heating up.
âYeah,â he said. âIt so fuckinâ makes me want toââ
âJupiter?â
Bates quickly dug his still-clenched fist into his lap. His forehead unclenched, and his other hand took the bottom hem of his massive, oversized Death Eats Everything shirt and wrapped it over his fist to hide it.
I looked up. It was Ms. Fortinbras, whoâd been subbing in my English class. As far as I could tell, she was a mellow, agreeable type, the kind of substitute teacher who doesnât make you listen to the lesson as long as you arenât out of your seat or texting with your phone above the desk.
âJupiter, what are you doing here?â she asked, looking honestly puzzled. Iâd been in the front row, and earlier today I surprised myself by actually paying attention to the lesson and even asking her a question.
âMr. Denisof sent me to the principalâs office.â
âYes, I can see that.â
I gazed vacantly into my lap. âHe couldnât understand my accent. He thought I canât speak English, and that I shouldnât come back to class until I learn the language.â
âThatâs ridiculous; your English is absolutely fine. Heâs just a bigot looking for an excuse to whittle down his class size. Get out of here, take the rest of the period off, and if he still remembers on Monday that he kicked you outâwhich he wonâtâjust tell him that your accent is from Cleveland or something.â
âTell him itâs from Cleveland?â
âWhatever. If he asks, tell him he has to deal with me. But he wonât.â
âUm, okay.â I nodded, unsure whether I was actually supposed to listen to her and get up out of my seat or just throw away the note and keep waiting.
Ms. Fortinbras jiggled the pile of papers she was holding.
âWhat are you doing sitting there? Get out of here! Itâs Friday afternoon. Go have a weekend or something.â
I jumped out of my seat, straight toward the North Lawn, and clocked it out of there before Ms. Fortinbras could rethinkher verdict or before Bates decided to kick my ass for getting out of my appointment when he was still in line for his own.
The bus to the Yards was full when I got on. Almost half the chairs were empty, but there was somebody sitting in at least every pair of seats. Philadelphia transit buses all have two rows of seats, with a few choice single seats on the left that get filled immediately. On the right side of the bus are pairs, two-by-two rows of seats. The people in those seats shot me hostile glances as I walked down the aisle, everyone trying to protect his or her territory. I slid in what I thought was the only unoccupied pair left, and hesitated halfway down, realizing that someone was sitting there, too short to be seen from in front. Then I realized that person was Vadim.
âWhy are you leaving early?â I asked him, settling down into the barely comfortable seat lining, a scratchy felt.
âMy Organic Chem teacher threw me out of class,â Vadim replied.
âHe threw you out?â I gasped, not comprehending. âFor what? For knowing more than he does?â
Vadim looked at me with innocent, unsuspecting eyes. âYeah,â he said. âActually, for that exact thing.â
âWell, damn,â I huffed. âItâs official: This school has no sense of decency.â
âNah,â he said. âItâs cool. I think theyâre gonna skip me up a grade.â
âAnother one? But youâve already skipped fifth and seventhâ¦â
âWhat can I say?â Vadim made a Groucho Marx caught-in-the-act face. âThey know talent when they see it.â
âYeah,â I echoed blankly. I stared out the window and watched the houses go by.
The Yards, the neighborhood where we lived, was the dusky, dingy attic of Philadelphia, the horrible family secret that everyone wished could stay buried.
Alice Ward, Jessica Blake