Ms. Benson narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “You haven’t been drinking?”
Damon opened and closed his mouth. “No, ma’am.”
“Cause your breath smells like you have.”
Shit. Fuck. Fuck.
“I haven’t,” Damon said. “Please. You let Elliot out.”
“Mr. Croft slipped by us,” Ms. Benson said. “But I’m not worried about him since he’s an excellent student. He needed some air. Maybe you should go wait for him in the gym.”
Damon huffed. The other two teachers didn’t look like they were going to vouch for him.
It was moments like these Damon wondered if he had lighter skin, would he be treated different? Was being deemed “less than an excellent student” just a socially acceptable way to be racist?
“Fine.” He let the unfairness burn in his belly and went back into the gym.
He went to the chair that Elliot hung his jacket on and checked the pockets, and as he expected, Elliot’s phone was there.
Damon slumped down in the chair and held his head. His phone dinged, but it was only a text from his mom. She was on her way to pick them up.
Damon resigned himself to waiting until she came to sign them out.
“Where’s Elliot?” Chelsea asked. Her shoe must have been fixed because she was walking fine.
“We were dancing,” Damon said. “But he said he couldn’t do this and ran outside. When I tried to follow him, Ms. Benson stopped me, and I can’t get out.”
Madison and Chelsea exchanged a look.
“There’s an exit from the locker rooms,” Madison said.
Damon glanced toward the other end of the gym. The door to the locker rooms was only guarded by one teacher. The other teachers stood, watching over the punch bowl in the far corner.
Chelsea smiled. “Come on, Montré. I’ve got a plan. You wanna get your man or what?”
“He’s not my—”
Both girls raised their eyebrows.
Damon licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. Let’s go get my man.”
Chelsea and Madison didn’t try to get their prime dance spot back. Instead, the three of them danced at the edge of the crowd, near the locker room. The girls were making a scene, doing crazy dance moves, and as the bass of the song boomed, Chelsea kicked her leg and strategically fell down with an exaggerated holler.
Madison and Damon went to their knees and hovered over her.
“Help!” Madison shouted over top of the music.
The teacher in front of the locker room door came rushing over.
“My ankle. I think I broke it!” Chelsea yelled.
A few other teachers also made their way over. Other kids huddled around her, distracted by the commotion.
Damon stood and slowly inched out of the crowd.
He walked backward until he was a few paces away, checking that all the adults were focused on the spectacle, and then darted to the door.
Damon sprinted through the locker room, sweat gathering on the back of his neck, nerves flooding his body. He was sure Ms. Benson would somehow sense his jailbreak.
