VIII | Dime-store GazelleWHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR to the principal’s office he sees Booker right away, sitting half on the edge of the secretary’s desk, smiling rakishly as he looks up, the conversation interrupted, the circuit closed. The Kid thinks he has never seen a smile vanish so quickly, so completely, as has Booker’s. He walks toward the counter using baby steps as Booker ducks his head into the principal’s office, his tanned, hairy hand gripping the doorframe.
“I’m here for my exam,” says the Kid, feeling foolish because he doesn’t even know what to call it, this test of his abilities, this test of his truthfulness and character. Are you even human? they seem to be asking him. Do you belong here in our public school with our beloved human children? Or should you be farmed out somew
