By Wednesday, Derrick Kane's name was louder than the morning bell. You couldn't walk down Roosevelt's hallways without hearing it.
"He's a legend, bro! Did you see that punch?"
"Legend? He's a psycho. He should've been expelled ages ago."
"I heard Kingsdale's sending their guys after him."
"Please. Derrick's untouchable."
The school was split straight down the middle. Half the students wore his name like a badge of honor, whispering about his moves on the field, retelling the fight in exaggerated detail. The other half avoided eye contact whenever he passed, muttering that he was a ticking time bomb, that anyone near him would eventually get burned.
And me? I was caught in between. I'd seen the fire in his eyes, the weight behind his silence, the way authority bent—or broke—around him. He wasn't just a boy with fists. He was a storm trapped inside Roosevelt's walls.
The teachers tried to keep order, but even they looked shaken. Some barked warnings in the hallways, voices trembling under the surface. Others avoided Derrick entirely, pretending not to see when he lingered too long at his locker, or when students parted like water around him.
It wasn't fear of him alone. It was fear of what came next.
---
By noon, flyers for Friday's pep rally were taped to lockers. Normally, it was about spirit, laughter, and fake smiles. This year, it felt like war propaganda. Would Derrick still be playing? Would he even be there? Nobody knew. And that uncertainty gnawed at the school like rot.
---
That evening, a notice came over the intercom:
"All students are reminded to stay clear of the administrative wing after school today. A disciplinary hearing will be in session."
The words spread faster than wildfire. Everyone knew what it meant. The hearing. Derrick Kane. The moment where the school would either cage the storm—or unleash it.
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And when the last bell rang, the hallways emptied fast, but not before I saw him. Derrick. Walking alone toward the office. Shoulders squared. Hood down. No smirk, no swagger this time. Just a look in his eyes that made my stomach knot.
This wasn't a boy heading to detention.
This was a fighter walking into an arena.
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