*
Contretemps. From the French contre-temps, meaning: an inopportune occurrence; an untoward accident; an unexpected mishap or hitch, as in: at the end of our senior year, some of us received our college acceptances and some were content simply to mark the end of an era with a high school diploma. Maurice did neither, and instead, as a last hurrah, spent a night drinking with three of his friends, riding shotgun around town. He insisted on playing the DJ, getting everybody crunk bumping the music too loud while the driver made sharp turns, eventually crossing the center line as he sped around the curve of Martin Luther King Jr. Avenue, into the path of an oncoming car without its headlights on. There was no time to hear the horn blaring until it was too late, and the car carrying Maurice and his friends swerved into a streetlamp. Three of them suffered serious injuries. Maurice was ejected through the windshield onto the grass, his body landing just outside the shining cone of the streetlight.
*
Essential, Mrs. Wolfe said. You have thirty seconds.
Celeste showed more patience than Maurice. I turned to her hoping she might calm my nerves, but she leaned against the wall with her head bowed, preventing me from seeing her face. She had long lashes and the roundest, brownest eyes, but kept them veiled by gazing at what might have been a speck on the floor. She gave me a slight smile, as if to tell me she knew of my attempt to solicit her attention, then let her mouth retreat back into its coy pout.
*
Promulgate. From the classical Latin prōmulgātus, meaning: to make known openly or publicly, as in: the schoolyard blackboys needed to know whether I liked boys or girls, using urban legends to trick me into believing my sexuality could be discovered on a playground by the way I reacted to their taunts. These blackboys would take turns convincing the rest of us—but especially me—that if my hand was larger than my face, then I was a faggot; or, if hair grew on my knuckles, then I was a faggot; or, if my middle finger was longer than the rest, then I was a faggot. They’d single out a few of us to prove we were not, but I was the only one they turned to, demanding, Let’s see your hand, Darius, as they circled, waiting.