are rushing for the lunchroom or the parking lot. There aren’t a lot of benches outside and most are taken, so I head for a quiet corner with a slice of grass that’s still green despite the chill. A voice resonates nearby as I sit on the grass.
“What’s up, cabrón?”
I look up. Block the sun with an arm to see a kid standing there. He walks over, and it takes me a minute, but I recognize him from the park. The one with the bomber jacket from that day five years ago. Amador. I wonder if he recognizes me, too, or if he’s just really friendly. I give him a head-nod greeting, so he sits next to me. Unfolds a tube of tinfoil. Reveals a burrito. The scent makes my mouth water.
He offers me half. I shake my head. I don’t have any money for lunch, but I’m not hungry anyway. At least that’s what I tell myself. He tears off half anyway and holds it out. I drop my gaze and take it.
Amador is like any other kid there and yet as different from them as Dutch is from me. There is a calmness about him. A stillness beneath choppy water. Being around him is soothing.
We eat in absolute silence; then he takes my schedule out of my hoodie pocket and opens it up. Nods his head. Passes it back. “We have two classes together.”
I nod back. “Cool.”
We lie on the grass and watch the clouds roll by the rest of the period. He is very popular. Everyone who walks by says hi. He waves. Shakes hands. Bumps fists. Whatever the situation calls for.
The bell rings. We get up and brush ourselves off before heading to our next class.
He doesn’t introduce me to anyone as we walk inside the building and through the halls, even though everyone is curious. They glance at me, then eye him. Mostly the girls. He ignores them. Changes the subject. Insults them in some humorous way.
There are only two classes after lunch because we have the B lunch period. The late one. We are in history, and I want to tell the teacher that he is pronouncing King Christian X wrong, but I don’t. Again, I’ve been spared having to speak in class because I’m new. I decide to savor that.
When the last bell rings, Amador and I clutch hands and lean our shoulders into a half hug before heading in opposite directions.
“Hey,” he calls to me.
I turn back.
“Do you remember my name?”
I smile for the first time all day. “Amador.”
He laughs. “Amador Sanchez, Mr. Reyes Alexander Farrow. How’s your sister?”
“She’s good. See you tomorrow?”
“Not if I see you first,” he teases.
I watch him leave, astounded. I’ve never had a friend. Not a real one. I check my watch and realize I’m late.
When I pick up Kim, she is a mass of jiggling nerves. She’s scared, but school is what she needs. She needs to socialize. To make friends. To be a kid.
She doesn’t want to go back the next day. I can’t wait. The school counselor is waiting for my school records to be transferred. I figure I can hold her off on that for a few weeks. Shit gets lost in the mail all the time, so I hear.
In the meantime, she is going to test me. I’ve never had a test. Not a real one. But I learn to love them. Except when Mr. Stone, my science teacher, decides to give me an assessment to test where I am in the curriculum. I ace it. I ace every test. Probably why I love them so much. But he accuses me of cheating. Marches me to the principal’s office. Says no way could I have aced that test; some of the concepts aren’t introduced until college graduate courses. He wants me expelled.
I can hear them talking through the wall. The principal tells him the counselor also tested me, and my scores were off the charts. I sit smugly, not realizing what that might mean for me.
I find out two months later when men from the government show up to do some tests of their own. I fake the flu. It’s not hard. My temperature naturally runs a little hot most of the time. I sprint all the way to Kim’s school, check her out, and hurry home.
So, my stint in high school lasts only three months, but I convince Kim she can keep going. Then we move again, and it’s too far