The video shoot wrapped up in two days, thanks to Lucas’s professionalism, and his ability to follow directions. Now was the moment that he had dreaded for weeks—his first day at the new school. All the paperwork and payments had been taken care of by his mother weeks ago, so Lucas begged her not to come with him on his first day. He didn’t want to look lame, being escorted by his mother, like it was his first day of kindergarten. Peggy didn’t like the idea of him walking in by himself, but she understood, and agreed.
Lucas walked through the huge wrought-iron gates of Walburton Academy, with his leather backpack swung over his left shoulder. He was nervous, but had that outward air of confidence. Lucas had never worn a uniform in his life, and felt awkward in the navy blazer with the gold crest on the left breast pocket, khaki pants, white shirt, and navy-and-gold-striped tie. He glanced around the courtyard, and saw himself mirrored in every boy on the grounds. They all looked like prep-school clones. The girls, on the other hand, were a different story. Although they also had on uniforms, they wore their skirts short, with socks pulled up over their knees. Instead of generic backpacks, they wore designer tote bags. And they all seemed to have on expensive-looking shoes—designer no doubt.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
Lucas stopped in his tracks. “Sorry, man.”
Ian and Lucas stared each other down.
Who is this nerd, with the crease running down his pants? That crease is so sharp I bet if I touched it, I’d cut my finger, Lucas thought.
This dude obviously doesn’t have a Magdala at home to iron his pants, Ian thought, taking in Lucas’ rumpled uniform. Even his blazer was wrinkled. “You must be new,” Ian said, looking Lucas up and down.
“You could say that,” he said, not wanting to admit that he indeed was the new kid on the block.
“New or not, you’re walking toward the teachers’ entrance.”
Lucas felt stupid, but didn’t let it show. “Yeah, man, I knew that.”
“Ian, who’s your friend?” Madison asked, walking up.
“I’m not his friend,” Lucas quickly replied.
“No truer words have ever been spoken,” Ian said, looking down his nose at Lucas.
Madison also gave Lucas the once-over, and couldn’t help but notice how rumpled his uniform was. “Did you enroll through the scholarship program?”
Lucas crinkled his face. “What?”
“Are you here on a scholarship?” she asked again, assuming by his appearance that he was from an underprivileged family.
“Naw, I ain’t here on no damn scholarship! I’m paying my way, just like you,” he spat out, obviously offended.
“Sorry. It’s just that some of the urban kids are here on an academic scholarship, and I thought…”
Lucas cut her off. “Yeah, you thought that just ’cuz I’m Black, I’m from an urban,” he said, mocking her word, “area, and couldn’t possibly afford to be here without a handout.”
Madison’s cheeks flushed candy-apple red. “No, it has nothing to do with race. As a matter of fact, my best friend is Black, uh, African American,” she stuttered, trying to redeem herself.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
“Look, dude, she didn’t mean anything by it,” Ian said, coming to his girlfriend’s defense.
“Dude, I really don’t care what she meant,” Lucas said, and strutted off, leaving them standing there looking stupid.
“What the hell is his problem?” Madison asked, once Lucas was on the other side of the courtyard.
“He’s probably embarrassed to admit that he is indeed here on a scholarship. And when you called him out, he got mad.”
Madison hunched her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Right about what?” Reagan asked, as she joined them.
“See that dude over there in the wrinkled uniform.” Ian nodded his head in Lucas’s direction.
Reagan glanced around the school yard until she spotted the new guy. “You mean the hobosexual-looking dude? Looks like somebody shook him up in a bag, and then tossed him out?”
Madison giggled. “That’s funny, where did you get hobosexual from?”
“Judging from the looks of him, he surely isn’t meticulous about his looks like a metrosexual,” she said, continuing to size him up. “He looks more like a hobo.”
“When we were talking to him, and I asked if he was here on a scholarship, he got all defensive, and basically accused me of being a racist.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! Did you tell him that I’m Black?” Reagan asked.
“Yeah, that’s when he said something smart and walked away,” Ian said.
“He’s probably mad because his parents couldn’t afford to send him to Walburton without a scholarship. I mean, look at him.” They all turned and stared in Lucas’s direction. “He needs a haircut; those curls are all over the place. His uniform is too big, probably donated. If I had to bet, I’d say that he’s one of those smart-ass kids from Harlem, Brooklyn, or the Bronx that scored high on his exams, and got offered a scholarship,” Reagan said, making her own assessment.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Madison agreed.
“I mean he’s cute and all, but unfortunately for him, I don’t date broke dudes,” Reagan stated, as she continued to stare at him.
Lucas had the feeling that he was being scrutinized underneath a microscope. Like all eyes were on him. He knew without a doubt that it was the redheaded chick, and Mr. Crease, so he turned in their direction. And sure enough, they were sizing him up like he was on display, but another girl had joined their little huddle. He squinted his eyes for a clearer view, and couldn’t believe who was standing there with them. It was the girl he had bumped into at the shoot—Roshonda’s friend. Except she looked different. Her hair wasn’t wild like before, but straightened, and she didn’t have on her old army jacket. Damn, I thought that chick was cool, only to find out that she goes to this uppity school, with these rich brats. So much for trying to get with her, Lucas thought and shook his head. Just then, the bell sounded, and he walked through the doors of Walburton Academy along with the rest of the “rich brats.”