“Can they test for that?” Nehemiah’s voice rises with sudden worry.

I shrug. That’s the sort of stuff that Moms doesn’t want me around. “Hood nonsense” she calls it. I don’t know. It’s just folks doing their best in a rigid system.

Rhianna brings in a tray of pizza slices and French fries. We quit talking as soon as she walks in. “What were you boys talking about?”

“None ya.” Nehemiah smiles.

“What?” Rhianna sets the tray down in front of us, freeing her arms.

“None ya business.”

“Boy, don’t make me remind you who you talking to.” Rhianna stops in her tracks and narrows her eyes at him, a warning that he neared a line he better not cross.

Nehemiah flinches. “I was just playing.”

“Me, too.” Her frown broadens into a warm smile. She presses his head to her chest and kisses the top of it. “I’ll leave you boys to your boy business.”

I pick the pepperonis from my pizza and stack them next to it. I eat the remaining cheese slice with gusto. Leaving the crust, I pop the pepperoni bits into my mouth one at a time. Nehemiah eats with his elbows out like he’s guarding his plate, gobbling his food as fast as he can shovel it into his mouth. Without asking, he grabs the crusts from my plate.

“Act like you’ve seen a meal before,” Mrs. Johnson yells from the kitchen. “You ain’t in prison. Yet.”

Nehemiah leans forward, as if somehow he was out of his grandmother’s earshot, and speaks in a conspiratorial whisper. “What did I miss in school?”

“It’s like the entire vibe at the school flipped on me.” I explain about the snitch rumors, emphasizing that they fell on me alone. How I spent the rest of the day ducking folks, spinning it like I was some secret agent wrongly accused, having to dodge assassins at every turn. Nehemiah takes it all in. He taps his chin thoughtfully with my pizza crust.

“So where are we at?” he asks. “My money’s on RaShawn. The gun was found by his spot. And assuming he wasn’t that level mad at me, he still might think he needs it.”

“What about Kutter?”

Nehemiah cradles his wrist at the sound of the name. I hang on the seat arm. “He always wanting to show everyone how thug he is. Like it’s some Boy Scout badge or something. Marcel tried to get in my head, telling me to watch those closest to me.”

“Who? Rodrigo? Twon?” Nehemiah shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t see it.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” I ease back into the couch.

“What if we’re going about it all wrong?” Nehemiah sits up with a sudden thought.

“What do you mean?”

“What if it wasn’t a student at all?”

“What makes you say that?”

“When I was in the nurse’s office, a delivery dude buzzed the office to get in. How many people come through, drop stuff off. Mailmen. Parents. Shoot, RaShawn’s sister if he forgets his lunch.”