"...but you know she has a fake leg."
"Fake leg? She don't have no fake leg, she lyin to you."
Some mornings, I like sharing the bus with teenagers. These two were having their conversation around me, like I wasn't even there. The boy was the one telling about the girl with the fake leg. He was small, deep black, sitting with a pudgy white boy. The skeptical girl was little, too, but you could see she was already almost a woman. She held herself very still, her dark hair carefully combed back from her face.
"No, I'm tellin you, she have a fake leg. She got run over, it got run over, and it broke."
"Yeah. It got run over an now it's fake."
"She lyin. You don't get no fake leg from havin your leg broke. You just get a cast, like I had last year?"
"No, it was broke, an it healed, an then it got run over."
"An I'm tellin you she lyin."
"I see her today, I'm gonna kick her in the leg."