So how’d I do on my math test?”
Luther Ransome stopped his black Escalade in the middle of Seventeenth Street. A line of cars began to form behind him. His window was halfway down. He leaned across Chance Ruffin, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Although it was only seven in the morning, the bass booming on his radio was loud enough to rattle the window.
From where he stood on the sidewalk, Keshawn Connor could see Jair Nobles and Thomas Porter in the back seat. Jair, Thomas, and Chance were all moving in time to the beat of the music.
“Your real score? Fifty-nine percent,” Keshawn said flatly. “Now recorded as a seventy-five. So your overall average is seventy something. You’ve got a C.”
“My man!” Luther said, slapping his steering wheel. “I have an English test tomorrow. Make sure I pass it. I don’t have time to study tonight.”
As if you ever studied, Keshawn thought. And why should he? He knows his grades will stay above passing. Even though he’s never cracked a book.
“Why are we talkin’ to this loser?” he heard Thomas say from the back seat.
Keshawn turned back toward school. Luther rolled up the window, but then rolled it back down again. “Oh, and another thing,” he said. “Make sure you take Neecy’s seat in math today. I want her to sit by me.”
Keshawn didn’t bother to answer. No need. Luther knew Keshawn would do whatever he was told.
He was locked in a trap, and Luther held the only key.