Which I’d argue is just a fundamental misunderstanding of the human predicament, but okay.
I parked in the student parking lot, parted ways with Mom, and then lined up to walk through the metal detectors.
Once declared weapon-free, I joined the flow of bodies filling the hallways like blood cells in a vein.
I made it to my locker a few minutes early and took a second to look up the reporter Daisy had phished, Adam Bitterley.
He’d shared a link that morning to a new story he’d written about a school board voting to ban some book,
so I guessed he hadn’t been fired. Daisy was right—nothing happened.
I was about to head toward class when Mychal jogged up to my locker and pulled me over to a bench.
“How’s it going, Aza?” “Good,” I said. I was thinking about how part of your self can be in a place
while at the same time the most important parts are in a different place, a place that can’t be accessed via your senses.
Like, how I’d driven all the way to school without really being inside the car.
I was trying to look at Mychal, trying to hear the clamor of the hallway, but I wasn’t there, not really, not deep down.
“Um,” he said. “So, listen, I don’t want to mess up our friend group, because it’s really great,
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