The flinch.

Brushing off Nehemiah’s hand clap on the shoulder with an exaggerated sense of bravado, Jaron plays off him, flinching with a shrug.

“Don’t sneak up on me. Never sneak up on a brother,” Jaron says.

“My bad. Didn’t realize I was in full creep mode,” Nehemiah says.

“I’m just saying. I’m a beast.”

“All right, all right.” Nehemiah holds his hands up.

The way Jaron scans the recess playground tells me a different story. I’ve never seen this side of Jaron. Actually, other than noting him being a big dude, I’d never actually “seen” Jaron before. Up until now, Jaron’s just been another nameless plaything. Some dudes just have “mark” written on them and you just have to mess with them.

Still mad about being provoked into blowing up in music class, Jaron keeps his back to me, an intentional disrespect, which I let stand without saying anything. He probably had a session with Mrs. Fitzgerald and a detention day or two. It wouldn’t take a genius to piece together that I wound him up on purpose. I was just messing with him; it wasn’t personal. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time when I needed to vent. I mean, I’m sorry he got caught up or hurt or whatever, but he had to see that he wasn’t the only one I gassed that day. I can’t figure out the words to say and it’s not like we’re going to hug. That’s not how we do things. I can’t show softness and neither can he.

The silence builds between us until it demands an action.

I shift noisily and clear my throat. Jaron rotates on his heel, slow and deliberate, until he faces me. A mild sneer crosses his face. He stares me up and down as if I’m small. “What you need? Nehemiah says you wanted to talk.”

“Why you so mad? I do something to you?” I play ignorant to draw out Jaron’s thoughts.

“I just don’t like . . .” Jaron breathes hard through his nose. His face twists a bit like waves of conflicting emotions hit him all at once as he searches to attach a name to one of the feelings that trouble him. Resentment. Being used. Feeling burned by a supposed friend. I can only guess. I give him a chance to name them, because I’m sorry for them all. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Look, dude, I’m sorry about the other day. I got you in trouble in music class. It was a . . . misunderstanding.” I glimpse Nehemiah waving me off. “Anyway, I been letting a lot of folks down lately and I needed to step to them like a man and apologize.”

“For real?” Jaron’s large shoulders relax, if only slightly. His walls lower, if only a bit. “Yeah. We cool.”

I swoop on the opportunity to press in a bit. “Look, I was talking to some folks. I was having a problem with Kutter and they sort of pointed me your way.”