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strict about not letting kids in without them.”
    Franky walked over and helped Mrs. Bertha to her feet. She was a heavy woman, and she seemed to put all of her weight on his bony legs as she stood. He led her over to the door and out of the office. They headed down the hallway, past the black German shepherd, past the metal detectors, and out the front door of the old building.
    Nigel was standing on the front steps of the school building waiting for them. “You all set?” he asked with a smile once they stepped outside.
    “Yeah! They’re putting me in ninth-grade classes,” Franky said with a huge, infectious smile. “But the lady said I have to take a few tests before they’ll know for sure.”
    “That shouldn’t be a problem for you, Einstein,” Nigel teased. “I’m glad things are working out. We should’ve done this a long time ago. But it is what it is, right?”
    “It’s all good,” Franky said, swatting his cousin’s guiltaway like a fly. “Man, it’s like a zoo up in there. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. Those kids are buck wild. They are screaming and cussing and everything else, and the adults don’t even say anything. I’m telling you, cuzzo. It’s crazy.”
    “Welcome to public schools in the hood,” Nigel said with a shrug. “You’ll be fine. Stand tall and don’t let nobody punk you, ya heard. Somebody try to swing at you, you make sure you send a message to anybody else who might wanna follow them. I mean, you try your best to break something. I got your back, ya heard?”
    “Yeah,” Franky said, confused. Was he going to prison or school? He couldn’t help but think back to the last time he was in school and how gravely different this pep talk was from his mother’s.
    Franky, make sure you sit in the front of the class and pay close attention. Take good notes and always do your best. Have a great day, son. I love you.
    Franky’s parents were all about education, and they preached to him about the importance of being black and educated. They pushed him to do his best in every class. If he ever struggled in a class, they hired a tutor. Now here was his cousin telling him to swing for the fences with his fist. The word study never came out of his mouth.
    “A’ight, well, I better get back in there and find these classes,” Franky said. “Thanks for everything, Mrs. Bertha.”
    “No, chile,” she said. “Thank you. I love to hear young black boys acting like they got some sense. I’m eighty-six years old, and I marched with Dr. King, and it wasn’t easy. We got hit with rocks and all kinds of things, but we believed that black schools should be just as nice as the white ones. Now look how we act. Dr. King must be turning flips in his grave over the way our people are down here carrying on.”
    As if on cue to validate Mrs. Bertha’s words, two girls walked by, both with red and blue hair and shorts so short they should be outlawed, calling each other the B word.
    Mrs. Bertha shook her head. “Shameful. But, Franky, I’m proud of you,” she said. “I swear I think you put a few more years on my life. There is hope after all.”
    “That’s good to hear. We need you around. Who else is going to make sure we get a nice Sunday meal each week?” Franky said with a smile as he helped the old lady down the twenty or so steps that led up to the school.
    Once they had Mrs. Bertha situated in the passenger seat of the same old car that brought the boys from New Orleans, Nigel walked around to the driver’s side and got in. He threw the peace sign to his cousin and pulled off.
    “Yo, boi,” a familiar voice said from across the yard as Franky walked back toward the school. He turned around and noticed two guys from his neighborhood, Bubba and Bernard.
    Bubba was already six feet three inches tall and was about one hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle. The fact that he was only in ninth grade had every AAU basketball coach in the city vying for his