Jumped In by Patrick Flores-Scott

working.
    Because she never stops coming back at us.
    Questioning.
    Confirming.
    Lecturing.
    Heckling.
    Taunting.
    It’s like we’re the only kids in the class. Every stinking question. Every new idea. Every chance she gets, it’s Luisandsam, what do you think? She’s relentless. If either of us gives a half-thought-out answer, she badgers us until we make it whole.
    Every day the same thing.
    She has us figured out and she knows it.
    I hate her.
    And I’m not about to forget whose fault this is.

Poetry Unit: THE NONET
            
Name       Luis          
 
            
Date   /  /
    Esteemed Poets of Room 108,
    More rules-driven poetry. “Ah, man!” I hear ya! Quit yer whinin’! This is fun, people. Here’s the deal: If you’re feeling a little bored with your poetry, and you need a little creative pick-me-up, try out this nine-line poem called the nonet ! The nonet has nine syllables in the first line. Each line that follows has one fewer syllable, until you get to the final line, which has only one. It may or may not rhyme. That’s up to you. Go crazy, kids! Try one out right now!
    Sincerely,
    Ms. Cassidy
----
    9    Cannot think straight right now, Cassidy
    8    You got my head spinning crazy
    7    This is new territory
    6    Could you back off a bit?
    5    I just need to breathe
    4    Get used to this
    3    Attention
    2    On me,
    1    Please?

 
    UNAFFILIATED
    I ’M SITTING ON THE M ETRO BUS , TALKING TO C ARLOS FUCKING D ÍAZ .
    No, Carlos is doing all the talking.
    It’s what I get for not walking home.
    This bus goes way down to main street Des Moines, down by the water. It takes me home the long way. Takes forever. I just wanted to stay dry on a piss rainy day, that’s all. Just wanted a change of scenery.
    But what I got was Carlos planting his ass next to me. And as usual, he’s got Luis on his mind.
    And just like everyone else, he acts like Luis and I are buds.
    I tell him we’re not.
    He doesn’t listen. He just goes off, agitated, real concerned-sounding. Like he’s searching for answers. He tells me all this shit about how Luis’s dad got shot in a drive-by when Luis was little. He says Luis’s brother, Rubén, got jumped in not long after that and he’s been in and out of juvie and real jail ever since. And he’s probably killed a few guys.
    Carlos stops talking and looks at raindrops running down the window. “It’s why I can’t figure this shit out. Those old-school dudes and his brother and cousins got Luis surrounded three sixty. Nobody really wants in the life, but man, it’s in the air you breathe. It’s in the water you drink. If you try to escape it … it’s like fighting gravity. You can’t do it. The force is too strong.”
    He looks at me as if I might have something to say about all this.
    I don’t have a fucking clue.
    â€œNobody seen Luis runnin’ with nobody. Everybody got their eye on him, but nobody even knows if he got jumped in yet. Nobody knows if he’s affiliated. And he don’t talk to nobody, so…”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means if he ain’t affiliated, dude has got to get it done. Callado’s a player from player blood. Everybody wants a piece of him. So if Flaco ain’t got him runnin’ with Sixteenth Street by now, then Deacons, Mafia, MS13, whatever … they all gonna come after him. And when they claim him or jump him in, who knows what insane shit Flaco gonna pull?”
    Carlos looks at me like a life depends on what he’s about to say. “I ain’t gonna be in school for a couple days. You tell Luis I got his back. Tell him if he knows what’s good, he