Ben's Chemistry no-show resulted in a warning from Mr. Opio and apologetic glances from students who had witnessed his public humiliation. During prep period's end, the entire school was abuzz with Science Boy's love note and magnificent display of cowardice.
He hung out in the dorm until hunger chased him out. The dining hall was like entering an arena-gazes turning, conversations breaking off midsentence, then continuing under mutter as he walked by.
David saw him at a corner table, pushing posho around his plate. "That was brutal, man."
"I don't feel like talking."
"Fair enough." David ate in silence for a minute. "For what it's worth, Mark's a bastard. Everyone knows it."
"Knowing it doesn't do me any good."
"True," David mused about this. "You could go to her. To Sheila. Explain."
"Explain what? That I'm a coward who writes love notes but can't stand up for them?"
"You're not a coward-"
"I ran, David. In front of everyone. Including her."
The truth of it sat in the air between them like a third person at dinner. David could not react, for there was nothing to say. Ben had failed the test that every teenage boy dreaded-the moment when you stood up or proved yourself not worthy.
That night, Ben lay awake in his narrow bed, listening to the sounds of forty other boys sleeping. Snores, mumbling dreams, the creak of springs as someone turned over. Ordinary sounds that made his record shame feel so solitary.
Morning didn't bring relief. If anything, the rumors intensified. In Mathematics class, Peter Kyambadde passed him a crude drawing of a running boy escaping a heart. In Literature class, Mrs. Nabwire required him to read aloud, and his stammered recitation was met with snickers.
By afternoon, Ben had perfected invisibility. He moved about school like a ghost, eyes downcast, shoulders hunched, taking longer routes to avoid crowded corridors.
The library was his only sanctuary.
Mrs. Namatovu, the veteran librarian, barely glanced up when he entered. The compound was nearly empty-most of the students had gone for sports practice or hung around in the courtyard. Ben walked over to his favorite corner near the reference section, where books on colonial farming covered in dust made the ideal hideout.
He'd been there for twenty minutes, studying chemistry when actually he was reliving the note incident for what seemed like the thousandth time, when voices drifted over the bookshelf.
"-don't know why you're so angry." Peace Nabwire's voice, familiar to Ben from all the times he'd eavesdropped secretly on her and Sheila talking. "The boy wrote you a nice letter."
"A good letter that Mark turned into school entertainment," Sheila's voice. Ben held his breath. "Now everybody thinks I'm a prize to be awarded."
"That's not what the letter was saying."
"It doesn't matter what it was saying. It matters what happened."
Ben pressed hard against the bookcase, his heart racing. He ought to come out, ought to apologize, ought-
"Are you angry with Ben or with Mark?" Peace asked.
Silence hung there. Ben counted his heartbeats-fifteen, sixteen, seventeen-
"I don't know," Sheila finally said, and her voice held a confusion that brought Ben's chest to ache. "Ben's note was sweet. Thoughtful. And then he ran. He didn't even try to stop Mark. He just-" She made an irritated noise. "How am I supposed to admire someone who won't fight for what they claim to feel?"
The words hit Ben like blows. She was right. Absolutely, abysmally right.
"Maybe he was scared," Peace said.
"We're all scared of something. But you don't let fear dictate your choices."
Footsteps faded, voices echoing distant toward the door to the library. Ben remained frozen behind the bookshelf, Sheila's words echoing in his brain.
*How can I respect someone who won't stand up for what she claims to feel?*
He couldn't. That was the answer. If he were Sheila, he wouldn't respect himself either.
"Are you going to hide there all afternoon?"
Ben turned around so fast he knocked a book off the shelf. It fell onto the floor like thunder in the quiet of the library.
Sheila stood at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, expression neutral. Up close, she was even prettier from far away-but more human too. There was a little scar above her left eyebrow he'd never noticed. She had a stain on the collar of her school uniform. Her shoes were scuffed.
"I-" Ben's voice left him completely.
"You overheard that conversation." It wasn't something to be asked.
"I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I got here first."
Sheila stepped in closer, and Ben had his back to the bookcase. She stopped two feet away, studying him with those clever eyes that went right through his skin to the wimp inside.
"Did you really mean it?" she whispered. "What did you write in the note?"
This was it. Another chance. Another time when he could find his courage or make her worst opinion of him stick.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I did mean it. Every word." The confession was raw and genuine. "I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever met. I think about you constantly. I-" He swallowed. "I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I didn't stop Mark. I'm sorry I'm such a coward."
Sheila's expression eased slightly. "Why did you run?"
"Because fighting Mark would have made it even worse. Made you an even greater spectacle."
"Or maybe," she said gently firmly, "you ran because you were afraid."
"I was terrified."
"Of Mark?"
"Of everything. Of having you see me try and fail. Of proving I'm as terrible as everyone says I am."
Sheila considered this for a very long time. The library that surrounded them stayed in its dusty quiet, creating a bubble in which the truth could be told.
"You're two rows behind me in Chemistry," she said finally. "You always know the answer. Even the really hard ones that make Mr. Opio's eyes light up."
"Chemistry is logical. People aren't."
"Unlike girls?" There was a hint of laughter in her tone now.
"Unlike you." Ben forced himself to meet her gaze. "You're the most complicated equation I've ever met."
Sheila laughed-a real laugh, not a mocking one. "That's probably the strangest compliment I've ever received."
"I said that. I'm terrible at this."
"At what?"
"Talking to girls. Talking to you. Being brave."
She moved in close enough that Ben could smell her soap-something clean and unadorned that reminded him of Sunday mornings. "Do you want to hear a secret?"
"I saw you too. In Chemistry. You do that when you're concentrating-you tap your pencil three times, stop, then tap three more times. It's adorable."
Ben's head spun. She'd noticed him? She thought he was adorable?
"Why didn't you ever speak to me?" he asked.
"Why didn't you ever speak to me? Other than the note, that is."
"'Cause girls like you don't talk to boys like me."
Sheila's expression shifted-disappointment mixed with something more cutting. "What are you talking about? 'Girls like me' "
"You're so confident. Popular. You get to sing solos in chapel. Everybody knows your name."
"And you're bright. Everyone knows you're going off to university, most likely on a scholarship. Mr. Opio states you're his star student." She inched forward another step. "Maybe you're the one who's putting people in boxes where they don't belong."
Sheila hadn't waited for him to get out a single sentence before the library bell clanged-five minutes to evening study prep. Sheila glanced over at the clock, then at him.
"I'm angry with you for running," she said to him. "But I'm angrier with Mark for being a cold-hearted son of a bitch, and at myself for caring what other people say." She looked deep into his eyes. "The note was lovely, Ben. Sweet as can be. But I need to know-are you brave enough to live it? Not just on paper, but in the real world?"
"I don't know," Ben confessed. "I want to be."
"Then prove it." She turned to leave, then halted. "We're having a new song in the choir tomorrow. Four o'clock. You might come listen. If you're brave enough."
She vanished before he could respond, leaving Ben standing amidst the stacked-up books with her taunt still ringing in his head like a threat and a promise.
*If you're brave enough.*
Was he? Could he be?
Ben grabbed his books with shaking fingers, Sheila's words ringing in his ears. She'd noticed him. She'd liked his note as sweet. She'd offered him a second opportunity.
All he had to do was to summon bravery he never had before.
The question was: was cowardice something that could be learned to become courage? Or was he destined to continue running every time life asked him to stand firm?