From the other side Joe pushes the door. His laughter curls into the room, settling around us like dust as the latch catches, a loud sound in the small room. My hands land flat against the door, and I ball them into fists to pound on the wood. “Hey! Not cool!”
“Joe,” Deon warns. He sounds incredibly close, mere inches behind me, and when I draw back my fist to hit the door again, my elbow brushes his stomach. He sounds like he’s grinning when he says, “This isn’t funny!”
“It isn’t supposed to be!” comes the muffled reply from the other side. Joe’s words sound mocking. “I’ll be back.”
With wide eyes, I turn toward Deon, anxious. “What the hell?”
Seeing the discomfort on my face, Deon smiles sadly and calls, “Come on, Joe. Let us out.”
“I’ll be back,” he says again. From far away I hear
