THE HALL
Monday, October 5th
9:25 A.M.
One word . . . nine letters . . . two ah-dorable.
Detention.
It was so juh-eeen-yus. All Dylan and Derrick had to do was get in trouble every day. Then they could be together from three thirty to four thirty in the afternoon, Monday through Friday. They’d be après-school soul mates. Detention Daters. Incarcerated Crushes. And they would stay that way until Massie released Derrington and gave them her blessing. Which was bound to happen . . . eventually.
The plan was set. The crime was simple. The time was now.
First period was over and the halls were rife with slamming lockers, hushed gossip exchanges, and speed-gloss sessions. But no one dared talk on cell phones. Because “nonemergency mobile use” was strictly forbidden between classes. And anyone caught using would get an immediate detention.
No.
Questions.
Asked.
Derrick was positioned outside Principal Burns’s office when Dylan arrived. As discussed, they were dressed in black, sending a message to the authorities that they were rebels.
Their eyes met, a flicker of acknowledgment passing between them like CIA operatives on assignment.
As usual, the frosted glass door of Principal Burns’s office clicked open at 9:28 A.M. Out she bounded, en route to her weekly board meeting, her gangly body coasting among the students like a giraffe through a herd of gazelle, her gray bob holding firm despite her long, breezy steps.
Students slowed, letting her pass, like drivers making room for a wailing ambulance.
Derrick nodded once.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted his black and green Sidekick, leaned against a locker, and began shout-talking like he was standing by the speakers at a Megadeth concert.
“You serious, man?” he yelled, examining his cuticles. “’Cause he told me seven goals in one game was the record. And now you’re telling me it’s nine?” He paused. “Show me proof, goof!” He paused and then burst out laughing.
Principal Burns hurried toward Derrick, wagging her finger. Dylan quickly pulled out her cell phone, but her palms were slick with stress-sweat, and it crashed to the floor. The battery slid one way and the phone slid the other. By the time she had everything back together it was too late. Principal Burns had grabbed the Sidekick out of Derrick’s hand and given him two detentions. One for having a nonemergency conversation, and the other for being in the main building when he was a trailer student.
One word. Nine letters.
backfired.