With them distracting each other, I have a chance to read the note. They start off asking the same questions I have been about who brought the gun to school, except they talk about “that one,” someone they suspect. I underestimate how exhausting it can be keeping up with the back-and-forth of the twins. I rub my neck. Tafrica was the harsher of the two, but has the ability to read people like a magazine. Wisdom is more plugged into what folks are saying, but left to her own devices is all rainbows and bunnies. I don’t even know what I need to ask them, much less how to go about it. Tafrica lightly elbows Wisdom in the side and nods in my direction. I stuff the note into my pocket before I can read much more.

Wisdom squints, then crinkles her nose, almost making a stink face. “Look at you being all mopey.”

“He probably wore out. All that ‘not being there for your boy’ can wear a body out,” Tafrica says.

“I’m out.” I scoop up my stuff as the bus nears the first drop-off. Two stops before mine, near the entrance of my housing addition. Me and Nehemiah sometimes step off here to race the bus to my house. I throw two fingers in a peace sign. “Deuces.”

“This ain’t your stop,” Wisdom says.

“I could use the exercise,” I mutter without meeting either of their gazes.

“Me, too.” A smile spreads across Tafrica’s face, like a shark who’s caught the scent of chum, and she gives a slight chin wag in my direction.

Wisdom turns from her. “Yeah, you right. Some exercise might keep you from having so much behind to drag all over the place.”

Ignoring them, I walk the aisle. The bus driver notes us disembarking, as if doing a mental catalog in case she has to make an incident report later. A half dozen sixth graders exit at the same spot. I raise my backpack to let them scurry off to their houses like rats caught in the light of the pantry. Soon it’s just me, Tafrica, and Wisdom with a long stretch of sidewalk to my place.

“Saw what you did at recess,” Wisdom says.

“What you didn’t do,” Tafrica corrects.

“You don’t know what you saw,” I say, a little too defensively.

“When it comes to that trifling boy, I suggest you break wide,” Tafrica says.

“Nehemiah’s my dude,” I say.

“Who’s talking about Nehemiah?” Wisdom says.

“He fried.” Tafrica taps her head.

“But he isn’t trifling.” Wisdom wags a scolding index finger at her.

Tafrica rolls her eyes. “Well . . .”

“He isn’t. You need to quit.”

“Who you talking about, then?” I ask.

“Kutter,” Tafrica says.

“If you follow him, you heading right into trouble,” Wisdom says.

“I’m trying to figure out why Kutter got it in for me,” I say.

“Well, rumor has it,” Wisdom begins, “that you started nosing around other folks’ business. Like you’re trying to put together a case on them. You know how folks get out here about that.”