Free Black Boy White School by Brian F. Walker Page B

to you?”
    Brody didn’t answer but kept walking. Anthony followed him to their room and closed the door. “Seriously, man. What happened?”
    â€œGuess?” Brody emptied his backpack, dumped the soggy papers into the garbage can, and put his open books facedown on the radiator. He peeled off his clothes and threw them into the corner. Stink rose from the pile like swamp gas. “I fucking hate this place, dude.” He put on dry clothes and sat at his desk, staring straight ahead.
    â€œHow’d they get you?”
    â€œOn my way from the library. I walked into it like an idiot.”
    â€œWas that big kid with the ponytail there? Seth McCarthy?”
    â€œOh, yeah,” Brody said hatefully. “Zach, too. They carried us past Mr. Voght and the old bastard made a joke about it.” He went to the mirror and parted his hair. “Hit my head on a rock or something.”
    Anthony looked at him. “You just said us. Did they get somebody else, too?”
    Brody nodded and sat down again. “Khalik. And he was screaming like a baby.”
    Anthony took off. Seconds later he was down the hall and in front of Mr. Hawley’s apartment, pressing the buzzer. The door opened and the man stuck out his head. “Can I help you?”
    â€œWe gotta talk,” Anthony said. “Right now.”
    Mr. Hawley stepped aside, and Anthony stormed past him, slapped the kitchen table hard, and paced the room. “Somebody better do something.”
    Looking stunned, Mr. Hawley shut the door and leaned against it. “What’s going on?”
    â€œFreshman Brook. That’s what’s going on. You better stop these people before I do.” He told Hawley what had happened, making sure to mention his roommate’s head and the fact that a few kids had been thrown in twice.
    â€œTwice?” Hawley seemed more surprised than upset. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
    â€œYou think it’s funny, huh?” Anthony said. “It figures.”
    â€œNot funny, Tony, but come on. Nobody got hurt, right?”
    â€œWhat about Brody’s head? That’s not hurt enough for you?”
    Hawley pressed his lips together. “Okay, you’re right. But come on, Tony. You know what I mean.”
    â€œNo, I don’t. And stop calling me Tony. That’s not my damn name!”
    Mr. Hawley’s mouth snapped shut, and all the fun left his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, Anthony, okay? But if you ever speak to me that way again, I’ll have to take disciplinary action.”
    â€œWhy? ’Cause it’s in the handbook, right? Just like this is supposed to be a smoke-free campus, but then you tell people where they can have cigarettes. Why don’t you take some ‘disciplinary action’ with those fools doing the hazing, instead of threatening me?”
    â€œI’m not threatening you.”
    â€œAnd you ain’t threatening McCarthy, either,” Anthony said. “That’s okay, let one of them put his hands on me.”
    Hawley sighed and pinched his temples. “You can’t fight here, Anthony. We take that very seriously.”
    â€œNo, you don’t, ’cause if you did there wouldn’t be people getting thrown in brooks and getting their heads dunked in toilets.”
    Hawley smiled again, but it faded quickly. “That’s not fighting, Anthony, that’s hazing. You know, just older kids giving the young ones a little grief. . . . Look, I know it sucks, but Freshman Brook is a tradition. Hell, I got thrown in when I went to school here. I was pissed for a while, too. But the next three years, I more than made up for what happened to me. You’ll get your turn.”
    â€œSo you’re not gonna do anything? And that fat punk of a proctor, you’re not gonna do anything about him, either?”
    â€œI wouldn’t put it like that. Jesus, Anthony,