At Sojo High, I’m no longer the boy whose brother went missing. I’m now the boy whose brother got himself killed. I have to tell way too many people that Tyler did not get himself killed for holding drugs for someone or for whatever the fuck they think, and that he was brutalized and killed by a cop—not because Tyler was doing anything wrong, but because the officer saw my brother as a threat just because of the color of his skin. I don’t know what was going through the cop’s head. But I sure as hell know that Tyler was just trying to go home.

Ms. Tanner finds me in the hallway and tells me that the principal wants to see me in his office. She makes her next class wait just so she can escort me down. Man, this is some whack shit. I don’t feel like talking to anybody, but especially not Dickface Dodson.

On the way, she says in her usual sweet tone, “If you ever need anything, remember that I’m here.” She continues with a small, bittersweet smile, telling me that she hates how the world fuels so much hatred; she hates how she can’t do anything to bring Tyler back to me.

I shrug my shoulders. She has these big eyes that are filled with sympathy. And it makes me feel some type of way, like she’s saying these things only to feel better about herself, as if she’s trying to show me that she’s not a racist, unlike Tyler’s killer. I don’t really want to hear it right now, but I don’t want to be shitty either.

So I nod and shrug again. “Thanks, Ms. Tanner.”

She folds her hands in front of her once we stop at Principal Dodson’s door.

I hear him talking to someone. I can see two shadows through the matte window.

I knock twice on the door.

Dodson’s muffled voice groans, “Come in.”

I look back as Ms. Tanner walks to her room, heels clicking down the long hallway, and I breathe out. I wish more teachers were as kind as her.

My stomach suddenly ties in knots, and I open the door. I see Principal Dodson standing over his desk and the MIT interviewer sitting in a chair on the other side of his office.

“Mr. Johnson, come in,” both of them say in different tones. I can hear the excitement in Mr. Ross’s voice and the dread in Dodson’s.

I take a seat, and everything spins.

“We’ll make this quick, since you have class,” Principal Dodson says while exhaling, his eye twitching. “A Sojo High education is a very precious one.”

And I really want to grunt something sarcastic back, but the interviewer clears his throat and extends his hand for me to shake.

“Great to see you again, Mr. Johnson,” he says.

“You too,” I reply, shaking his sweaty, warm hand.

“Mr. Ross from MIT is here to check in on your application, and to see if you still have interest in MIT.”

“You’re a very popular young man these days,” Mr. Ross says. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Marvin.”

It hurts. I don’t want to be popular—not for the reasons I am. “Thank you, Mr. Ross.”

“There’re quite a few people at MIT who would like to have you strongly considered, given your background, your twin brother’s tragedy—and your excellent test scores. It’s all a great story. It’s almost… symbolic, wouldn’t you say?”

I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about. “Yeah. Sure. Symbolic.”

Mr. Dodson sits and leans forward. “But I was just explaining to Mr. Ross that you no longer have interest in attending MIT—isn’t that right? Especially after your involvement with Mr. Johntae Smith’s party.” Principal Dodson stares coldly, like he’ll hurt me—or worse, murder me—if I don’t agree with him.

I turn away from him to face Mr. Ross. “I’m still interested, sir.” And then a lie slips in: “I had no involvement, sir—I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, and my application is coming right along.”

Mr. Ross perks up and puts his files back in his attaché case. “Excellent, that’s all I wanted to hear. You don’t seem to respond to e-mails.” He sort of laughs, adjusting his blazer.

“Yeah,” I lie, “broken computer, and my neighborhood barely gets Internet access.” I’ve seen the e-mails—I just haven’t been able to get myself to respond.

“I do understand, Mr. Johnson,” he says, beaming.

I catch Dodson rolling his eyes.

I’m not in Dodson’s office for long. Mr. Ross gives me his business card and an MIT pen, and I leave after the late bell rings.

I walk into the Lion’s Den, ignoring the stares that follow me, and stop at my usual lunch table with G-mo and Ivy.

“You missed it,” G-mo says to me, putting down his hot dog drenched in ketchup and mayo. “There was just another fight that broke out. Some freshman beat up Lance Anderson. He got dragged out of here with a bloody nose. Yo, it was awesome!”

Ivy laughs. “That’s what his ass get, too.”

She pulls up a chair for me, and I sit down.

“Him getting kicked in the balls by a freshman was my favorite thing ever,” G-mo says through a mouthful. “That’s probably the highlight of this school year for everybody, yo. Shit, I would’ve done it myself.”

“You don’t have the balls,” Ivy says, tossing grapes in her mouth.

“Yo, I have great balls. My balls hang like they don’t have a curfew,” G-mo answers.

Ivy play-punches him while laughing.

I shake my head and look around. I honestly would’ve loved to see Lance Anderson get his racist ass kicked. I would love watching that video over and over again, rather than Tyler getting shot. Three times.

“You okay?” Ivy asks me. “You’re pretty quiet. I mean, rightfully so, but—”

“I’m a’ight,” I lie.

“You sure you a’ight?” Ivy presses. “I told you you don’t need to lie to us.” She opens up a bag of Sour Patch Kids and offers me some. I reach in and grab a few, making sure I don’t take any yellow ones.

“Yeah, is there anything we can do?” G-mo adds.

I look up and they’ve got these concerned looks on their faces, and G-mo completely stops chewing. But before I can say anything, my phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and see an e-mail. An e-mail from Albert Sharp. Instantly, my heart is beating fast and my hands are starting to shake.

I read the e-mail out loud, my eyes wide.

I gasp.

And a quick grin appears on my face, and then fades.

I open the attachment and see that we’re going to have a protest on the entire block by Sojo High, and it’s on the same day as Lance’s protest in defense of the cop because he got arrested for what he did. It’s about a month away. After the hearing.

“We gotta protest. We gotta protest for Tyler,” I say. I’m so glad Mr. Sharp is willing to help us I could cry.

Ivy lets out a breath and nods, twisting her Nautica hat backward.

I squeeze my hands into my pockets and try to slow down my heart, but it doesn’t seem to work. I’m so mad that I feel this weak.