WHEN IT COMES RIGHT DOWN TO IT, I’M A BIG FAT BABY

THE ROOM EXPLODES WITH SOUND.

I’m frozen in all the shouting and clapping. This kid, Rashad, slaps me on the back and shakes my hand.

It’s over.

I did it.

We did it.

It’s just a classroom full of kids, but it’s like I scored the winning touchdown for the Seahawks. In the SUPER BOWL! You can’t hear yourself think, it’s so loud. I just take it in.

And I feel it.

I feel it for the first time since I used to rock out with Rupe and Dave behind the Aberdeen house. That feeling. The feeling Kurt and Krist were going for when they named their band.

It’s amazing.

I can’t handle it.

I bolt out of the room again.

I’m feeling too much. I’ve got too much to say. I wanna thank my grandparents. I want them to know what I just did. I wanna tell my mom I’m not a complete loser.

I wanna tell Luis it was great. But I’m panicking, pacing back and forth in the hall like a crazy man. I’m breathing so hard and fast the blood rushes to my head. I got to lean against the wall to keep from dropping.

Ms. Cassidy runs after me. She wipes her eyes with a huge wad of napkins. Smears her makeup. Gives me some of the napkins so I can wipe my eyes. She offers me more coffee and spills some on her shirt. She says, “I’m proud of you, Sam.”

I don’t hate her anymore. I hug her.

I wanna erase the last few years of my life and start over right now.

From this moment.

Carter hits me on the shoulder with a rolled-up paper. “You killed,” he says as he walks past us.

“You were in there?” I call after him.

“I was a witness to greatness,” he says, disappearing into B Hall.

Cassidy starts punching me in the arm. “Luisandsam, you guys did it! You did it, Sam. I knew you had it in you! I knew it!”

“Thanks, Ms. Cassidy.”

“Now I’ve got some butt to kick! I mean, where’s that Cárdenas?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Cassidy. I wish he was here.”

It’s great to hear people clapping and to see Ms. Cassidy all proud of me. But I feel guilty because Luis made me do this. Luis wrote most of the poem. He made me practice and got me ready. Without him, I wouldn’t be here feeling better than I’ve ever felt in my life.

Next thing I know, Go To—Julisa Mendez—is standing right in front of me.

“That was great, Sam. You and Luis did awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“Where is he?”

I shake my head.

She looks down at the ground for a second, seeming genuinely disappointed. Then she pops back up with a smile on her face. “Here’s my reflection.” She hands me the paper. “It’s all positive. When you see Luis, can you tell him I really liked it?”

“Yeah.”

“And can you tell him … well … tell him I say hi.”

“Okay.” For a second, I think it’s weird that she’s talking to me about the poem, and about Luis. Then I think maybe she likes him. Or maybe she just really likes the poem. Maybe this is how kids who do stuff talk to each other.

I carefully fold the reflection sheet, put it in my pocket, and head back to class, smiling from ear to ear. As each nervous kid goes up there and reads, I clap hard. And I feel for the kids who freak out, because they got up and they tried.

When it’s over, Ms. Cassidy gives me a pass to leave the room and call Luis. There’s no answer. I leave a message. I tell him we did awesome. I tell him I wish he’d been there. He shoulda been there.

I try him again sixth period. No answer.

On my walk home, this thought hits me: What if Luis isn’t suspended?

I start worrying about the stuff Carlos had said.

And I wish Luis hadn’t been born into all this gang shit.

I worry about Luis’s brother. About Frankie. About any other guy who might be out there fucking up Luis’s life.

I got to talk to him.