slow step toward Badman. Only a few inches from Badmanâs face, he makes the sign of the seven with the crossbow in the middle. Thereâs a moment of total stillness. Jacksonâs eyes are fixed on Badman. Jackson doesnât blink, and a weird wheezing sound comes from deep inside his chest. He looks as if heâs possessed, haunted. As if he belongs to some mysterious martial arts cult. The seven samurais, maybe. His face is solemn like petrified wood. No one breathes.
The bell screams into the quiet. Badman jumps like a cricket. He starts to say something, tries to laugh, then lopes off toward the science labs. The rest of us follow. I look back to say âGood for you, Jacksonâ or maybe give him a highfive, but Asim is there, slapping him on the back. How amazing! Asim looks so different when he smiles. I realize he doesnât do that very much. As they pass on the way to the classroom Jackson doesnât even look at me. Heâs too busy coughing and talking to Asim.
âWhat donât you like about seven?â Asim is asking. He doesnât seem to be scared of Jacksonâs wheezing bark or his weird cult impression. Just interested. âIs it because it is odd or a prime number or bad luck? Or is it because of the seven deadly sins?â
âOdd numbers make me anxious,â says Jackson.
Iâm glad Badman isnât around to hear that!
But Asim nods. âHave you heard of the idea of seventh heaven?â
Jackson shakes his head.
âWell, in the Muslim faith seventh heaven is the furthest of the concentric spheres containing the stars. It includes the dwelling place of God and the angels.â
Jacksonâs face is all lit up. âThatâs really interesting. I always felt seven had a mystical sort of power. Negative, of course, being odd. Murderous, sort of. But maybe Iâll have to reassess itâtake this new angle into consideration.â
Asim nods solemnly. âIt is good to see all the evidence before you make a judgment. About anything.â And he gives Jackson a long stare.
The way they walk into the classroom, youâd think theyâd known each other all their lives.
âHey, Ez, Iâve got the CD. Will we go to the music room and rehearse?â Itâs Lilly, tugging my arm at lunchtime. âMrs. Reilly said the tryouts for the concert will be straight after lunch.â
My mouth is full of peanut butter sandwich. Iâve been saving Momâs lemon delight cake for last. Nothing is going to stop me from savoring that. I know it will be the best moment of the day.
âOoh, is that a lemon delight?â says Lilly, peering into my lunch box. âCould I have it? I forgot my lunch today, probably because Mitch came by and we walked to school together. I forgot
everything
.â She giggles happily.
The light-as-air, custard-filled heaven is in her mouth and swallowed before I can even say, âWell, actually, Iâ¦â
She looks at my face. âOops! ⦠I did it again!â she sings.
That is the name of the Britney Spears song that we are about to go and perform before the entire school. Itâs hard to think of a more cretinous title. Lilly waves the CD in my face and jumps up.
âIâm so nervous,â she says, hopping from one foot to the other. âImagine, Mitchâs never heard me sing before. Thank heavens youâll be there to keep me going. You know, Mitchell really likes you. He said we should go out in a foursome sometime. Who could you take? I know, that new boy. Jackson. Heâs very cute, Ez, isnât he? You know if it werenât for Mitch, wellââ Her eyes go wide and impossibly blue.
âOh, come on, letâs get it over with.â I throw my wrappings in the bin, stuff my lunch box in my bag and stomp off toward the hall.
I can hear her running prettily behind me. My legs feel like blocks of concrete.
Fat
concrete.
âLilly Pierce and