The admin wing was supposed to be locked down tight. No students, no noise, no distractions. Just the hearing that would decide Derrick Kane's fate.
But Roosevelt High wasn't built for silence.
Five minutes before the doors shut, the sound came. Heavy boots. Raised voices. Not teachers. Not students either.
Parents.
And not the type who sat politely at conferences, nodding at grades. These were angry parents—Kingsdale parents. They'd come storming in, demanding Derrick be expelled, waving hospital reports like weapons. Tyler Briggs's father led the charge, voice booming through the hallway.
"This boy is dangerous! He doesn't belong in a school—he belongs behind bars!"
The words ricocheted down the hall, echoing into every classroom still open. Students peeked out, wide-eyed, whispering like wildfire. Roosevelt had never seen anything like it.
Inside the office, the hearing was supposed to begin. But Derrick never walked through those doors.
Because just as Mr. Grant, the principal, stepped forward to calm the chaos—two uniformed police officers entered. Their radios crackled, their faces unreadable. And for the first time since I'd known him, Derrick didn't look untouchable. He looked cornered.
The crowd parted. The officers moved straight toward him.
"Derrick Kane?" one of them asked. "We need to speak with you."
Gasps tore through the hallway. Students pressed closer, teachers tried to block the view, but nothing could hide it: Roosevelt High's bad boy wasn't facing detention anymore. He was facing something bigger, darker, and far more dangerous.
The hearing? Forgotten.
The rules? Irrelevant.
The storm had just broken open—and we were all about to be dragged into it.
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