"Class," the teacher calls. University has always been like this; the teacher calls, we talk. We pass chits, we take notes. This time, though, beside the teacher is a boy, around the same age as us. We stop whatever we are doing and listen. "We have a new student."

The boy nods.

I examine him from toe-to-head. He's wearing blue sneakers. They are not particularly clean, but neither are they dirty. Black jeans wrap around his legs. His torso is draped in a plain green T-shirt. He looked informal, not awkward to be around. 

"We have a new student," the teacher says. "His name is Zachary DeMilton."

I look up to look at his face.

That is when our eyes first meet.