Still, Dr. Matthews presses his lips into a flat line and considers. Takes a breath, and, yup.
There’s sigh number five.
“Regardless, there have to be consequences,” he says. “Three days in-school suspension.”
“Three days?” your dad nearly shouts.
“Or we can go with the seven days out-of-school that district policy mandates.” For the first time, his voice sharpens, and you understand just how angry he really is. At you. For what you did.
“I’ll do it,” you say, surprised you can make your voice work. “The three days, I mean.”
You finally meet Dr. Matthews’s eyes. They don’t look sad anymore; they look stern. He gives you a nod.
“All right. And if you ever do something like this again, I promise the consequences will be dire. Got it?”
You swallow.
“Got it.”
2FARSHID
You’re so used to people saying your name wrong, you don’t realize it at first. After all, people have been messing upFarshidfor as long as people have been saying it. Even the teachers who get it (mostly) right can’t quite do thear, which is sort of halfway betweenairandare.
Add in the jumbled footsteps and slamming lockers and shouts of the C Hall during passing period, and you’re honestly surprised anyone can hear anything at all.
So, yeah. You’re used to it.
So used to it, it takes several seconds to realize what you actually heard.
You whip your head around to look over your shoulder but then face forward again, keeping your pace through the halls steady, because at this point you should know better than to let anyone know you heard them.
Don’t react. That’s the rule.
Don’t let them know it bothers you.
And it doesn’t, anyway, because what do they know? You’re not gay, after all. At least you don’t think you are, and even if you were, you wouldn’t have told anyone, least of all anyone at school.
Why do you have to know yet, anyway? Six months ago, youstill had a LEGO fortress in the basement and your friends spent the night forMario Karttournaments and pancakes in the morning, but then this summer, it was like a switch flipped and your imagination flickered and died. All your LEGO adventures seemed childish, evenMario Kartseemed too easy, and everyone wanted to switch toFortnite.
High school is even worse than you imagined. Half your classmates only want to talk about who’s dating who. The other half, you don’t even know, because they came from the other middle school that feeds Meadowbrook.
And meanwhile, last week Valerie Farrell started crying at lunch when her girlfriend dumped her while they were waiting in line for the salad bar. Brody Connors got in-school suspension for making a joke aboutwhacking itin algebra yesterday.
Dayton Reilly got pulled out of this morning’s assembly for shouting a slur at the top of his lungs. The same slur you just heard in the hallway. Were they talking about you? Were they just shouting it because they wanted to be edgy?
Or were they relaying the story of what Dayton had done?
After, as that word echoed in the auditorium, Dayton had waited, like he was expecting a laugh or something, but everyone had gone all quiet. Mr. Markham’s presentation had been pretty good, a little funny even. You don’t really care about poetry—even though Baba says it’s in your blood—but Mr. Markham had some pretty good jokes, and he also talked about playingMario Kart, so all in all it was a decent talk.
But still, this is nothing like middle school. No one seems like themselves anymore, except for you. You still feel like you’re in eighth grade, other than the fact you grew taller over the summer,tall enough you had to get new clothes. You’re too big to play with LEGO sets anymore, but you miss them anyway.
You think you hear it again. You’re almost certain.
Whispers and laughs follow you as you slip inside the classroom, take your seat, and wait for the bell. Ms. Suchecki’s stepped out of the room and hasn’t come back yet.
Your hackles rise. You didn’t know you had hackles, but that’s what this feeling is, right? Maybe you’re hearing it wrong. Maybe it’s not you. Maybe they really are just talking about Dayton. You didn’t realize he was a homophobe. You’ve known him since third grade, when you had to change schools because your family moved half a mile, which put you over the county line, which meant you had to say goodbye to all your old friends and make brand-new ones.
You’ve never been friends with Dayton, but he seemed fine. He never said anything meaner than anyone else. He let you borrow some lead when your pencil ran out last week. He should be here in US history right now, sitting behind you, but you saw him get pulled out of the assembly. Maybe he’s still in the office. Maybe he got sent home.
