hearing things.”

“What you heard about me?” Marcel sprays water into the sink, going through the motions of washing something out.

“I heard that your mom and dad weren’t shelling out for an iPhone for you unless you earned the money for it yourself. I heard that you took your weekly lunch money and made a stop at the Dollar Store and bought candy and barrettes. You sold them and reinvested most of that money into more product, including mechanical pencils.”

“Boys needed more stuff.” Marcel pretends a methodical search through the cabinets. “I never leave a customer base unserved or money on the table.”

“Things took off and you franchised out. Got a few people working for you and everyone just pays you a cut.” I lean against the cubby and stare toward the door. “And you do this under Ms. Erickson’s nose.”

“She’s even a client. She bought her share of hair ties.” Marcel chanced a moment to peek around the cabinet door to meet my eyes. “I see your boy, Nehemiah, has been busy snooping.”

I ignore her all-too-accurate assessment. “That’s a lot of money for product and cash to go through. How do you keep everyone honest? You have to have a way of making sure all of what’s due you gets into your pocket.”