All Good Children - Catherine Austen [17]
“It’s worse than a virtual tutor,” Montgomery agrees.
The tension slowly fades, and we pick up our alternate personalities where we dropped them. Brennan sketches, I dance, Montgomery calls a huddle, Dallas and Pepper cheer.
In the hallway, everyone pats my back in thanks for livening up the lecture. I feel supreme—I need successes like this to raise my standing, especially given my height.
“See you at practice,” Brennan shouts as he walks down the hall with Kayla—quarterback and cheerleader, the love story that never grows old, just more expensive.
Sage Turner, Pepper’s best friend, leers after them. “Do you think Brennan’s the best-looking guy in school?” she asks.
Pepper glances at Dallas for a moment too long before she says, “I don’t know.”
Dallas doesn’t rub my nose in it. He says, “No way. You know who the best-looking guy in school is?”
Pepper smiles at me and we all shout at once, “Xavier!”
Dallas, Pepper and I sneak to the skate park up the road for lunch. It’s empty except for a few kids our age, probably throwaways skipping class. Four boys skate around a bowl while two girls watch them, leaning against a railing, sipping on sodas.
Pepper keeps one eye on the boys while she calls her father. “Did Mom find a place for those people we spoke of?” Her parents help relocate New Yorkers whose homes are sinking into the sea. They’re an unusually close family. My mother never talks to me about her patients. Dallas’s father can’t talk to anyone without shouting.
Dallas falls back on his standard topic. “Who do you think would win in a fight? The guy in the black shirt or the Asian kid?”
The Asian throwaway skates up the bowl and somersaults into the air. He lands in a crouch and zooms back down. The white kid dressed in black tries to copy him but chickens out on the somersault.
“Is the fight on skates or shoes?” I ask.
“Skates.”
“Maybe the Asian, if the other three don’t gang up on him.”
Dallas swats my arm and points across the park. “Look!”
Tyler Wilkins is leaning over the railing near the girls, watching the throwaways skate. Washington Anderson steps up beside him, fury still gleaming in his eyes.
The Asian kid and the white kid zoom down opposite sides of the bowl toward each other. They link arms in the center, jerk hard and spin madly before they let go and zoom away laughing. The Asian boy flies up the concrete and flips in the air, lands on his wheels at the top. The girls clap as he takes a bow.
Washington nudges Tyler. He’s found an outlet for his rage.
There’s a reeking backlash against China these days. The news says it’s a result of drought and famine and inflating food values, but that’s crap. Guys like Tyler and Washington always brim with hatred, and right now they’re taking it out on Asians because blacks and Latinos have had enough.
Tyler shouts something at the Asian kid—I can’t make out the words, but the meaning is clear. The boy’s smile disappears. He looks around the park to assess his situation.
“Shit,” Dallas mutters.
“I have to go,” Pepper says into her RIG. The three of us rise to our feet.
“What do we do?” Dallas asks.
I shrug. “He has three friends.”
“I’m not so sure,” Pepper says.
The Asian boy skates to the bottom of the bowl where the others stare up at Tyler and Washington. Then the three white kids step away, leaving the Asian kid to stand alone.
“What do we do?” Dallas repeats.
“There’s a time to fight and there’s a time to walk away,” Pepper says.
“Yeah, but which time is this?” Dallas asks. “What do you want to do, Max?”
Last year we would have slunk away, posting the news and photos. But once you stand up to someone, you’re expected to keep standing.
I roll my eyes and sigh. I do not want to do what I’m about to do.
I toss my pizza crust into the compost and walk to the edge of the concrete bowl. Dallas moves to my side. It’s a shining gesture but it only makes me look short in comparison.
“What do you faggots want?” Washington shouts.
Everyone looks our way. The girls step back from the railing and whisper. The