Thankfully, Marisol does all the talking. “It’s going to rain big-time,” she says, pointing at the dark clouds. “There better not be any lightning.” She looks at Danny. “I’m petrified of lightning.” “Yeah?” Danny says. “Well, isn’t Florida like the lightning capital of the world?” “It is,” I say, which is pretty much my entire contribution to the conversation. Then Marisol talks about her first-period class (chemistry) and moves all the way to sixth period (algebra II), and Danny and I listen and listen and listen. “Do you know Ms. Morris?” Marisol asks Danny. She walks between us, trying to connect the distance that has left us one hundred miles apart in a two-second radius. “She’s crazy. She made us do fifty math problems in class yesterday without being able to resharpen our pencils. She says the noise irritates her and that our parents can afford mechanical pencils.
