“Mrs. Fitzgerald looks tired,” I say.

“Yeah, you’d think the gun was found here at the school. Her last few days have been a nonstop whirlwind of meetings, phone calls, and parent conferences. Parents wanting to make sure their kids are safe.” Her eyes meet mine. Not quite blaming me but making sure that her words land firmly. She lowers her eyes like she can’t stand to look at me. Maybe I’m reading into things.

My head throbs even more.

I try to ride out my day until my favorite part, Discovery Time, a time to choose our own activity. I always pick the playground. Without the rest of middle school out there, I walk the line. It’s a favorite punishment of teachers: have a kid walk the painted line surrounding the basketball court while everyone else enjoys recess. It drives kids nuts being forced to walk while watching their friends have fun.

It was different if I wanted to do it. Walking is peaceful. Relaxing. It takes me out of my day, right before the chaos of the end-of-school routine, and it gives me time with my thoughts before I have to go back to my neighborhood. I drag myself to the classroom door as the clock winds its way to 3:00 p.m. Here I am with my chief suspect, Kutter, dogging me, setting us up to go down for his stuff in only a couple of days.

Once I return to class, the Special Ed class lines up behind me. Absently toying with the pencil sharpener, I brace against the wall and wait for Mrs. Horner to dismiss us. Her last act of the day, it reminds us that she holds the final bit of power over us. It doesn’t matter to me since I’m not in a hurry to roam the halls.

Mrs. Horner motions toward the door. Mr. Blackmon marches us out the door. Most times he barely shadows us, respecting that we are middle schoolers and can find our own buses. We enjoy our increased sense of independence, looking forward to it since we dreamed about it when we were in lower school.

“You all right, Thelonius?” Mr. Blackmon asks.

“I’m cool. Why?”

“Normally you’d be almost racing out of this joint. Jumping, trying to touch every arch and overhang between here and outside.”

“Just tired, I guess.” Me and Nehemiah are like brothers. With so many people in our lives who let us down, we swore we’d be there for each other. Words are easy, I guess. When they got tested, really tested, I froze. Abandoned him, our friendship, like everyone else did. The guilt slows my steps. I walk in Mr. Blackmon’s shadow, but not really alongside him. I don’t bother to high-five any of my boys, not that anyone offers a hand. I don’t clown anyone, don’t try to push up on any of the girls. I scan the hallways, not sure what I was searching for. No, that’s a lie. I watch for Marcel’s grin. Or Kutter’s threatening approach. Or any crowd of kids. Even mild-mannered folks gain courage in a pack, like a group of hyenas. Not quite in full creep mode, I skulk along. Not scared, there’s a difference. I don’t want it to appear like I am hiding. I’m not going to give them that satisfaction. Not my fear. “You all right? You normally don’t walk us all the way down to the buses?”