Eye Contact by Cammie McGovern

got kicked out today because everyone’s got meetings about the murder. Do you believe that?”
    Believe what? he wonders. That a girl got murdered? That there were meetings as a result? “Yeah,” Morgan says. “I believe it.”
    Chris takes a sip from a juice box. He is eating food no one else would pack in a lunch: sweet potatoes, pineapple chunks, a box of raisins. “I’m extremely allergic,” he says when Morgan watches him spear a sweet potato. “One piece of bread and I’m covered in hives. Once I tried pizza, and you want to know what happened?”
    Morgan stares at him. “What?”
    â€œHospital,” Chris says. “For three days. Oxygen tent and everything. It was okay, though. I don’t mind being in the hospital. At least then you don’t have to go to school. If things get bad enough, I might do it again.”
    Chris is older than Morgan. He has been through a year of middle school already, which makes Morgan wonder what he might mean. “How bad does it get?”
    â€œBelieve me, you don’t want to know. Wait until winter, when it gets really ugly. You’ll be thinking an oxygen tent is nothing. Murder would be a relief.”
    Morgan stares at Chris.
    â€œHa!” Chris says, so nervously Morgan wonders if he should put Chris on his list. “Just kidding.”
    In group, Chris has told stories about a summer camp he went to where, according to him, he was extremely popular and everyone loved him for who he was. “For two weeks I was voted Bunk Camper Overseer,” he told them. “Which means—you know—I oversaw things. Then at the end I won for Most Improved Athlete of the Summer.” At first, no one believed him because Chris is so thin he can’t wear watches or keep most socks pulled up his legs. When Sean asked, “ You won best athlete?” Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Most improved. In the beginning I couldn’t kick a ball. By the end I made a soccer goal. At final campfire I got a standing ovation.” Anytime Chris mentions the summer camp, Morgan wants to come right out and ask him for the name. He tries to imagine standing up in the dusky light of a campfire, accepting an award to the music of a hundred people clapping for him.
    Morgan decides to take a risk, tell Chris what is on his mind. “I keep thinking about that guy. Who saw the whole thing.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œI just keep thinking—I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m thinking.” Talking to someone his own age is confusing; Morgan’s mind jumbles into a blur of words that won’t organize themselves. “That he almost died, for one thing.”
    â€œWell, sure,” Chris says. “But see, I don’t like to think about those things. I don’t like to think about almost dying.”
    Down the table, a trio of older boys blow straw wrappers in their direction. They watch as the paper tubes float and dance toward them. “Yeah, all right. Very funny. Ha ha,” Chris says. “I’m putting them on my list.” He seems to be talking to the wrappers.
    â€œWhat list?” Morgan asks.
    â€œMy list, all right? My list of people who are going to get in trouble for harassment very soon. We’re trying to eat lunch here, right? This is what I can’t stand.”
    â€œIt’s just straw wrappers.”
    â€œYeah, to you maybe. You don’t see half of it. You don’t see what’s really going on.”
    Maybe Chris is right, Morgan thinks, but when he looks up the table, the boys have walked away.
    That afternoon, class schedules are changed to accommodate an all-school assembly about safety with strangers, led by a woman no one has ever seen before. She starts the meeting by standing onstage, a microphone in her hand, and saying nothing for so long that people grow nervous, turn around in their seats looking