As we pulled out of the driveway, Dad waved
goodbye. I could picture the smile on his face once he
walked into the house and noticed Mom was cooking
lasagna.
“So, how is the public-school life at Eastview High?”
I asked Ricardo. “Other than Chester beating your guys
in sports.”
Our Friendship Matters Kimberley B. Jones
“Ya’ll just have better resources than us,” Ricardo
said.
“How come we couldn’t just be good at what we
do?”
“What! Anyway . . . Eastview is great, I guess, but
we are dealing with some issues. It’s our senior year and
I am just thinking about leaving this place.”
“Why would you want to leave?”
“Because I feel trapped in a box. Everywhere I go, I
feel like a suspect.”
“A suspect, what makes you think that? You
shouldn’t feel like that,” I said as my brow lifted from
his response.
“Yeah, I know you wouldn’t understand because you
go to this perfect private school and stay in this big,
beautiful house.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m sorry. Just drop me off at the next block. I got it
from there.”
I pulled to the curb and, as Ricardo got out of the car,
he leaned against the closed door—with half his body
leaning over the window—and said, “Wake up and find
out who you really are.”
I squinted my eyes, “Okay.” I drove off. Why would
he say such a thing to me?
