“I got you.” He pulls out a mechanical pencil, clicks it ostentatiously, moves in front of you to sign, then hands the pencil over to you. He’s in bright yellow gym shorts and a black tee with the logo of some band you don’t recognize. You’re not sure if those are supposed to be bull horns or devil horns. You’re too nervous to ask.
“Thanks.” You sign your name—Dayton Reilly—right below his.Brody Connors, frosh.
You add9th gradeto yours, too.
Brody goes to take a desk, and you move to take the one next to him, but he stops you.
“No homo, but bathroom rules apply here.”
You blink at him. What are bathroom rules?
“You know, skip a spot. You don’t pee right next to someone, do you?”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, no. Duh.”
So you skip a desk and take the next. Brody pulls a folder out of his backpack and flops it onto the desk. His chair’s metal legs screech against the floor as he sits.
You copy him, but you don’t have a folder. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do.
“First time here?” he asks when he notices you looking.
“They didn’t give me a folder or anything.”
“Ms. Anderson will be here sooner or later. She can show you the ropes.” He angles himself to sort of lean against the wall of his cubicle. “What’d you do to land in here anyway?”
Your face flushes, and you hate when that happens, becauseeveryonecan tell with your pasty complexion.
“Disrupted the assembly last Friday,” you say.
Brody’s eyes go wide. “That was you?”
You nod. Brody must’ve heard. Or seen the email that went out. But that email didn’t have the whole story, so you tell him yourself.
“And you didn’t even get your twenty dollars?” he asks when you finish. “That’s cold.”
You shrug. “I haven’t even seen Reggie since then.”
Brody rolls his eyes. “No surprise. Reggie thinks he’s better than everyone.”
“Maybe.” He’s not exactly your friend. You only met him this year, when you got seated next to each other in ELA. But maybe Brody’s right.
You crack a tiny grin.
“Seriously, though, that’s kind of epic,” Brody says. “You’re gonna be a legend.”
You don’t want to be a legend. You just want to survive freshman year. Pass your classes. That kind of stuff. Maybe get a girlfriend? You’re not 100 percent sure on that just yet.
But you definitely don’t want to be the guy everyone thinks goes around shouting slurs at strangers, like some sort of… walking hate crime or something.
It wasn’t even a crime. And you don’t hate anyone.
It was just a word. A word you shouted because you weren’t thinking.
You don’t know how to explain that to Brody, though. Especially since he finds the whole thing funny. He makes it feel less serious. Less like the world has ended.
You didn’t know how much you needed that.
“What about you?” You mirror his lean against your own cubicle, but the walls are flimsier than you thought, and you nearly topple over when it fails to hold your weight.
