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Ricky was feeling glum as he waited for English class to begin. He felt like the world was against him lately. Especially when it came to his group of friends. If they could even be called that anymore. Cameron tended to keep him at arm’s length in the nicest way possible. The less said about Anthony the better. Dave and David were okay for some lunch conversation, but he didn’t feel the same connection to them. As for Omar…

Ricky still liked him. A lot. And not because of what they’d done together. He was convinced that Omar was straight. Ricky didn’t want anything from him but friendship, and it had been going so well. Until this morning, when he’d been asked to change seats… to make room for Anthony. It’s not like he didn’t get it. They were best friends. Of course they wanted to sit together. But it also felt like he had been passed over, both by Omar and Cameron, in favor of Anthony Cullen. And really, what was so great about him? All he ever did was dye his hair and complain about music. Big deal! Anyone could do that. Ricky would come to school tomorrow with blue hair and tell everyone how lame Nirvana was. Maybe then he’d be Mr. Popular.

The class was filling up around him, bringing even more bad news. After a blissful week of absence, a lumbering form appeared in the doorway and began heading his way. Diego Gomez was back. And he looked like hell. Ricky stared, unable to help himself. Diego had a nasty bruise across one cheek, about three inches long and an inch wide. Smaller cuts and scrapes speckled his face. He looked like he’d gotten in a fight with a truck. And lost.

Diego noticed him staring and glared. Ricky quickly averted his gaze. Although he remained alert to his every movement, from the moment the chair groaned beneath the weight of Diego’s massive bulk, to the way he carelessly tossed his bookbag under the desk before stretching out his legs over it. Out of the corner of his eye, Ricky saw one of the beefy hands grip the edge of thedesk, like he intended to tear the top off. He always did that, for some reason. Although the red loop around the skin of his wrist was new. It looked like a friction burn but deeper.

The teacher hadn’t appeared yet, which only increased Ricky’s anxiety. Anything could happen without an adult around. He kept an eye on Diego as casually as possible, braced for the worst. His attention kept darting back to the weird burn mark. If you tied someone’s wrists together with rope and they fought against their bonds, that was what you’d expect to see. Was there an even bigger bully who had managed to give Diego a taste of his own medicine?

When the bell rang, Ricky used the opportunity to glance to his left, pretending to be interested in the clock on the wall. Diego’s bruised cheek was facing him, the skin around it paler than usual, as if he’d been in an accident and hadn’t recovered completely yet. Or maybe, while sick and weak, he had taken a tumble down the stairs. Although that wrist… Ricky could see the other just enough to be certain that it too was bruised or whatever. How did it relate to all the injuries on his face? Ricky’s attention darted to them. That’s when he noticed Diego staring back. Usually his copper eyes were filled with fury. Today was different, like the wounds he’d suffered went deeper than the flesh. There was something in his gaze that Ricky found relatable. Maybe that was why he was stupid enough to open his mouth and say, “Are you okay?”

Diego cocked an eyebrow. Then he turned his head toward the front of the room, as if no longer wanting to acknowledge his existence.

Join the club. Ricky sighed and started digging through his backpack.

“No.”

His hand froze in the middle of grabbing a notebook. It sounded like Diego had answered him, but when Ricky glanced up, those cinnamon eyes flicked away from him again.

“What happened?” he asked as he slowly, and carefully, sat upright.

No reply.

Ricky knew he shouldn’t prod the hornet nest, but his curiosity was too much to bear and he couldn’t help trying one last time. “Did you get in a fight?”

He saw a barely perceptible shake of Diego’s head. Words didn’t accompany this gesture.

“What happened to your wrists?” Ricky asked. “You look like someone tied you up.”

Diego huffed out his nostrils. Then he turned toward Ricky, which was all it took to make him flinch in response. Diego noticed, clenching his jaw a few times. Then he said, “It’s from handcuffs.Policehandcuffs. I don’t want to hear your gay-ass fantasies.”

Then he didn’t want to hear from Ricky at all. Not with that attitude. Their exchange only made him feel worse. Ricky slumped into his chair, relieved when the teacher finally did show up. She lectured them for ten minutes or so. Then she spoke the words that every high school student dreads.

“Pop quiz,” she said, handing stacks of papers to everyone seated in the front row. As these were passed back, she added, “Put away your books and take out a pencil. Let’s see how much of this has gotten through to you.”

Ricky did as she requested. The quiz was on the difference between formal and casual writing styles. That shouldn’t be hard. You didn’t start a letter to a potential employer with, “Hey dipshit, what’s up?” Then again, Diego might. Ricky snorted and glanced over at him without thinking. Diego noticed. As always. He had a lucrative future as a prison guard. If he didn’t end up as one of the inmates.

Diego crossed his thick arms over his chest, the leather jacket creaking. Ricky focused on the quiz like his life depended on it. He was three questions in when the teacher cleared her throat.

“This quiz is mandatory, Mr. Gomez. I know you’ve been absent. I’ll take that into consideration. Simply do the best you can.”

“I don’t have a pen,” Diego grunted.

The teacher sighed. “Somebody loan him one, please.”

Nobody moved. Not even to check if they had a spare. It was pathetic, and a little too familiar. Ricky knew how it felt, how the seconds could lengthen indefinitely while you waited to see if a single person would take pity on you. This was enough motivation for him to grab a spare pen from his backpack and extend it across the aisle. Diego met his eyes when taking the pen, but it was hard to read what was behind them. He didn’tsay “thanks” or anything. At the very least, hopefully it would make him forget about the unexplained snort.

Ricky focused on the quiz and the remainder of the class. When the bell finally rang, Diego wordlessly tossed the pen back to him. It landed on his desk with a clatter. Ricky took his time before leaving the room to give him a head start. He didn’t see Diego when walking down the hall. Not right away. Only when he was close to the cafeteria did he glance over and see—at the opposite side of the hall—that Diego was keeping pace with him like he often did. Except this time, instead of leering or saying something mean, he simply turned at the next corner and walked away.

— — —

Silvia was reading lyrics while listening to an album play over the store speakers when a customer walked in. She glanced up and felt genuine happiness that it was Omar. He didn’t come around as often as before, and never immediately after school. She glanced at the clock. It was half past seven, which meant that he’d probably finished eating dinner with his family already.

“Hey,” Omar said, flashing an uncertain smile. “How are things?”

“Good,” she said, noticing the small fishing rod and tackle box he carried. “What do you have there?”

“Oh.” Omar chuckled self-consciously and set the items on the counter. “My dad made me help reorganize the garage over the weekend.” He put a hand on the fishing rod. “This was mine, when I was a little older than Hugo, but I figure he’s already outgrown the kiddie version he has. I thought he might want it. I mean, I’m not using it anymore. Although I’m seriously tempted, but that’s even more reason to give it away. What would the guys at school say if they caught me Fisher-Price fishing?”