Ship of Souls

takes a swig from his bottle of Gatorade and looks over my head to the opposite side of the street.
    As I turn to go, I let my eyes roam along the block. On the other side of the street I see Nyla with one of the skater kids. She’s watching us.
    “There’s your girl,” I tell Keem, but then I look at his face and realize he already knows she’s there. That’s probably why he helped me—to impress a girl. Not because he wants to be my friend.
    Keem’s trying to act cool, but I can tell he’s feeling hectic inside. He doesn’t know whether he should keep up the tough-guy routine or try being nice to me. Keem opts for the second option and puts his arm around my shoulder.
    “Come on. I’ll walk you home.” Keem shepherds me down the block like I’m his little brother or something. I glance across the street and see Nyla smiling at me. For some reason I feel bold enough to wave and smile back. For just an instant, Nyla flicks her eyes at Keem. Then she turns and walks off in the opposite direction. Keem waits until we reach the end of the block and turn the corner, then he takes back his arm. He exhales loudly like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. I think he’s going to say something about Nyla, but instead his voice turns gruff and Keem says, “You got to learn to stand up for yourself, D.”
    The anger in my voice surprises me more than Keem. “That’s easy for you to say—you look like a model, you’re built like a giant, and kids at school worship the ground you walk on!”
    “Yeah—when they’re not calling me a terrorist behind my back. Think I don’t know what they say about me as soon as I step off the court? Or what it means when they sit up in the stands and tell me to ‘blow up’ the competition? We all got our battles, D. We all got to fight for respect.”
    Before I can think of anything to say, Keem mutters, “Later,” and heads down the block. I sink onto the stoop and eat my cold pizza alone.

5.
    G irls don’t notice me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice them. And most of the girls I notice may be out of my league, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming. I’ve always been an overachiever, so why shouldn’t I set my sights on an eighth-grade girl?
    Nyla’s like a beautiful sculpture made of onyx and silver. She wears skintight clothes—mostly black—with strategically placed holes held together by safety pins. And boots—army boots. She came to school one day with a full head of hair; the next day, the sides and back of her head were shaved, leaving a silky horse’s mane on top. Nyla flipped it to the side so a curtain of black hair fell over her right eye. Next day the mane was cropped short, spiked, and streaked with red. I can’t even count all the piercings Nyla’s got. Rings loop up the outside of her ears, and huge black plugs fill her earlobes. She’s got both eyebrows pierced, a diamond stud in her nose, and a silver ball that rests under her lower lip. I think her tongue might be pierced, too, but I’m not sure ’cause Nyla’s never talked to me.
    One day this creep slipped his arm around her waist as she walked down the hall, and Nyla threw him against the lockers and cursed him out: “ Nimm deine dreckigen Hände von mir, du verdammter Scheißkerl !”
    That’s right—Nyla cursed him out in German . He’s lucky she didn’t slug him—with all those silver rings on her fingers, she’d have left a serious dent in that pretty-boy’s face. Nobody messes with Nyla. She’s beautiful, but she’s fierce .
    On Wednesday I come out of the lunch line with my tray of crappy food, and Nyla smiles at me. That’s right—at me . I smile back, and then Nyla nods at the empty stretch of bench to her left. To her right is a loud group of misfits, all of whom are acting like they belong in the same galaxy as Nyla. At first I think it must be a mistake—is Nyla really inviting me to sit next to her, or is she just stretching her neck? I don’t want to look like a total reject, but Nyla’s eyes are locked on mine and her smile grows wider as I start walking over to her table.
    “Hey, D. Grab a seat,” she says.
    Nyla knows my name? I’m smiling like an idiot, but I can’t help myself. I also can’t think of anything cool to say. I take a seat next to Nyla and try to look at the other kids she’s hanging with. Regine’s a track star. Melvin rules at chess. A couple of kids are in the drama club, and the others—combined—have