Jumped In by Patrick Flores-Scott Page A

gonna get his shit rollin’.”
    I don’t know what to say.
    â€œYou on that for me?” He reaches up and pulls the cord for the driver to stop.
    Carlos mistakes my shaking for a yes. “You okay, you know that?” He holds his fist out for a pound.
    The bus comes to a stop and the driver yells, “Hey kid, this your stop, right?”
    I want this to be over, so I pound him.
    He takes off and I just sit there with my head on the window. I’m shaking like a jackhammer, wondering what Carlos’s deal is. Wondering about Luis. Wondering what the hell is going on.

 
    THREE WORDS
    B ACK IN C ASSIDY’S CLASS .
    I glance over at Luis.
    He’s looking straight ahead. Ready to take on whatever Cassidy is about to dish out.
    I don’t say hey to him.
    I think about his psychotic smirking the other day. I think about everything Carlos said about Luis. And what he told me to say to him.
    This is Luis ’s life. These are his choices. This is his deal. If people start coming after him, like Carlos said they would? That’s on him.
    I have nothing to do with it.
    So I’m sticking to my plan. I’m not gonna say a word.
    I turn toward Cassidy and sit up to show her I’m paying attention.
    She says, “Listen up, y’alls. This is big. Poetry is written to be performed, so on March 8—three Fridays from now—we’ll be turning the classroom into a bohemian café, and everyone— Do you hear this, Luisandsam?—everyone will be performing their brilliant work in the class poetry slam.”
    Does she seriously think we’d write a stupid poem for her?
    I feel a tap on my shoulder.
    It’s Luis.
    He hands me a tiny scrap of paper with writing on it.
    It says We’re doing this.
    I look at him.
    He doesn’t look back. He stays in position.
    I look at the note again.
    We’re doing this?
    We’re, as in we’re both doing this separately? Or we’re, as in we’re doing this together? I look at him again. He nods in a way that says he wants to do this project with me.
    I’m getting sick. I’m boiling over.
    We’re doing this?
    I’m not doing this.
    If I could speak right now, I’d tell Luis, You scare the shit out of me. There is no fucking way. Why aren’t you a normal gangbanger—the kind that wouldn’t be caught dead doing a fucking poetry slam? Why do you think I’d speak in front of this class? I hate these people. I can’t stand Cassidy. And what about all that shit McClean and Carlos say about you? What would make you think I’d want anything to do with you?
    The bell rings. I fly out of there.
    I puke in the nurse’s office and she sends me home.

 
    BIG FAT STUPID JOKE
    I T’S M ONDAY . I have a plan. I’m gonna go to school. I’m gonna hold my shit together and not show Luis my fear. I’ll tell him thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be firm, but polite. And that will be the end of that.
    The second I see him in class, I get a new plan. Ignore Luis and hope the whole thing goes away.
    When I sit, he says hey. But he doesn’t say one word about the slam.
    Tuesday, I come to class shaking. I know this is it. He’s gonna say something.
    Nothing.
    Wednesday.
    He says hey again, just like any other day. No mention of poetry.
    Thursday.
    Nothing.
    I finally figure out what that note from Luis had been: a joke.
    Luis’s idea of a joke.
    I’m a dumbass for ever thinking he’d want to do anything in school, let alone recite some fairy poetry.
    I’m relieved as hell.
    I quit worrying about getting shot in a drive-by … or worse, having McClean call my grandparents.
    Thank God.

 
    THE ONLY WAY
    F RIDAY I HEAD TO CLASS knowing I can forget about Luis’s we’re doing this bullshit and focus on bracing myself against Cassidy and her Luisandsam crap.
    I take my seat. He’s already there, in statue mode.
    He gives the classroom