Excerpt from Anger Is a Gift by Mark Oshiro, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

It felt good to pretend. Like Moss had another life, a future he could look forward to living.

The sudden crackle of the speakers in their car startled him. "We apologize for the delay," said a voice that reminded Moss of his mother's, "but there's police activity ahead of us at the West Oakland station. I'm not sure if we'll be stopping there, but I will let you know once I have any information. Hold tight."

Esperanza sighed again, though her exasperation wasn't an act this time. Moss reached out and began to fiddle with the tape on the handlebars of his bike, impatience rushing over him. He just wanted to get home.

He leaned into Esperanza's shoulder, thankful that they were both the same height. "I don't want to go to school tomorrow," he said. "I know, I sound like the world's most clichéd teenager, but I'm dreading it." Moss paused. "You ever think it should be two days of school followed by five days off? That's obviously the best schedule for learning."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Esperanza insisted, and rested her head on top of his. "We'll get through it fine."

The train jerked forward suddenly and a couple of people clapped. Moss watched a tall, lanky kid lurch forward and grab for the handhold that was attached to the wall just above Moss's bike. When he grabbed the top bar instead, he balanced himself and winced. "Sorry, sorry," he blurted out. "Got surprised, that's all."

"It's okay," Moss said. "No big deal, man."

The guy ran his hand over the frame again. "This steel?"

Moss nodded, and he gave the boy a longer look. His hair was cropped short, his skin a deep golden brown, and he had that sort of lean muscle that came easy to some people through the gift of genetics. He's cute, Moss thought, but probably tragically straight.

"Steel's a good choice," the boy said. "Better for the messed-up streets."

Moss narrowed his eyes at that, surprised that this guy seemed to know what he was talking about. "Yeah, I know! Everyone wants those fast carbon ones, but those things hurt unless you're on the nice roads."

"Right?" The guy stuck his hand out. "Javier."

Moss shook on it. "Moss," he said. "And this is my friend Esperanza."

While Javier shook Esperanza's hand, he stared at Moss. "That's an interesting name," he said. "Is there a story behind it?"

The sound that came out of Esperanza was a cross between a bark and a yelp, and Moss glared at his best friend and tried to clamp a hand over her mouth. "Yes?" he said, drawing it out. "Do you have something to say, Esperanza?"

"Oh, please, can I tell him? It's so adorable."

"Maybe Javier here doesn't want to hear adorable," said Moss, and he shot a quick glance at him. Javier was already nodding, however.

"Oh, I definitely want adorable," he said, and with those words, it was as if this stranger had found Esperanza's true calling. Moss watched her face light up in excitement; he dropped his hand, and she spread her own out in front of her.

"Picture it," Esperanza said. "Moss is much younger and arguably a very cute toddler."

"I dunno," said Javier. "He's pretty cute now."

Moss's mouth fell open, and he looked from Javier, who smirked at him, to Esperanza, who also smirked at him. "Wait, what?"

"Never mind," said Esperanza. "Y'all can have a moment in a second, I promise. I'm telling a story here, remember?"

"Exactly," said Javier. "And I wanna know what this story is!"

Moss's heart jumped, thumping in his chest. He was caught off guard, but Esperanza pushed past it, and he was thankful she did.

"So picture it," she said again. "Moss is learning to speak. He keeps hearing his parents say his name over and over—Morris, Morris!" She leaned into Moss. "And Moss here keeps trying to say it back, as any studious young kid would. But it keeps coming out without those crucial r's."

Excerpted from Anger Is a Gift by Mark Oshiro. Copyright © 2018 by Mark Oshiro. Excerpted by permission of Tor Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.