“What the hell, man? You tryna hit me?”

“Get in the damn car, Jus!”

Justyce clenches his jaw.

“Dawg, if you care anything about this friendship, you will get your punk ass in the car right now.”

Manny looks at Jus.

Jus looks at Manny.

Manny reaches over and opens the passenger door.

Jus turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction.

January 19

DEAR MARTIN,

You know, I don’t get how you did it. Just being straight up. Every day I walk through the halls of that elitist-ass school, I feel like I don’t belong there, and every time Jared or one of them opens their damn mouth, I’m reminded they agree. Every time I turn on the news and see another black person gunned down, I’m reminded that people look at me and see a threat instead of a human being.

There was some white dude on TV after the Tavarrius Jenkins thing broke talking about how cases like his and Shemar Carson’s “deflect from the issue of black-on-black crime,” but how are black people supposed to know how to treat each other with respect when since we were brought over here, we’ve been told we’re not respectable?

What the hell are we supposed to do, Martin? What am I supposed to do? Be like Manny and act like there’s nothing wrong with a white dude asking his “niggas” to help him exploit a black girl? Do I just take what they dish out, try to stop being “so sensitive”? What do I do when my very identity is being mocked by people who refuse to admit there’s a problem?

I know I did the wrong thing tonight, but right now I can’t find it in me to be remorseful. Those assholes can’t seem to care about being offensive, so why should I give a damn about being agreeable?

I gotta say: I’ve been reading your sermons and studying your books for six months now, and it feels like all I have to show for it is frustration and a sense of defeat. I swear I heard some girl ask “Why are black people so angry all the time?” as I left Blake’s house, but how else am I supposed to feel?

My hand hurts. I’m going to bed.

—JM

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Justyce rolls over onto his back and gropes around for his cell phone. Squints at the glaringly bright screen. Seventeen missed calls, four voice mails, and nine text messages from a combo of Manny, Mama, and Melo.

More knocking, then: “Jus? You in there?”

He groans. “Justyce McAllister is unavailable, please leave a message.”

“It’s Dr. Dray, man. Open up.”

Doc?

Justyce sits up too fast and his forehead smacks against something hard. “Oww!” he shouts.

“Jus, you all right?”

“Door’s open,” he says. Before his head clears enough for him to figure out where he is and how he got here, Doc is squatting near his feet. “Rough night?”

The underside of his mahogany desk swims into focus.

So does the realization that his pants are around his shins.

“Oh shit!” He scrambles from beneath the desk and stands to pull them up, but his head throbs so intensely, he stumbles.

“Whoa there.” Doc positions the desk chair behind him. “Have a seat.”

Once he does, Doc pulls a bottle of Gatorade from his bag and passes it to Jus. “Drink,” he says. “All of it. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

Jus turns the bottle up. “What time is it?” he asks between swigs.

“According to that clock beside you, it’s eleven-eleven.” Doc smiles. “Make a wish. Or do kids not do that these days? I can’t keep up with y’all.”

Justyce peers around the room. There’s sunlight streaming through the pieces of tissue paper Braselton Preparatory Academy calls curtains. The thought of it makes his head throb again.

He also needs to throw up. “Uhh…’Scuse me,” he says, falling out of the chair in the direction of the bathroom.

There goes the Gatorade.

He flushes, splashes some cold water on his face, and takes a good look in the mirror.

That’s when it hits him: Doc just found me under the desk in my dorm room with my pants down.

Is he dreaming?

“Uhh…Doc? You still there?”

“Yep.”

Jus gulps. “You, umm…got any plans for this fine Saturday?”

“Come on out here, Jus.”

Dang it. “Do I have to?”

“No. But it’d definitely be in your best interests.”

Jus takes himself in one more time and shakes his head.

Doc is sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped at the edge of Jus’s perfectly made bed (which reminds Jus he didn’t sleep in it. He shakes his head again). Doc smiles. Nods toward the desk chair. “Talk to me, Jus,” he says once Justyce is seated.

Jus runs his hands down his face. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just wanna know what’s up. I got a call from Manny a couple of hours ago. He’s really worried about you.”

Jus snorts.

Doc smiles. “He told me you’d do that.”

“Whatever. That dude don’t know me.”

Doc’s expression turns serious. “Tell me what happened, man.”

“You mean Manny didn’t tell you when he called to tattle on me?”

Doc doesn’t say a word to that. Just stares at Justyce with his piercing green eyes. There’s no judgment in them at all.

With Doc eyeing him like that, last night floods Jus’s memory, and the ache in his bruised knuckles seems to intensify. He drops his chin. “I messed up, Doc.”

“How so?”

Jus looks up. “Manny really didn’t tell you anything?”

Doc pulls his phone from his pocket, taps the screen a few times, then holds it up. Manny’s voice pours out of the speaker: Mornin’, Dr. Dray. Don’t mean to bother you on a Saturday…I was wondering if you’d mind going by the dorm to check on Justyce. He’s going through some things and I’m, uhh…Well, he’s not answering his phone, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me. If you could just pop by there and make sure he’s all right, I’d really appreciate it. Room two seventeen.

“When I called him back to get more info,” Doc says, “all he said was the two of you had a little to drink and there was a disagreement. He thought you could probably use someone to talk to.”

Jus doesn’t reply.

“So what’s up, man? Why would Manny think you don’t wanna see him?”

Justyce scratches his head. He needs a haircut. “I got drunk, Doc.”

“I figured as much.” Doc points to the empty Gatorade bottle.

“I got drunk and made the mistake of going to Blake Benson’s house. Some stuff set me off, and I just…I really messed up, man.”

“Care to expound?”

Justyce sighs. “Ever since my run-in with that cop, I’ve been on high alert. Noticing stuff I would’ve glossed over or tried to ignore before.”

“Makes sense.”

“This might sound dumb, but I started this…project,” Jus says. “For the past six months, I’ve been studying Dr. King’s stuff again and trying to apply it? I’ve, uhh…” He looks up at Doc. Still no judgment there. “I’ve been writing letters to him in a notebook.”