The next morning, Mom leaves before I do. Work is busy right now, which is good and bad. My little sister, Lemlem, whines as she is bundled out of the house. I hear Mom promising her something nice as the door clicks shut behind them.
Two minutes later, Bini knocks. I grab my bag and we walk down the road to school, Bini slowly, me at a normal pace to keep up with his giraffe strides. As we get closer to school, the roads are wider and the houses bigger. We’re about to turn the final corner when Bini slows down.
An army truck is parked about a hundred yards from the school entrance. Four soldiers sit in the back, rifles on their knees, watching the schoolkids pass in front. I look ahead to the gates. No one is kicking a ball around outside. The other kids are filing into school without looking up. One mother turns around and starts walking back the other way, taking her sons with her.
“What’s going on?” I ask Bini.
“No idea,” he replies.
We keep quiet as we pass the truck.
Our first lesson is chemistry. Ato Dawit is my favorite teacher, but today I don’t enjoy the lesson. Ato Dawit seems tired. No one raises their hand to answer questions.
At lunchtime Bini and I head for our normal spot over by the shady trees in the corner of the yard.
As we start to eat, I watch Kidane walk slowly in our direction with two of his friends. There isn’t any more space to sit down, so I wonder what he wants. My stomach does a little flip. Kidane had the same growth rush as Bini, only he grew wider as well as taller. Now he looks about four years older than the rest of our class. A class Bini and I have been moved up to only because of our good grades.
“Why is the army hanging around outside our school today?” asks Kidane.
“How should we know?” Bini answers.
“Perhaps you should go home and ask your dad.” He looks first at Bini, then at me.
Bini stares at him. “Why don’t you go and ask your dad? Or would you need to help him with a big word like army?”
Kidane grabs Bini by the collar of his school shirt. “At least mine hasn’t run away. It’s people like you and your dad who make it dangerous for the rest of us,” he hisses.
Bini stands up. Kidane is still holding his T-shirt, but now their eyes are level. Bini doesn’t flinch. Kidane shoves him backward and walks away with his friends, glancing back to give us both a death stare.
My mouth feels dry when I speak. “What do you think he meant when he said we make it dangerous for the rest of them?”
Bini is frowning at the ground, deep in thought. “I don’t know, but I feel like everyone else does.”
“Have you heard anything from your dad?”
“No. He hasn’t sent Mom any money, either. She says it takes time to find a job that earns enough.” He pauses. “Six years seems long enough, though.”
“Kidane must know my dad died,” I say.
“He’s an idiot,” says Bini. “That’s one thing I am sure about.”
After school, we head home in silence, Bini kicking at stones. I almost feel like letting him win at chess but decide he’ll feel better soon enough. Instead I let him reach check.