The rest of the guys file in and sit down, but Derek just stares at me. I try to concentrate on the demonstration that Mr. Laurits is beginning on the power sander. I can see his beady little eyes boring into me out of the corner of my vision, but will myself to ignore him.“Ava told me she feels sorry for you,” he whispers under his breath. I refuse to look at him, but my hand starts twitching under the table. “I told her how you work at a gas station. She laughed.” He leans forward. “That’s a job for fucking immigrants. It’s you and the guy straight off the boat from fucking India.”“Alright everybody, gather around for this part,” Mr. Laurits calls out. Stools scrape the floor as we all stand up and form a semicircle around Mr. Laurits at the front of the classroom. I get a spot near the back, where I always stand because of my height, and out of the corner of my eye I see Derek position himself just behind me and to my left. I can feel his breath on my back. “I think I’ll get my dad to buy that gas station,”
