Crazy Love by Amir Abrams

I head to class. “I’ll see you at lunch, Zee. Jarrell, you might wanna get to class,” I warn. But he doesn’t take heed. Instead, he’s still going back and forth with Zahara. And the louder she gets, the more convinced I am that Jarrell’s telling the truth.
    I walk into class just as the bell rings. “Ah, Miss Nichols,” Mr. Croix says before I can even get in my seat. “Without opening your book, why don’t you tell us why the narrator in Invisible Man called himself ‘Jack-the-Bear’ in the prologue?”
    â€œ ’Cause he was in a state of hibernation,” I answer, setting my bag down on the floor next to me.
    â€œAh, yes . . .”
    Jarrell comes in late and wrong, tryna slip into his seat way in the back of the classroom. But even with his back to the classroom as he writes up on the chalkboard My hole is warm and full of light , Mr. Croix knows Jarrell’s late again. And today, he’s not having it.
    â€œYou’re late, Mister Mills.”
    â€œWell, what happened was, I was kidnapped by this crazy girl who looks like an orangutan,” Jarrell says. “She had me pinned up against a locker. Man, I think she thought I was a banana, ’cause she was tryna eat me.”
    The whole class starts laughing. Well, everyone except for me. I roll my eyes, shaking my head. Mr. Croix turns to face the class.
    â€œOkay, class, settle down. Mister Mills, now that you’ve escaped your orangutan adventure unscathed, how about you make your way up to the front of the class and tell us why the narrator in Invisible Man says his hole is ‘warm and full of light.’”
    â€œNow, hold up, Mister Croix,” Jarrell says. “I’m not into none of that kinky stuff. I dig the ladies, feel me? I don’t know why dude’s hole is warm and tight. I don’t get down like that.”
    The whole class roars with laughter.
    And I’m getting pissed because I really want to discuss the book. I jump up from my seat and turn to face the class. “Will y’all shut up!” I snap. “And, Jarrell, stop being such a jerk and answer the damn question. Geesh! And then you wonder why your dumb behind can’t keep a girl.”
    Everyone shuts up, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. But no one says anything. Not even Jarrell. Mr. Croix clears his throat. “Um, Miss Nichols, please take your seat.” I sit back down. “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, shouting in class is not acceptable. But thank you. And, Mister Mills, your inappropriate outburst has earned you two days’ detention.”
    Jarrell groans and tries to apologize.
    â€œThe hole,” I blurt out, “was the narrator’s home.”
    â€œThat is correct,” Mr. Croix says, sitting on the edge of his desk.
    Someone in the back says, “Teacher’s pet.” The class starts laughing again. But I let that dumbness go over my head.
    Mr. Croix folds his arms. “If I hear another outburst from anyone in that back row, you will all get detention. Do I make myself clear?”
    â€œYes, sir,” they say, grumbling.
    â€œNow, let’s try this again. Mister Mills, come up here”—he points to an empty chair next to me—“and take a seat.”
    I suck my teeth. Mr. Croix ignores me. He waits for Jarrell to shuffle himself up to the front of the class, then plop into the seat.
    â€œGreat,” Mr. Croix continues. “Now I want you to tell us why the narrator says his hole is warm and . . . not tight . But full of light . And let me warn you, young man”—he narrows his eyes at Jarrell—“if you dare say anything other than what pertains to this book, I will fail you for the marking period. Do you understand?”
    Jarrell nods, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded tight across his chest. “Yeah, I got you.” Mr. Croix gives him another stern look.