Watching Gary’s eyes coast over my handwriting
was like watching a teacher grade your test
right in front of you.
I replayed my words in my head,
remembered them as if I was not the author.
But I could not force objectivity upon my own work.
He looked up from the page and said,
“So the guys who wrote this…
are in a gang?”
I nodded. “That’s what it sounds like.”
“You going to do anything about it?”
he asked, handing me the paper.
I shrugged. “What can I do?
I’m just a sophomore.”
Gary watched me for a long time.