Love from a to Z

It wasn’t your fight.
How could you even say that? You who took on Rosie in gym class? Then the rest of the year?
I’m crying.
• • •
Oh, yeah. Rosie in gym class. That’s how Kavi and I met.
In second term, first day of eighth-grade gym, I’d had a cast on my left
leg due to a fractured tibia, so I made my home on the bench. A thin girl
with flawless dark brown skin, long, silky black hair tied in a single
ponytail that hung on one side, over her left shoulder, and huge eyes, came
over and asked me if I’d be okay watching her EpiPen pack—that she, with

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a severe peanut allergy, was supposed to wear in a pouch on her at all times
but couldn’t do gym properly with.
I’d been faithful to her EpiPens for the week I was benched, keeping the
pack in my lap, my eyes following Kavi as she moved. I even hobbled over
with it once, on my crutches, when she got knocked down during a game of
basketball.
That’s when I heard someone mutter, “Kebobi can’t play ball.”
I whipped around.
A tall girl, even taller than me, was laughing into the shoulder of a friend,
her body half-turned, eyes away, the dropped comment barely traceable to
her.
But I knew the way these girls worked. I’d made it my life mission to
find and destroy stuff like this, from my angry-baby self onward, so I
homed in on the girl like I had a whack-a-mole mallet in hand.
Because the gym teacher was close by, racist girl had already turned all
the way around in her attempt to hide her bullshit.
She didn’t see me limping over, stepping forward with my good leg,
dragging my cast behind, crutches where I’d left them on the floor beside
Kavi.
“Excuse me? Her name is Kavi.”
She turned to me, sizing me up. “That’s what I said.”
“That’s not what you said. It’s my leg that’s broken, not my ears.” I
moved closer, doing an awkward half step, almost losing my balance. I
wanted to close the gap to look straight into her blank, blue eyes. “You
called her ‘kebobi.’ Claim your racism.”
“Oh God, what’s your problem? Go back to where you came from, bench
bitch.” She turned away again. Her friend, short but strong-looking, snorted
a laugh and crossed her arms, attempting to stare me down.
“Bitch whose ancestors stole this land, telling me to go back?” I looked at
her friend. “You better collect her, staple up her mouth hole before I do it.”
“What’s going on here, girls?” Though she said “girls,” the gym teacher
addressed me.
I lost it inside. But knew to keep it cool on the outside, not sure what
kind of teacher I was talking to. “What’s going on is this girl here is
revealing the racist she is. She called my friend Kavi over there ‘kebobi.’
Then told me to go back to where I came from.”

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“Ms. Larsons, I just said ‘Go back to the bench.’ ” She blinked her eyes
innocently.
“Did you call Kavi a slur, Rosie?” Ms. Larsons shifted her gaze to the
racist.
“No, though I did say she can’t play basketball.”
“Yeah, she said ‘Girl can’t play ball.’ Literally,” Rosie’s friend lied.
“She said ‘Kebobi can’t play ball.’ Literally.” I crossed my arms and
turned to look at Ms. Larsons. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten upset.
Everyone says ‘Girl can’t play ball’ all the time in gym class. That literally
wouldn’t have gotten me angry.”
“Rosie, get to the bench. For the rest of class. That’s not the right attitude
for playing.” Ms. Larsons turned around and walked back, blowing the
whistle.
She’d believed me, but I stood there fuming. Attitude?
The best thing that came from the whole thing was I got a true friend for
life when I called Kavi my friend while talking to Ms. Larsons—and Kavi,
dusted off and upright, heard.
There was a second great thing too. I kept calling out Rosie’s racism, as
well as other, lower-level shenanigans, in gym class, relentlessly, not caring
about my gym grade.
So relentlessly that, even though she was amazingly good, she didn’t
make the basketball team in February, getting a rep for “poor attitude.” And
although her problem was bigger than that, I so loved benching her.
Literally.
Now Kavi was sticking up for me?
• • •
Okay, but it just feels sad. That I can’t know stuff.
As soon as we have something concrete, I’ll alert you, okay?
I didn’t reply to Kavi.
I feel sad. Thinking of you sad over there.
I didn’t reply again. Because Kavi was right.
So I’m going to tell you one thing only then: Noemi found out Fencer’s alias.
Ayaan found that out ages ago. @Sittingducksrevolt.
No, that was his old one. Deleted, remember?
There’s a new one?
Yep. Before he got Ayaan in trouble, he scrubbed his presence, the old one.
Noemi found something else?
@StoneWraith14

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Weird.
Yeah. A wraith is a ghost.
A wispy one, according to Google.
It’s kind of scary. Him disappearing online to come back . . . as a ghost.
How did Noemi find out his handle?
She’s super smart. Something Margolis said about this book Fencer wanted to write about
gargoyles made her search everything connected to it.
That’s weird luck.
Anyways, forget Fencer. Are you having fun? What are you up to?
Ya, it’s low-key fun. I’m just doing whatever. My aunt’s working during the day, so I just do my
own thing. Like today I got gifts for you.
I miss you. I love you. I like you. More than Noemi. Way more.
I smiled. 
I like you way more than Noemi too.