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stuff. I see all those houses you’re sketching all the time. Those are great.”
    “Thanks,” I say, but I’m not so sure they’re great. I mean, they’re okay. But it don’t make me an artist, not like the real artists here.
    The school I go to is called the North Bronx High School for Arts and Communications, so to get in here you have to pick a concentration and you have to get approved. Adonna wanted me to be in advertising and marketing like her, but they always have to make presentations and stuff and I’m not good at that kinda thing.
    I wanted to be in the fine arts concentration so I could learn how to paint and sculpt. But Mr. Melendez was one of the teachers looking at our portfolios on the evaluation day, and when he saw that 95 percent of what I was drawing was houses and floor plans, he said he thought I should be in the design concentrationinstead. He told me, “You don’t want to sit around painting bowls of fruit all day, do you?”
    And I mumbled “no,” because that’s what he wanted to hear. And, really, it didn’t matter to me which program I got into, as long as I got to go to the same school as Adonna. Because if I didn’t get into this school, I would have ended up at the high school near Bronxwood and it’s way worse than this school. And I would have been all alone.
    While I’m washing my hands in the janitor’s closet, I’m thinking about what Mara said, that I’m better at seeing the big picture. And it’s kinda true, too. In my drawings, I’m always trying to make my houses look nice and pretty. Perfect. But I never even think about the little details that could make them look more realistic. Probably because they’re never gonna be real, anyway.
    When my hands are dry, I look at my watch and it’s almost six o’clock. As much as I like being here with the crew, today is one day I can’t wait to get home, because Renée’s gonna be there. I mean, I know she’s supposed to be going to dinner with some of her friends, but maybe if I’m lucky they ate early or the dinner got canceled or something. Because I need time with her, too. She’s only gonna be here one night. And that’s really not enough.

SEVEN
    Renée don’t get home ’til almost eleven o’clock. And I kinda wanna jump up outta bed as soon as I hear the door open, but I don’t want her to know I was waiting up for her. At the same time, I don’t want her to just go to sleep right away and not know I’m still awake.
    So I wait about two minutes. Then I push aside the book I’m reading, which is really kinda nasty, put my slippers on, and go down the hall.
    Renée’s in the living room taking off her shoes when I get out there. Even though the hall light is on, the living room is still dark. Before I can say anything, she looks over and sees me, and she jumps a little. “Babe, oh, you scared me.”
    “Sorry, I was just—”
    “What are you still doing up? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
    “Yeah. I was reading a book, um, for English.”
    That gets a smile outta her. “Good.” She kicks her shoes aside and starts unbuttoning her blouse. Then she sighs. “Oh, Iam so exhausted. Today was way too long.” She takes off her blouse and throws it over the chair. “I had to drive in from Boston, then go to City for the second round of interviews and a teaching demonstration. The whole thing was grueling.”
    “Where’d you go after that?”
    “Nowhere special,” she says. “When I was finally done at City, I met up with some Princeton girls and we all went out to dinner at this Italian place on the Upper West Side. Then we ended up at some club in the meat-packing district.” She shakes her head. “It was wall-to-wall people. You know, the after-work crowd. The men were working the most tired pickup lines I’ve ever heard. They were pitiful!” She’s smiling while she talks, so it probably wasn’t all that bad. It sounds a lot better than sitting at home with Nana, which is what I did