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The metalworking class I wanted to take (easy A for me for sure, and those kids got to help build a sculpture in the quad) was all filled up. Mr. Rankin was always trying to get us to think about stuff like the little heads on quarters. That dude was all right, but as far as I was concerned, coins were just money.
    And money was what I needed to help my grandparents out. They’d done so much for me already. They were the ones who found out I could get a football scholarship to Haverford Friends—that was after my boy Diego got arrested for boosting cars. They said I had to think of myself and my opportunities.
    I didn’t want to leave my boys in North Philly, but even I had to admit that I didn’t have much of a future if I stayed at Thomas Janson High. The kids there carried guns, and we didn’t even get books unless the teachers paid for them. The budget for Philly schools like Janson was getting cut every year, and every year they took something else away. There were no nurses, no gym class, no milk. At Haverford Friends I had a computer, a college counselor, crazy shit like philosophy classes, squash courts, and couscous for lunch. I mean, HF students actually got on vans to give out soup to guys that lived in my neighborhood. I was lucky to be here, I guess, but if anyone ever thought I’d get used to a place like this, they were crazy. I just had to survive it.
    And I almost didn’t. Just as I passed, the door to the dressing room opened, clocking me in the face.
    â€œOh. Sorry.” I covered my forehead and nose where the wood made contact, and I could feel it getting red. Don’t know why I apologized.
    Maybe because it was Dakota Cunningham behind the door. Yeah, I knew her name. All the girls at HF looked alike to me, but Dakota had a little Jennifer Lawrence in her—at least in the eyes and butt. Sometimes in Design class I would squint and pretend. She had it going on and she knew it. Everyone did. I’d heard some guys on the team talking about her. She had a boyfriend, Dylan Sanders, who she’d been with since freshman year, and they still hadn’t had sex, according to Dylan. The hottest prude in school , one dude on my team said. Maybe’s she just not feeling it , I wanted to say, but didn’t. Maybe whale-belt-wearing golf club dudes ain’t her thing .
    â€œThat’s okay,” she said quickly. She reached up and pulled on her hair, twisting it to the side. I’d seen her do that a lot in class. Then she wiped around her mouth.
    I noticed her face looked kinda flushed and she seemed a little embarrassed or something. Or maybe it was me that was embarrassed.
    â€œThat was a good assembly,” I said. Even though it hadn’t been. All the kids were going bananas because they were getting their activities cut. Welcome to my world. No money, no fun.
    â€œUm, thanks?” Then she gave me the side-eye, all suspicious. “Are you being sarcastic?”
    â€œNo, no,” I stuttered. Had I pissed her off? “I just meant, you handled it well.”
    She paused, looking me up and down like I was making fun of her.
    â€œI really didn’t. But I didn’t have a choice. Those people? They have no idea what it’s like, to be up there, trying to put a happy face on terrible news, trying to make everyone feel better about everything when really there’s no way—oh, never mind. I could go on forever.”
    Clearly. She was babbling. But she seemed upset, and I was tired of feeling invisible. If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. “So you think it’ll stay this way?”
    â€œI really don’t know,” she said. “I mean, I’m not the one to ask.”
    â€œIt’s bad, huh?”
    â€œYeah.” She sighed and then looked at me as if seeing it was me, Benny, for the first time. Then she whipped her bag over her shoulder. “I better get back to class.”
    â€œOkay,”