Derrin winced in pain. He looked at the gun and then up at LaMesha—furious, he stood and confronted her until the two were face to face.
“What’s your problem?” He said.
LaMesha cracked her knuckles. She stood tall and looked into his glasses. All she could see was her dull reflection.
“My problem is you giving out your guns to teenagers,” LaMesha said in a flat voice. “Tracey’s favorite student, huh? But you’re unable to follow basic protocol. Embarrassing.”
Derrin’s body relaxed. He was guilty—he shook only slightly, stepping back; he then crouched down and collected the gun and all its pieces off the floor, taking his time and ignoring her stare.
“That’s one thing I hate about you,” Derrin started. “You hide behind your rotten behavior and think you’re doing the right thing.”