Another black boy walked into the room, and Anthony got excited. He was tall and light-skinned, with an out-of-control afro. Not the kind of kid Anthony thought would come from New York. Maybe he was from Cleveland? Or at least someplace where they didn’t call pop “soda.”
Anthony said, “W’sup,” to the approaching boy and made room at the table. But instead of sitting down or even nodding, the kid walked right by and joined two blond girls. They called him Claude and welcomed him with hugs and kisses.
“You see that?” Anthony turned to his classmates, but they were too busy arguing over basketball.
“Word, son,” Khalik continued. “I been to the Rucker like every year, since it started.”
Paul made a face. “Then you must be like a hundred years old.”
Without a word, Anthony gathered his dishes and left. Paul and Khalik didn’t seem to notice.
On his way to the dorm, Anthony ran into Zach and a bunch of other boys. They were standing in a circle and tossing a little bag in the air with their feet. “Tony Ohio,” Zach said, kicking the bag across the circle. “How’s it hanging?”
It made him mad, but Anthony tried not to show it. His proctor knew that he didn’t like the name. “I’m straight,” he said, walking backward. “And it’s Ant, not Tony, man. You know that.”
“Sorry, dude,” Zach said in a way that made the older boys laugh. Then he kicked the bag to Anthony, where it rolled to a stop at his feet. “Wanna hack?”
“Naw, man, some other time. I gotta go make a phone call.”
“Yeah, man,” said a big kid with a ponytail. “We’ll catch you some other time.”
Back in his room, Anthony grabbed the roll of quarters that was meant for his laundry and went to the pay phone down the hall. There was one on every floor of every dormitory because it was hard to get cell phone reception in that mountainous part of Maine.
Darnell answered on the first ring, sounding tired and energized at the same time. All of the excitement left him, though, when he heard Anthony’s voice. “I thought you was somebody else,” he said sleepily. “W’sup, man? How all them white people treating you?”
“I hate this place,” Anthony blurted. “Don’t even get me started.”
Darnell laughed. “I tried to tell you, little nigga, but you ain’t wanna listen.”
“I listened. I just didn’t believe it would be this bad.” Anthony told his brother about all the rules in the dorms and how everyone assumed he was from New York. When he shared what had happened with Mr. Kraft and Coach Rockwell, Darnell laughed until he wheezed.
Anthony waited for the fit to die down and then said, “I’m serious, man. Put Momma on the phone. I ain’t got no friends up here.”
Just then, Nate walked by and slapped Anthony on the back. “Hi, Mom!” he shouted. “Send cookies!”
Darnell laughed again. “I though you ain’t have no friends?”
“I don’t. That dude is just crazy, he don’t count. Serious, man, lemme talk to Momma.”
“She ain’t here,” Darnell said. “To tell the truth, since you left, she ain’t really been home at all.”
That night Brody tossed and turned in his bed, blew his nose like a trumpet, and dropped the used tissues on the floor. Anthony was already awake and on edge. He wanted to jump down and punch his roommate for being so disgusting. Rich white kids should know better than to throw snotty rags all over the floor. Then again, maybe there was someone at home that Brody paid to pick his boogers. For time and a half, maybe they even wiped his ass, too.
“What’s so funny?” Brody asked from his bunk. Until then, Anthony hadn’t realized he’d been laughing.
“You,” Anthony snapped. “You have to be the one of the nastiest people in the world. Seriously, man. How hard would it be to throw those things in the garbage?”
Brody turned on a light and saw his mess. “Sorry, dude,” he said, and then started cleaning up. When he was done, he reached for his guitar case.
“I know you ain’t about to smoke in here,” Anthony warned. “Take that shit to the bathroom or something.”
Brody laughed and opened the case anyway. Instead of his pipe and weed, he produced the guitar instead. He strummed a few notes, and the sound was good. It was also way past midnight, though, and they were supposed to be asleep.
“Put that junk down, man,” Anthony said. “You gon’ mess around and get me in trouble.”
“They can’t hear us, dude,” Brody said. Then he strummed the guitar again, but more softly than before. “They can’t hear us . . . but they fear us . . . put your trust in old Gus . . . and don’t be so ser-i-ous . . .” He ended the short song with a flourish and a triumphant “Dude!” Brody grinned and jerked his head aside to get the hair from his eyes. “Just made that up,” he said. “What do you think?”
Unsure of what to say, Anthony didn’t say anything. He kind of liked the acoustic ditty, but he also wanted to throw the guitar out the window. It was almost like Brody was trying to be annoying. “You must wanna get your ass kicked,” Anthony said finally.
“What?” Brody asked, sounding genuinely shocked. “What did I do?”
As if to answer, someone knocked sharply on the door.
“What’s going on in there?”
It was Zach, and he sounded mad. Anthony shook his head. If he got in trouble over Brody’s stupidity, then he really would punch him.
Zach knocked again and then pushed into the room, red-faced and scowling in his flannel pajamas. “Why are you two still awake?”
“I don’t know,” Brody said. “Why don’t you tell us?”
“Why do little freshmen always have smart mouths?”
“I don’t know,” Brody said again. “Why are you such a dick?”
Anthony sat up and waited for a punch that never came. Instead of knocking Brody from his chair, Zach opened the door. “Lights off, little fresh meat,” he said. “Or I’m getting Mr. Hawley.”
The next morning, Anthony woke up before the alarm could go off, avoided a couple of fresh tissues on the floor, and glared at his sleeping roommate. It was going to be a long year. Either Brody was an uncontrollable slob, or he was trying to push Anthony’s buttons. He went to the bathroom, took a shower, brushed his teeth; came back to find Brody sill sleeping soundly. Good.
He dressed quietly. It was the first day of classes, the official beginning of his Belton career. Now was the time for khakis and loafers, time to find if MLK Junior High had taught him anything worth knowing. If he was sharp enough to hold his own with the rich and privileged, it might make his time at Belton a little easier. If he wasn’t, then they would probably send him back home. And that would be fine with Anthony, too.
Brody farted and Anthony took one last quick look in the mirror, reluctantly shook his roommate awake, and then hurried out the door. The hallway was filling with dazed freshman boys, wrapped in towels and heading to the showers.
He went through the dormitory’s double doors and sat on the front steps. It was cold, and frost had turned the grass white. If this was Maine in early September, then Anthony didn’t want to be around in February. The doors opened behind him, and someone called him by the wrong name, telling him to go make up his bed.