Genesis frowned. “How?”
“I mean they were nasty. The guys made fun of me and the girls just stared me up and down. It was… embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on. They’re just testing you.” She patted down an invisible hair.
“I mean, except for this one guy named Rayshawn. And testing me? You for real?”
“Trust me, they’re cool. Listen, we have to stick together. I’m telling you.”
Someone in the far stall flushed the toilet.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, I’d better get to class.”
“Wait.” Genesis held out her palm.
“Oh. Right.” I handed her the JUUL. “See you at lunch?” I hoped I didn’t sound desperate.
Genesis gave her hair one final blast. “Oh… sorry. I won’t be there. Theater club. We skip lunch to rehearse.”
“Oh.” Great. Another day of feeling like an outsider to the outsiders.
“Don’t worry. Like I said, just stick with the METCO kids. You said that Rayshawn was nice. He’s cool. Just sit near him.” Genesis tore her eyes from the mirror. “Okay, you can go now because I have to pee, and I can’t pee while anyone else is in the bathroom. It’s a thing.”
* * *
With teachers, I tried my best—I really did—to answer their constant questions and comments. How are you adjusting so far? You do know where the tutoring centers are located, right? You’ll probably find the work more challenging here than in Boston. That’s where you’re from, right? Where are you from? Man, they made me feel mad dumb. Weren’t teachers supposed to do the opposite? And not for nothing, but was this really the school my parents wanted for me? Dad had always talked about how we should be proud to be Latinos and all that, so why had he and Mom signed me up for this school full of white kids? Where the teachers practically held my hand.
I had to take these stupid diagnostic exams first thing—even though I’d already been placed in the college-prep classes. The English one required a writing sample, and when the bell rang I wasn’t quite done, which had nothing to do with the fact that I might miss lunch. So I asked my new English teacher if I could finish up my essay during lunch, and get this: She simply told me to leave it on her desk when I was through. No questions. No pass. Nada. My teachers back in Boston would have wondered what I was up to. They would have taken their purses with them even if just to the vending machines down the hall. And especially their laptops, hello. But here? I mean, students didn’t even have locks on their lockers. Here, the teacher just vanished, leaving me to write and write, and no one cared how long I took.
Unfortunately, lunch wasn’t over by the time I was done, so I had to go to the cafeteria after all. Dorito Girl gave me a look like she wanted to chew me alive. So I walked right past that table. (It wasn’t like anyone was making room for me to sit down or anything anyway.)
But—ugh—now I had to walk by the cute guy from the day before, who was sitting with his friends. Talking with their mouths full of food. One of them copying the other’s homework. I willed myself not to look up, especially if that guy was also looking up. But that thing happened where your body does the exact opposite thing than your brain is telling it to do, and so I did. I looked up. And sure enough, the guy, still wearing a number thirteen jersey but in a different color, was downing a carton of chocolate milk into his mouth as he watched me from the corner of his eye. I watched him right back, thinking about what Genesis had said about staying away from the white boys. No white boys, and nowhere to sit.
I’d just taken a bite of my sandwich—ham again—walking the halls again, when I heard “Liliana? Liliana Cruz?”
I swallowed quickly. “That’s me,” I said, turning.
A man in a navy-blue suit and a tie with clouds on it rushed over, hand extended. “Hello! I’m Mr. Rivera, the METCO director.” With his salt-and-pepper hair, he kind of reminded me of a much younger Don Francisco, the old guy from the variety show Sábado Gigante who Mom and Dad watched every Saturday night. “I was hoping to run into you, set up a time to talk. How’s it going? I know it can be an adjustment. Did you get a school tour yet? Finding your classes okay? Meet your buddy yet?”
Wow, I didn’t know which question to answer first. “I’m good,” I said. If I said anything more, he’d probably fire off a dozen more questions.
“Great. Listen. Stop by my office—it’s next to Guidance. You can’t miss it. It’s by the sneaker in the lobby. You know, the one worn by Larry Bird—”
I stared at him. Who?
“You know, Bird, one of the greatest Celtics players of all time. He visited the school once—”
“Oh yeah,” I said. So that’s why there was a random sneaker all propped up in a glass box like it was a Viking helmet or something.
“So swing by. We can chat.” Mr. Rivera’s walkie-talkie made a static sound. “I have to run to an appointment. But listen, definitely check out the student lounge in the METCO office.” His walkie-talkie fizz-fizzed again. “See you there!” And he was off.
I sent Jade a text: legit eating lunch by myself. In hall.
She replied: 4real? Lol. Taking test. Call u later?
I finished my sandwich, then headed for the shoe shrine. I wanted to know where it was, you know, in case I actually went to a meeting. It couldn’t be worse than eating lunch alone in the hall, right?
* * *
At home, because I was supposed to be doing homework, I decided to organize my closet. No lie—it always makes me feel productive. So I took out all my summer clothes and put them in trash bags, which I stuffed underneath my bed. I found an old sweatshirt I hadn’t worn in like a minute. It had my name spray-painted in hot pink letters across the front. Mad cheesy. I used to love that sweatshirt. I held it out, the pre-Westburg-me sweatshirt. I tried it on. Nope. Barely fit over my chest. I gave a laugh. Genesis might wear it! Then I was thinking about how people called her “Gen.” Had she called herself that first? Liliana. Liliana Cruz. Maybe I needed to change things up. New school… new name? Not change-change it, like when you get married or have to go into hiding under some witness-protection program or something, but change, like revise. Like, to Lili. Yeah. Lili. It was technically part of “Liliana.” I said it a few times: “Lili Cruz, Lili Cruz. Hi. I’m Lili Cruz.” Not bad! Truth, I sort of felt like I was getting a makeover, or at least a significant haircut. Like, a fresh start. And no way was I cutting my hair. So Lili it was. Welcome to Westburg, Lili.
* * *
Doing proofs in geometry is not the most exciting thing in the world, in case you didn’t know. I couldn’t stop daydreaming—I saw number thirteen get off the bus this morning, same time as me, and, yeah, he gave me another look. It was the kind of look that stayed on my skin, if you get what I mean. That was, until he’d looked away.
My teacher was in the zone, writing and labeling and talking. I had to get a grip. I grabbed my pencil and started copying the proofs. How much longer? I glanced at the clock over the door, and that’s when—insane!—I saw him, soccer jersey guy, walking right past the doorway. Suddenly I felt wide awake. Electric awake. Like, I had to get into that hallway. Maybe he would still be out there. Maybe I would have the guts to actually talk to him. I raised my hand.