The boys I was dealing with sat on folding chairs in a circle. “Okay, who is going to play Richard Hatch, and who’s going to be Amarosa.” The question was What Is Reality. What is reality on TV. Or. What does it really mean. The boys all had HIV. A few had gone into full blown AIDS. Schools hated them. No typical classrooms. It had nothing to do with health status. It had to do with rage. The machine did not mean them. They plotted. A lot. Usually, over stuff. Sneakers. Clothes. Bling. Phones. Cops. Teachers. Judges. Social workers. Boom: Antiretrovirals. You do not get better overnight. It was a long list of stuff they would not do (like being naked in front of nurses). Let the play begin. Craiger had had sex with every one of his comrades. Secrets. They child could throw shade at you that gleamed. The reason there are floors is because boys roll around laughing on them. And they could be violent. “Throw your chair at the wall, not me.” They played: Who Will Die First. Craiger got kicked off the island. It had been a rough week. In their world, people died from guns. Never let them see you cry. Everyone cried. Then, they were silent. Death drained us. Reality was nuanced. What am I doing here. They’re all going to die. There is nothing I could do. Oh, but there was. Once, Craiger stood up and removed his clothes. Seeing that body shocked them. They just wanted to live. I taught them how to read. That meant diving into a book so you could be someone else. It was all I had.