“Nehemiah did some great work. He figured out what had been happening to our pens and pencils. When middle school recess and lunch are going on, the room is empty a lot of the time. Nehemiah pointed out that this had to be the time the thefts were happening. He suggested that I double back here from the copy room. Sure enough, I caught young mister RaShawn here, who had a pass to be on his way to the nurse’s office, rummaging through the desks. So I wanted to present Nehemiah with a Citizen of the Week certificate to take home. He also gets an item from our Reward Store.”

All eyes on him, Nehemiah exaggerates a pimp stroll to the picnic basket that serves as the Reward Store. He fishes about for a bag of Takis. When he walks by, we slap our palms and on the backswing, bump our back hands. As our hands clap again, we clasp thumbs and flutter our hands upward like wings. When we part, we press hands as if in prayer and bow to each other. We’re working on a new handshake. He opens the bag back at his seat and swats away Rodrigo’s hand when he reaches for a Taki.

“We don’t tolerate theft or destruction of property here at Persons Crossing Public Academy.” Mrs. Horner doesn’t care about any of that. With the coming reorganization, she’s strutting around like she’s about to be paroled. “Hopefully you all can take RaShawn under your wing and help each other to a better way.”

RaShawn’s reception amounts to a series of resigned groans from the couch. He doesn’t have that many friends and struggles to fit in like we all do. RaShawn’s strictly a follower. I know the type. They latch on to whoever’s the strongest, the smartest, the most feared, the most daring, and take their cues from them. Around here, that’s me. The top sheepdog.

I cut them a glare that stops all the complaints. RaShawn pauses, a little unsure of us. Of me. I give him a nod. “We got you.”

Stories are all about how they are read, not the teller’s intent. Sometimes the intent and the meaning match up, but sometimes they don’t. It’s easy to let a bad story get in you and define you. To let that version of how people see you soak in and take root, growing inside you until you find yourself becoming and acting out that story. It’s one reason I’m as suspicious of “teachers” as they are of me.

If we have to go through life as a suspect, we have to take victories wherever they come. That’s the reality of our world. For now. Our journeys won’t always be perfect. They may be downright messy, but it’s all about figuring out how to get through life. We do the best we can. We look out for each other.

Maybe I am a spider.

Sitting motionless at the center of my web. Strictly chilling, because that’s all spiders do when left alone. They go through their day, relaxing and minding their own business. But they’re also smart. They do little themselves—they just plan well. They build elaborate webs to do the work for them to maximize their chill time. Each strand stretches out, connecting all over the place so that they know when something’s going down even without them being right there. That’s the thing about spiders—they deal with all the insects that truly pester people. So people who are afraid of spiders can’t see how valuable they really are. Yeah, that can be my story.