Free Ghost by Jason Reynolds

she laughs, everybody laughs. Imagine the sound a car makes when it’s trying to start, but can’t. Now, speed that sound up, and crank the volume high enough to blow out the windows in heaven. That’s Shamika’s laugh.
    â€œWhat’s so funny, Shamika?” Mr. Hollow, the social studies teacher, asked, unamused. “Would you care to share it with the rest of the class?”
    And that’s pretty much when I started to panic. When I had that doctor moment I was talking about, when they cut somebody’s arm off and then realize it was a bad idea—my shoes equaled that arm. And now Mr. Hollow was basically asking to see my surgical screwup. Oh. No. Please, Shamika. Don’t share it with the class. Don’t share it with the class!
    Shamika couldn’t get herself together long enough to even speak, so instead she just pointed at my feet. And that was all it took for like sixty other eyeballs, including Mr. Hollow’s, to laser beam me and my sneakers. I tried to cross my legs, then stuck my feet farther under the seat, then pull my pant legs down, but then my butt was out. There was nowhere tohide, and the next few seconds, with the whole class howling, felt a gazillion times worse than Brandon’s stupid jokes about my mom.
    Mr. Hollow finally shut it all down and went on about Alexander the Great, while I, Ghost the Worst, stared at the pages in my textbook, the stupid black words on the stupid white page all blurring together as solid black lines. I was literally shaking with embarrassment, like my insides had turned into ice. Ice that was cracking.
    I wanted to break the desk.
    Or flip it over.
    Scream. Something. Anything.
    Miraculously, the lunch bell rang. Everybody poured into the hallway, moving toward the cafeteria, some still talking about me, others playing and joking, slapping heads, jumping on backs, getting Mr. Baskin, the school security guard, all mad as usual, forcing him to leave his post to deal with the craziness. And knowing that Baskin wasn’t where he was supposed be, once I finally got to the double doors of the lunchroom, a lunchroom I felt was waiting to eat me , I just kept walking—more like a sore walk-run—straight out the front door of the school.
    I had never skipped class before. Never. I mean, Ihad my fair share of school problems, but I was never bold enough to just not go. And I definitely didn’t have the guts to walk out in the middle of the day. But now I didn’t have a choice. I had to get out of there.
    Once I was outside, I broke out in a full-on run. I mean, I straight-up jetted, and because I was so scared of getting caught, I couldn’t even feel the pain in my legs anymore. Adrenaline overload. I ran and ran, until I was far enough away from the school to not get caught. I turned down a busy street with a whole bunch of stores on it, just because it seemed like the easiest place to blend in. I almost went into a wig shop, just because I figured I might be able to grab a disguise. I mean, a wig would definitely do it. But . . . nah. Then there was the fish market. I looked in the window. Three short guys took huge fish—big like they were baby sharks or something—and hacked the heads off with giant knives. WHAM! That was wild, but somehow I could relate to the fish. Actually, I could kinda relate to the men chopping the heads off the fish, too. Then I came to a sporting goods store. That’s when the best idea ever popped into my head.
    â€œWelcome to Everything Sports,” a lady greeted me at the door. Her name tag said TIA . She was wearing sweatpants and a basketball jersey with the store’sname on the front. She didn’t really look like she played sports, though. Patty looked like an athlete, but this girl . . . not so much. I mean, she had on makeup and had her hair all done. “Let me know if you need some help finding anything,” she said.
    â€œUm,” I