TERRY STOOD by the drink machines at lunch the next day, and the next after that, and two weeks after that; pictures on the drink machines lit from inside, large sweating red aluminum cans waist deep in ice. He thought a few times to unplug one of the drink machines, but couldn’t figure what good something like that could do other than hold warm drinks it wouldn’t even give out because it was dead with no electricity.

When his name was called he raised a hand. A few times he said present, or here.

In the halls after bells there were knapsacks, forest green, navy blue and black and gray, dull red, a rare orange or yellow, all moving toward lockers and other rooms and each other, and he was at front and at back and inside and everywhere at once within these stacked bags.

Every so often these mountains burst open and cleared a hole in the center and someone got beat into bone meal. He saw two fights up close. The first left one kid holding a clump of red hair. In the other a short, pale girl, hair and eyeliner the same boot black, took a cheap hit from over her shoulder, but quickly she shook her head right, got the one who suckered her by the shirt front and tackled her hard against the block wall. The girl’s head made a dull sound when it slammed back and she fell down.