He was new, sitting alone in the left center of the room. He had moved the chairs so he was sitting on the old stained carpet. My heart flutters a little as I walk over to the pale, thin boy who is only visible by the blush of his cheeks. "Joel Freeman, right?" I ask with total confidence. "That is me" he says.
This monotone conversation had me frustrated. What was this boy thinking about me? What was he even thinking? His body language and eyes unknowing. He was the funnel of the tornado. Something had to be stirring inside his head. Will he say something disastrous; something I don't want to hear? Or will that funnel slowly disappear and just be a warning to never speak to him again.
So I took a chance, and instead of running home and hiding in the basement, I drove straight, head on into the storm. "Have you ever heard of In the Heights?" Those were the magic words that broke the silence.
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