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yourselves.” She claps her hands a couple times. “It’s pop-poetry time so just knock one out. Don’t think too much. Just jot it down. Describe a flower. Wrap it in a metaphor. Bam! You got a poem! Nothing to it. Personify your seat partner’s nose. Boo-ya! Poem! Just free your mind and let that little sucker flow into your journal. This is going to be a daily ritual throughout the entirety of the unit, so get used to it, people.”
    Forget her, Sam.
    Just look straight ahead.
    Pretend he’s not even there.
    Focus on the Rules.
    And breathe. Just breathe.
    I try all that. But I’m distracted by annoying tapping.
    It’s Luis. He’s got his fingernails going manic on the desk.
    Cassidy starts walking our way. He sees her and says it real fast. Straight ahead, like he’s talking to the whiteboard in front of class. “You got a pencil?”
    I’m not sure I heard right. But if I did, he could only be talking to me.
    â€œPencil. You got a pencil?”
    A pencil, a pencil, a pencil … I pat my coat pockets like there might be a pencil there, but it’s ridiculous because I never bring one to class. I take in a deep, slow breath. I feel like I’m gonna faint. I look down at my feet and it’s my lucky day because there’s an eraserless, chewed-up pencil right under the table. I pick it up and pass it to Luis.
    He gives me a half grunt and nods straight ahead in thanks, I think. Then he curls over his journal and pretends to write.
    The class gets to popping out poems.
    For the moment, all is well.
    Then straight-A geek Julisa Mendez—on her way back from chatting up Cassidy—walks past us, stops and looks at Luis like she can’t believe what she just saw.
    Luis looks up from his fake-scribbling right back at her.
    And— whoosh! —every eye is on us.
    Julisa walks up to him and pulls his pencil out of his hand. Holds it up for inspection. “Seriously, Luis? This is disgusting.”
    There are snickers from the class.
    Go away, Julisa!
    She walks over and tosses the pencil in the trash.
    Do not come back here.
    Do not—
    She comes back all right, and she’s got her bulging, orange and green, flower-covered pencil pouch with her.
    The eyes all follow her every move.
    My heart pounds.
    I slump down in my seat as Julisa stands there digging in the ridiculous pouch. She eyes the class and says, “What are you all looking at?” as she pulls out a newly sharpened, perfect blue pencil and slaps it on Luis’s desk. Then she looks over at my empty hands and shakes her head.
    I pop my hood on and slump harder as she thrusts her hand back into the pouch. “I don’t know which is worse,” she says. And she slaps a shiny yellow one down for me. “Guys, I’m here every day. Just ask.”
    Luis doesn’t say a word.
    I don’t say a word.
    We just stare straight ahead.

 
    MY FAULT
    T HE BELL RINGS . I’m the first one out.
    But there’s no escape. Carlos is right there.
    â€œWhat happened?” he asks.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œAw, shit. Serious?” He looks 100 percent disappointed Luis didn’t destroy me. Then he brightens up and says, “Oh, I get it. Callado making you sweat this thing out first. That’s just like him. What class you got next?”
    Vice Principal Carter appears out of nowhere and says, “Mr. Díaz, I have something awesome I want you to see!” He scratches his head. “I forget what it’s called. Oh, yeah! It’s called your second-period class. You’re going to love it.”
    â€œYou ever try comedy, Mr. C.?”
    â€œEvery day, Carlos.”
    They take a few steps toward Mr. Bell’s class, then Carter turns around and says to me, “Samuel Gregory, how ’bout a smile today? This place isn’t all that bad.”
    Dude’s a dope.
    Then Carlos shouts, “ Ojos , guëy! Keep your eyes