Free Romiette and Julio by Sharon M. Draper Page A

seeing him, talking to him, being with him. I think about him when we’re not together and wonder what he’s doing. This is not like me, and I don’t even mind.
    All through my morning classes I found myself thinking about that stupid surprise he talked about. When I got to lunch, I found on the table a small stuffed lion. It was furry and soft and the color of caramel pudding. I looked at him hesitantly and smiled.
    “For you,” he said simply. “Keep it close to you, and think of me when you touch it.” He looked suddenly embarrassed and pretended to be fixing the bright orange bow around the neck of the little lion. I’d never been given a gift that was so thoughtful and wonderful. I felt all shy and embarrassed again, like my thoughts were naked or something.
    “I love it,” I said quietly, hugging the little lion close to me. “I’m going to call him Pudding.”
    He said, “Keep him in your book bag, and when you reach in to get a notebook, or lunch money, or a peppermint, I’ll be there with you.” How did he manage to make a stupid piece of golden fuzz seem like a million-carat diamond?
    I wanted to give him something then—something to show I was interested, but not too personal. I dug down in my book bag and came up with my little gold key chain. It had my initials—RRC—engraved on it. I got it for my birthday last year. I wanted him to have it. I told him as I gave it to him, “Hang on to this until I get some car keys, OK?” He rubbed it shiny with the tail of his T-shirt, hooked it onto a loop of his jeans, and said he’d be glad to be “the keeper of my keys.” Somehow he made that sound sexy.
    We sat there grinning at each other, ignoring the rest of the cafeteria, the rest of the school, the rest of the world. Then the trouble started. Halfway through lunch Rashad and Terrell, two dudes who hang with the gangbangers, stopped by our table. I remember both of them from kindergarten—they used to be silly and sweet, but they scare me now. It’s like they’re angry all the time. They walk around the halls with matching purple jackets and frowns. They never do homework, but even the teachers seem a little scared and don’t bother them about it. I’m not sure if they’re in the gang, because nobody comes out and says so, especially to somebody like me, but they all hang together on the corner by the bus stop after school. They take kids’ bus money and sometimes even push kids around or knock them down.
    Anyway, they stopped at our table and just stared at us. They didn’t say anything. They just looked. Julio glanced at them, started to say something, but changed his mind and decided to ignore them. They left after a few minutes, but they looked real hard at me, as if to give me some unspoken message. They left a chill behind them.
    The silly, friendly mood of our lunch conversation had been ruined. We finished quickly and promised to write tonight on E-mail. Neither one of us said much. It’s hard to know what to be afraid of when you don’t even know what the threat is.

19.
Julio and Ben
    The final bell rang. All the band equipment was put away, and Julio and Ben headed out to catch their bus. Julio stopped by his locker to get his history book, and Ben, hair buttercup yellow today, put his history book away.
    “Don’t you ever do homework, Ben?” Julio asked as he tossed his book into his bag.
    “Not if I can help it, man. Homework goes against everything I believe in, like freedom and independence. How am I going to start a revolution like Sam Adams and his boys did back in 1776 if I don’t practice now?”
    “But you get good grades anyway,” Julio noted in admiration.
    “Ah, my friend who needs his nose pierced, I read all the time—much more than the teacher assigns. I go to the library and I get so involved with the stories and the lives of the people in the history book that I end up knowing enough to teach the class. But I’d never tell the teacher. He thinks