Dopefiend. Tim Elhajj

verdant treasure as we rushed to the Mount Eden Avenue station.

      Mike showed me things in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

      I really liked Mike.

      When we got back to class, Mike learned that Mr. Parker had been reprimanded over lunch for using the wrong type of drywall for our class project. We had used the green drywall, but we were supposed to have used the white. Mike grew sullen.

      During afternoon break, we hung out in the stairwell together, smoking cigarettes. “Once again,” I said, “a good man may lose his job over color.”

      Mike looked sternly at me. “Don’t even joke like that,” he said. “You have no idea. That’s not funny.”

      Mike went on about Mr. Parker, but I didn’t catch much of what he said. I felt ashamed. Mike had never scolded me for saying stupid things before. I wanted to say something to make up for it, but I had no idea what to say. My mouth started moving and, like an idiot, I found myself repeating the exact same thing I had just said, the thing Mike had warned me not to say again.

      “Once again,” I said, “a good man may lose his job because of color.”

      “I just told you about that,” Mike said. “The fuck . . .” Shaking his head, he exhaled noisily. He narrowed his eyes and scowled at me.

      The atmosphere in the stairwell grew tense.

      Looking down at my shoes, I thought he might hit me. I half-hoped he would. I didn’t deserve a friend like Mike.

      Finally, Mike stood up and shook his head. “Shit,” he sighed. “You’re deep.”