OJOS MEANS “EYES” MEANS “YOU BETTER WATCH IT”

I PULL OPEN PUGET’S FRONT DOOR, and just like every other morning, I’m jolted by the screeches and squeals from Viking cheerleaders. Eyes to the ground, I squeeze past them and their rich, waterfront, Briar Park friends as they compare iPhone apps and ski trips and remind me that I hate this place.

I make my way into B Hall, pushing through the jocks and goths and losers—the Des Moines Hill kids who are supposed to be my people.

Then it’s out to the covered corridor and through C Hall and the poor kids who live on and around Pacific Highway.

Between here and Cassidy’s, I gotta pass through Cholo Corner. It’s where all the Latino boys from Mr. Bell’s English Language Learner class hang out. They all practice looking tough and never say anything to anyone except their badass friends.

I scan the place for Luis, but I don’t see him anywhere.

I pull both hood strings tight and keep moving with my eyes on the floorboards, then—

BAM!

I smack right into one of those kids.

“Ojos, man.” He reaches a hand up and pulls my hood back. He gets in my face and says, “You better watch yourself.”

Shit. It’s Carlos Díaz, notorious fuck-up cholo.

“Sorry.”

“Not a thing, man. I ain’t got no beef with you. But Luis does. Yeah, Callado wants to kick your ass.”

I knew it.

“That’s the word, man. Everybody sayin’.”

Everybody?

“They all talkin’. Saying you been starin’ Luis down and he wanna mess you up. And no disrespect, but I wouldn’t mind watchin’ that shit go down. What class you got?”

I pace forward and back as my skin catches fire. My heart pounds like Krist Novoselic’s bass on “Paper Cuts” as I picture Luis tearing me apart.

I take off toward the main building.

But I don’t get anywhere because Carlos—who’s a head shorter than me and a ton stronger—has a vise grip on my arm.

“You can’t be a pussy,” he says. “It’ll make everything worse. Now, I’m pretty sure I asked you what class you got.”

“Cassidy.”

“I’m coming with you.”

As we walk, I feel another me float out of my body. I hover above myself watching the second scariest kid in school haul me to get my ass kicked by the first.

Outside Cassidy’s room, Carlos lets go of my shaking arm and grabs my face. Slaps my cheek a couple times and says, “Relax yourself, kid. Relax your mind. You wanna be loose doin’ battle. Now, if I was you, I’d start with your left. Quick jabs. Keep your feet moving. And mitts up! Even if it ain’t much to look at, you gotta protect that mug. Jab left, punch right. Got it?”

I’ve got no reply. So Carlos says, “Forget all that shit I just said. Just stand there and jellyfish your body and it’ll be over real quick. And don’t worry, I’ll be right out here watching the whole thing.”

I head into class, and everyone turns around to see what’s gonna happen. They all watch me sit my butt down by Luis.

My head gets tingly and my guts turn over. I put my head on my desk, and when I do, I notice that not everyone is looking at me.

Luis isn’t.

He’s just sitting there like the ass-kicking thug he is.

I force myself to sit up.

Luis acts like I’m not even there.

Cassidy pushes her accountant glasses up her nose as she rises from her messy desk. She pulls her frizzy black hair into a bunch, grabs a rubber band from between her teeth and ties the whole tangle into a bouncing pouf.

“All right, class. All right. Settle 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.

“Pencil. 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.