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he’s about to cry. He reminds me of a disgruntled postal worker, so I’d better make this visit quick just in case he decides to go off. I sit in the other chair across from Mr. Adelizi’s desk in the cramped office, and explain my situation.
    “Mr. Adelizi, I don’t know what happened, but somehow my fourth period journalism class got bumped for speech and debate, and it’s not even on the Advanced Placement track. There must be some mistake.”
    “Well, good morning to you, too,” he says, trying to make me smile, but I’m not in the mood this morning. “So serious so early?”
    “This is serious business. I can’t afford to get off track.” Mr. Adelizi looks at me over his thin-framed glasses and sees I’m in no mood for small talk.
    “Miss Jackson, your schedule won’t work if you choose to take the journalism class, which was moved to fifth period.” He’s right. I’d have to give up drama and that’s never going to happen.
    “Well, can’t I have a study period or something instead?” I really don’t like the idea of being in a speech class open to all tracks. It leaves the door open for too many unknown variables, like having Misty and KJ as classmates, and that just won’t work.
    “Sorry, Jayd, but study periods are for seniors only. The only classes available that will fit into your Advanced Placement schedule are speech and debate, or home economics: it’s your choice.”
    “Fine, speech and debate it is,” I say, signing my schedule before getting up to leave.
    “Debate class starts tomorrow, so you’ll have a free fourth period for today.” A free period means we have to check in at the library and spend our time studying, which is just fine with me. Normally, I wouldn’t mind being in a debate class, but being outside of the AP track is always tricky, because the environment is less controlled than it would normally be. But I have to enroll in another elective, and home economics ain’t it. I get enough of that subject living with Mama.
    “You know, Jayd, you can talk to me about other things. I’m not just an academic counselor,” Mr. Adelizi says. I look down at the schedule printout and notice there’s no teacher listed for the debate class. Damn, another unknown variable. I can’t stand it when that happens. “We heard about the shooting and I know all about your friend Mickey being transferred to the continuation school. You must be having a tough time adjusting to all of this change.”
    “The only constant in the world is change,” I say, borrowing lyrics from India. Arie, leaving Mr. Adelizi to ponder how a little black girl could be so insightful when I know the thought is far from original. If I know anything to be true, it’s that statement and, like all the members of our tribe, we keep moving through the change, no matter how painful the move may be.
     
    Driving back to Compton from my high school in Redondo Beach is a pretty straight shot. You never know how many unnecessary stops there are on a bus route until you take an alternate path. I’m also looking for the roads less travelled when it comes to me learning this clutch. Mazda never lied when they made zoom-zoom their motto: this little Protégé’s got spunk. The last thing I want to do is accidently hit someone while trying to balance the gas and the clutch like I did this morning before my mom intervened.
    There are several ways to get from school to home without taking the freeway, and all of them involve getting caught up in mall traffic. There are two major malls between here and Compton and some people are still taking advantage of the after-Christmas sales. If I had some money, I’d be right in there with them. I haven’t braided any heads since the shooting, and don’t anticipate hustling this weekend either. Mama says I can’t touch anyone else’s head until I get mine straight. I’m pretty sure her and Netta will hook a sistah up tomorrow, whether I’m ready or not.
    When I get