The second Daniel and I round the small alcove, I hold on to my backpack and run. Pissed. Furious. I can’t think of one word that properly describes the mixture of rage, embarrassment, hurt, and shock that came from Mr. Lane’s lecture. If only I could go back and say the thousands of things that now pop into my head. I’m so relieved I don’t have a class with him this semester. There’s no way I could have endured being in his room.

When I reach the stairway, I grab the railing and hurtle down two stairs at a time, accidentally bumping a petite girl. She stumbles into a guy wearing a hockey jersey.

“Hey! Watch it!” he yells, not to me but to the girl. I call out, “Sorry,” and keep going, passing students and even a teacher, who shouts at me to slow down. I don’t.

Daniel keeps up, offering platitudes like: “You have every right to be upset. What he said was so wrong.”

I power through the crowded hallway so furious that I no longer take notice of anyone or anything. How many other teachers agree with Mr. Lane? Do they really believe we’ve ruined the school’s reputation? The community’s?

It’s so messed up.

Mrs. Ingram said there are other teachers supporting our position, but where are they? Are they afraid if they do, they’ll lose their jobs?

I need to talk to Dad, except he’s in class right now. Would he find validity in what Mr. Lane said? No. No. He supports us. He said we’re doing the right thing. How can I doubt that?

“Logan, wait!”

I forgot about Daniel. But I can’t wait. I have to get out of here.

Breathing hard, he catches up with me, matching my footfalls. “Let me help you figure this out.”

“What’s to figure out? You heard Mr. Lane.”

“He was way out of line.”

I spin around so fast that Daniel almost stumbles over his own feet. “You think?” My frustration pours out in a long exhale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not angry with you.”

“I know.”

“It’s all Mr. Lane.” But then I wonder…did Mr. Bartley know what Mr. Lane was going to speak to me about? He was fine in class. He called on me, and though he wasn’t his usual upbeat self, he wasn’t upset or angry, not even when I put up the Elie Wiesel quote.

I start walking again, but this time at normal speed. My gaze meets Kerrianne’s and she freezes as if I’ve hit her with a stun gun. She lowers her head, scurries by like a mouse running back to its hole. Did Mason tell her what I said about her having access to our locker combinations?