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Wasn’t John part of that world, too? “Is this where I’m staying?”
    â€œMore than likely,” John said. “Freshmen and sophomore boys in Kaster, juniors and seniors over there, in Welch.” He chuckled and pointed to another dorm, across the street. “Try not to go in there by yourself.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œAww, you know upperclassmen,” John said, still grinning. “Sometimes they like to horse around.”
    â€œThanks.” Anthony grabbed for his bags, but the man blocked him.
    â€œCan’t go in yet,” John said, and pointed to a big building with white pillars. “You need to register first.”
    â€œOh.” He reached for his luggage, but John stopped him again.
    â€œNo need to lug everything up there.”
    Anthony hesitated. “Man, this is all I got.”
    John smiled patiently. “What part of the city you from? Brooklyn?”
    â€œEast Cleveland. Remember?”
    â€œNo fooling?” John scratched his head and looked him up and down again. “Well, this isn’t Ohio, kid. Your stuff is safe.”
    Anthony went to the main building and registered. They gave him a lot of things to read plus his room key. John had been right: He was staying in Kaster Hall, on the freshman floor. He left the desk and moved through the crowded lobby, making sure not to bump anyone or even make eye contact. Most of the kids were with their parents, and all of them were white. Self-conscious, Anthony walked quickly toward the door. A man in a bow tie stopped him, though, before he could leave.
    â€œAnthony Jones?”
    Ant nodded but didn’t say anything.
    â€œFantastic!” The man grabbed Anthony’s hand and shook it. “Good to meet you, Tony,” he continued. “I’m Mr. Kraft, director of admissions.”
    â€œNice to meet you, sir,” Anthony said. “Thanks for letting me in.”
    â€œNonsense. We should thank you for coming.” Mr. Kraft clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Then he waved to a passing man in the crowd. He was big and had bushy eyebrows. “Tony, this is Mr. Rockwell. Coach, meet Tony Jones.”
    The tall man shook Anthony’s hand and nearly broke it. “Welcome to Belton, Tony. Where you from?”
    â€œCleveland.”
    â€œCleveland?” He made a face, and both of the men smiled. Anthony smiled, too, although he didn’t know what was funny. “Had a kid here from Cleveland once, he could jump out the gym.” The coach looked Anthony up and down. “What about you, Tony? You play any hoops?”
    â€œBasketball?” Anthony thought about his brother’s warning and shook his head. Didn’t they see how short he was? “I ain’t no good.”
    â€œMaybe not yet,” Mr. Kraft said with a wink. “But give it time.” The men shook Anthony’s hand again and went off to talk together. Anthony returned across campus to his waiting bags and took them inside the dorm.
    A boy named Zach greeted him and grabbed a suitcase. He was older and said he was a proctor. “So,” he said, walking quickly. “Where you from?”
    â€œCleveland.”
    â€œOh,” the beefy boy said, and raised his eyebrows. “Figured you were from New York, like Big George and everybody else.”
    â€œBig who?”
    Zach laughed. “George Fuller. You’ll meet him. He pretty much owns this place.” They came to a door at the end of the hall and stopped. “Here it is,” Zach said. “Number four.” Three people were already inside, a white man and woman, plus a boy in beat-up jeans. Zach cleared his throat loudly, but the family was already gawking. “Meet Anthony Jones,” Zach said, and put the bag on the floor. “He’ll be bunking here, with Brody.”
    The boy in jeans put down a box and came over. The name on his faded bowling shirt said GUS , even though Zach had