Ship of Souls

almost as many piercings as Nyla. As soon as Nyla opens her mouth, they all quiet down and wait to hear what she’s going to say. “Hey, everybody—this is D.”
    The other kids turn and look at me. Some smile, some nod, some say, “Hey,” and one girl with blue extension braids gives me a salute. Then a seventh-grader with the biggest Afro I’ve ever seen points at me and says, “Hey—I know you.”
    I shove at least half my corn dog into my mouth so I don’t have to say anything. I’m pretty sure that sitting next to Nyla doesn’t earn me automatic immunity from insults.
    “You’re in the math club,” he says. When I nod, he goes on. “My sister says you’re, like, some kind of kid genius—a total math freak!”
    I look down at the carton of milk and bowl of canned pineapple on my tray. Aside from Nyla, these kids aren’t exactly what I would call “cool.” But they clearly know and like one another—they’re friends. Which puts me on the outside. I brace myself for the usual nerd jokes.
    Then Nyla slips her arm around my shoulder. “A math freak, huh? Then it’s official—you’re one of us, D.”
    I smile at Nyla, but I’m not really sure how to feel. Should I be proud that I belong with a bunch of self-proclaimed freaks? Or should I try to salvage whatever social reputation I have by getting up and sitting somewhere else—even if that means eating alone? I finally decide that I’d rather be seen with the wrong kind of kids than be totally invisible.
    “So,” Nyla says, “what else are you into besides math?”
    My mind races as I try to think of something to say that will make me look mature and cool enough to be interesting to an eighth-grade girl. It’s hard to focus on anything besides my discovery that Nyla has dimples that only show when she smiles. Finally I settle for a lame but true answer. “I like birds. There are two hundred species in Prospect Park.”
    I know how lame that sounds, but Nyla just nods and says, “Last of the dinosaurs, right? Maybe I can tag along the next time you go bird-watching.”
    Before I can tell Nyla that she can tag along ANYTIME, a skinny kid wearing preppy clothes suddenly whispers, “Hottie alert!” and everyone at the table quiets down. I’m so busy looking around for a cute girl that I don’t notice Keem’s heading over to our table.
    “Hey, D. What’s up?”
    I nearly choke on a chunk of pineapple but manage to cover my mouth before a piece of half-chewed fruit flies out and lands on Keem’s new kicks. I feel like I must be dreaming—two of the most popular kids in school talking to me on the same day! “Not much,” I stammer nervously. “Just having lunch.”
    Keem stands there awkwardly. He glances at Nyla, but she’s flicking a bottle cap along the tabletop. The girl with the blue braids watches the cap zoom right off the end of the table and yells, “SCORE!”
    Keem finally gives up on trying to make Nyla notice him. “See you tomorrow, then. Four o’clock, right?”
    “Right. I’ll meet you in front of the library,” I say.
    Keem nods, glances at Nyla one last time, and then walks away. Crushed.
    I turn to Nyla and find her watching Keem’s back. “Friend of yours?” she asks with her eyes still glued on Keem.
    “Tutee,” I say before cramming all the remaining pineapple into my mouth. I don’t want to talk about Keem.
    The kid with the giant Afro says, “Two tea? What’s that mean?”
    It takes me a few seconds to stop chewing. “I’m tutoring him in math. I’m his tutor, he’s my tutee.”
    Afro-kid nods like he’s impressed. “What’d I tell you? The kid’s a math genius.”
    A skinny kid cradling a skateboard says, “Yeah—and look what they make him do: teach the dumb jocks how to count to ten!”
    “Keem’s not dumb.” I’m not sure why I said that, but it’s too late to take it back now.
    Nyla turns to the skater kid. “What’s the Freak’s Golden Rule, Jamal?”
    He drops his eyes and mumbles, “Don’t be a prick.” Then he looks at me and says, “Sorry I dissed your friend, D.”
    I’m about to say, “Keem’s not my friend,” when a girl with a shaved head and a bolt through her nose says, “My brother plays ball in the park with Keem. He gets mad respect—on and off the court.”
    The girl with blue braids looks straight at Nyla and says, “He also gets any girl he wants.”
    Nyla sucks her teeth, but her eyes find Keem sitting with the other jocks on the far side