This is it.
“Principal Trenton, I have a question.” The figure points the weapon at her, and his finger curls around the trigger.
Then he fires.
The Adventures of Mei
Current location: Home
>> Opportunity always looks the same. A little bit smaller compared with Jinan and my grandparents’. A little bit grayer once you’ve been to the other side of the world. But no matter where I go, it’s nice to come home. And even nicer to not have to go to school anymore.
Now to catch up on mail, chocolate, and the start of the day.
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Chapter Four
10:05–10:07 A.M.
TOMÁS
Once I’ve returned the files to the filing cabinet, I pick up a glass paperweight and toy with it, tossing it high and snatching it out of the air. I wander toward the principal’s door and inch it open, staring out of the administrative office’s glass walls.
When the bell rings, I wait for the hallways to fill up. Trenton’s speech should be over, and no one stays in the auditorium longer than necessary.
But the halls remain empty, as if we’re the only two people in the building.
This silence spooks me. “Far?”
He glances up from double-checking his test scores—not like they’ll get any better. “What?”
I open my mouth and close it again. What do I say to him? It’s too quiet? “Put the file away. We should go before Trenton gets back.”
Dude. Weak.
I slip into the administrative office, where the secretary’s computer still glows blue, set on the lock screen. A framed picture of a cat stands next to the keyboard. I flip the paperweight up high and catch it again. The mindless repetition is comforting. “Far, c’mon.”
Where is everyone?
Toss. Catch.
Toss.
Two loud cracks tear through the air. The paperweight slips out of my hands, breaking into a thousand shards on the floor.
“What was that?” Fareed appears in the doorway, still holding on to his file.
I don’t—I can’t—“What the fuck was that?” Far repeats, louder. Though he knows—we both do. We’ve spent time hunting with my granddad and my sister. We’ve watched plenty of movies. Far grew up in a war zone. We both know the sound of gunshots.
But it can’t be. It can’t happen. Not here.
“We need to get out,” Far says. “Warn someone.” Despite his haunted eyes, his voice is clear and steady. It makes him sound older.
I nod—before the silence around us hits me like a sledgehammer. I know the hallways are supposed to be empty. We spent hours practicing lockdown drills. But no one sounded the alarm. No one ran to cover. No one appeared in the hallways at all. I shake my head. “No.”
No. No. No. Fuck no.
Everyone is still in the auditorium. Everyone including my sister. I have to get to her.
I can’t fail her again.
• • •
SYLV
Tyler is back. Tyler is back.
Tyler is back.
The refrain pounds in my brain as loudly as the next shots sound in the auditorium. Tyler is back. The words make me want to vomit or hide under my seat. I freeze in terror, as I did all those months ago.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to run. Autumn and I are one aisle over and only a few rows down from where Tyler stands. Too far up to bolt for the wings. Too far down to make for the doors. Too anything.
Around us, the room is swept up in panic. Screams echo in my ears. Teachers standing near the doors try to approach Tyler, but he picks them off methodically, like everyone who gets too close. At every shot, I flinch. We’re not close enough to see the teachers’ faces, and I’m almost grateful. He shot them. Ah, Dios. This can’t be real.
Students clamber to the other doors, pushing forward, but no one is leaving.
Tyler is back.
People run down the rows of seats, shouting for help. Two students—a boy and a girl, both from one of the outer towns—are splayed across the chairs in front of Tyler. The boy still has his bag half slung over his shoulder as his blood mixes with hers.
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
The stage is a mess of people congregating around Principal Trenton—teachers, Trenton’s secretary. Mr. Jameson, everyone’s favorite English teacher, crouches next to the principal and tries to stem the blood flow, except she’s hit in the head, and it’s not blood but brains.
Behind them, several members of Opportunity’s chorus flee toward the wings, where the dressing rooms and the lighting control system are. Ms. Smith, the elderly librarian, sneaks toward the second emergency exit at the side of the auditorium. Or rather, she walks tenderly because she had a hip replacement last year. With her back to Tyler, she seems fearless.
She’s seventy-three. Her youngest daughter is pregnant again and her oldest grandkid turns eleven today. She’s lived in the same house on the same street since the dawn of time.
She brought Mamá freshly baked bread yesterday, just like she does every Sunday. She made me chicken soup when everyone thought I was ill.
No. No. No. No.
Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia: el Señor es contigo. Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres y bendito—
My eyes are drawn back to Tyler. His hair color is so much like Autumn’s, it makes me sick.
Remember me.
I’ve never been able to forget him.
He scans the crowd. He keeps close to the doorway, and everyone pushes away from him. He holds the gun with confidence. Tyler is too determined, too accurate. Even Abuelo would not be able to teach him anything.
He points his weapon at the librarian. Fires.
She crumples steps from the door.
With his free hand, he pushes a stray strand of hair back under his cap.
Autumn moves in front of me, as if she wants to protect me, but I should be protecting her.
Dios te salve, Maria… The words taste foreign on my tongue. I can’t remember what comes next. I’m trembling all over, and I can’t stop.
Next to me, a freshman girl stumbles down the row of seats. One of the jocks hoists her up by her arms, but there’s nowhere to go. She screams and pounds her fists against his chest. He wraps his arms around her.
Autumn turns her head toward me, but while her mouth moves, I can’t hear her.
All I can see is Principal Trenton’s surprised smile as she was shot and the horror of the people around who rushed to help her. I hear gasps and cries and screams. There’s death, there’s dying, and there’s blood everywhere.
Tyler is back.
• • •
CLAIRE
The second shot rings out at 10:05 a.m. Almost comically, Coach stares at the starting gun in his hand, as if it fired without his noticing. But the sound didn’t come from him; it came from inside the school.
Another shot. More shots. My heart beats to match their erratic rhythm.
Closest to the school, Chris crosses the dozen or so yards between him and the double doors of the gym before any of us can react. He rattles the handles to no avail, kicks against the door, and I’m not sure if his anger is pain or desperation.
The cold air seeps through my skin and chills me to the bone. All I can think about is how if Chris strains a muscle, it will ruin his last season before it has even started. Our season. Our team. All four of us. Anything beyond that—anything to make sense of what we’re hearing—is too much.
For a second or two, everything is still. Only our breaths cloud the air. Then Esther starts to sob. When she reaches the finish line, Avery wraps an arm around her shoulders.
We’re waiting for someone to take the lead. We turn our attention to Coa
ch, who has produced the keys to the gym. But the doors won’t budge, either because they’re jammed or locked from the inside. Coach is pale and silent.
We turn our attention to Chris. But he stares at me with a plea in his eyes.
I freeze. I know how to follow orders—follow others—but Trace was always the one in control, both at JROTC and at home. I don’t like being in command. Still, she taught me the drills. C’mon, C, you can do it. Even Tyler once told me I could be so much more.
And if something’s happening inside the school, Matt needs me.
I breathe in deeply to keep the burning bile down. I square my shoulders and sprint toward the others, patting my leggings out of habit, looking for the phone I left in our locker room.
“We need to call 911. Does anyone have their phone?”
No one answers.
“Coach?”
Coach is supposed to have a cell for emergencies, but he still hasn’t made it out of the last century—and no one has ever minded. This is Opportunity. Nothing ever happens here.
“Where are the nearest emergency phones?” I ask.
Coach grunts. “There’s one at the main entrance to the school.”
Opportunity High School moved to a new location five years ago—after the original school was swept up to Oz by a tornado. The new building is state of the art—larger sports fields, fancy equipment, right in the middle of fuck all. I loved it. It felt like home. Until now.
“There’s a pay phone at the gas station down the road too,” I remember. “And we can find Jonah.”
Blank stares.
“The security guard.” My teammates probably never bothered to learn his name, never spent quiet afternoons hanging out in his patrol car. “He should be in the parking lot. He has a radio and will be able to help. We’ll split into groups. Coach, go find the emergency phone. Stay safe. Stay away from the school.”
Coach nods slowly. Normally, we follow him or Chris, our team captain. But Coach’s planning never extended beyond the borders of our training field. He listens to me, despite the fact that my voice trembles and cracks.
“Esther, Avery.” I turn to the girls. They’re usually talkative but not now. “Find out if any of the emergency exits open, but stay away from the windows. If you can get in, find a phone. If not, figure out how to hot-wire a car. I don’t care what you do, but alert anyone and everyone.
“The two of us”—I point to Chris and me—“we’ll find Jonah. If he’s not out front, we’ll run to the gas station for help.” I breathe in sharply. “We don’t know what’s happening inside, but if the situation sounds like a shooting and looks like a shooting, treat it as a shooting. We need emergency responders here as soon as possible.”
Chris nods. “It’s a good plan,” he says. Those four words are enough to set everyone into motion, but I also hear his unspoken promise. We’re in this together. Always. He’ll follow me, like I’ll follow him. It’s why we need each other close.
Avery and Esther pick up their water bottles and start running. Coach follows, dazed.
Chris tosses me my sports drink, and I take a few gulps before discarding it.
More shots break the icy air, and we run.
• • •
AUTUMN
Sylv screams. Her hands are cold in mine as I pull her close. Her eyes flick from left to right. A few steps above us, on the other side of the aisle, Asha has dropped her books. She’s wrapped her arms around her waist, and despite all the color she wears, she shrinks into herself. At the next shot, she recoils. As if instinctively, she moves back to us.
Students mass together to get away from Tyler. They climb over the seats to get to the far side of the auditorium, where the throng is just as heavy.
The doors to the hallway are locked. It seems the emergency exists are disabled too. The doors behind the stage only lead to dressing rooms and the prop room.
There’s no way out.
Down by the stage, the unlucky few hide between their seats or shiver in the aisles. Teachers and a handful of students drag the wounded behind chairs for protection. The chorus members who made a beeline backstage have not reappeared, but few would risk running out in the open to cross the elevated stage.
All the while, Tyler stands in the doorway, protected by the walls around him and the gun in his hands. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to—he has the high ground. He leans back. He lets terror overtake us and shoots whoever comes too close.
The shooter.
Two words that taste sour and foreign. My brother.
I bite the inside of my cheek and focus on the pain. Ty reenrolled to finish his senior year. He was supposed to talk through his options with Trenton today. He was supposed to put things right.
My brother, who cared for my bruises when Dad couldn’t contain his grief. Who helped me dance in secret. My fingers wrap around the ballet charm. Even after everything he’s done, he is my home.
Once, he caught Dad’s belt on his bare arm to stop it from coming down on me. Afterward, Tyler cracked a joke and tousled my hair. He is the only real family I have.
It can’t be him.
And today of all days.
I should get up. I should reason with him.
But he holds a gun, and his eyes flash dangerously. Sylv clings to me. We crouch low. From between the seats, I can see the body of one of our classmates. Her face is obscured by someone’s book bag, and blood pools on the floor. “We have to move,” I manage.
Neither Asha nor Sylv reacts at first. After what seems an eternity, Asha nods. She bends down to pick up her books, then stops and stares. No point in lugging them around now. They won’t be able to shield her.
A strangled cry swirls up from the lowest rows of the auditorium.
Carefully, I get to my feet. I tug at Sylv’s sleeve. She doesn’t give any indication of feeling it. As long as the commotion distracts Tyler, I want to take advantage of it. “Come on. We have to get away from here.”
I glance back toward my brother.
In the aisle adjacent to ours, leading up to Tyler, I recognize a petite girl with braces and too-large glasses. Geraldine. She’s a freshman. I only know her because she practices her singing in the music room. Her hands are curled into fists. She sways back and forth, physically indecisive, then she sprints up the aisle, toward the door.
She throws herself in a leap—a grand jeté—and I can see myself dance like her. She moves with delicacy.
The bullet picks her straight out of the air.
She stumbles and falls. Another freshman spurts forward, maybe in an attempt to help her, then skids to a halt as Tyler fires another shot—this time at the clock above the stage.
He smiles. “Please stay where you are.”
A terrified silence descends upon the auditorium. We’re all captives now.
CJ Johnson
@CadetCJJ
GUN. HELP. #OHS
10:06 AM
Alex Saxon
@AlexDoesTwitter
@CadetCJJ For real? There’s nothing on the news… #OHS
10:06 AM
George Johnson
@G_Johnson1
@CadetCJJ ARE YOU OK? TELL ME YOU’RE OK.
10:06 AM
George Johnson
@G_Johnson1
@CadetCJJ ARE YOU SERIOUS? I’M CALLING 911.
10:07 AM
Abby Smith
@YetAnotherASmith
@CadetCJJ @G_Johnson1 George, I’m driving over right now #OHS
10:07 AM
16 favorites 2 retweets
Anonymous
@BoredOpportunist
@CadetCJJ I know Mondays are BORING but you’re sick. #hoax #OHS
10:07 AM
15 retweets
George Johnson
&n
bsp; @G_Johnson1
@YetAnotherASmith @CadetCJJ NOT SURE THAT’S WISE. LET THE PROFESSIONALS DEAL.
10:07 AM
Jay Eyck
@JEyck32
@CadetCJJ Whats going on? #OHS
10:07 AM
Chapter Five
10:07–10:10 A.M.
TOMÁS
The sunlight filters in through the window. The shards of the glass paperweight cast rainbows on the walls. Fareed strides to the secretary’s desk. He’s paler than me now, and I can’t even joke about it.
He locks the door to the administrative office, cutting us off from the hallways, before he picks up the phone and dials 911. I hover by the desk, unable to stand still. If it were my decision, I’d make straight for the auditorium to convince myself this is a joke we happened to be on the wrong side of—convince myself this is a normal Monday morning.
Only Fareed’s rationality stops me. I never claimed to be the brains in this partnership. I’m here for bad ideas and impulsivity.
I turn on my heel and ram my fist into one of the supply cabinets. The thin board splinters on impact, cutting my knuckles, but the pain offers no relief.
“What has that cabinet ever done to you?” Fareed asks me.
On the other side of the line, something clicks and a muffled voice reaches through the receiver.
I still.
“I’m calling from Opportunity High,” Fareed says after giving our names. “We’ve heard gunshots.” He sounds so calm. The Fareed I know, with his steadily teasing smile, has disappeared. I’ve never met this Fareed. He articulates with care so his Afghan accent isn’t as pronounced. Next thing, they’ll mark him as a suspect. It wouldn’t be the first time. Things happen in the school, and he gets questioned even when it doesn’t concern him at all. I hate it. It’s so unfair—but at least it gives me some downtime.
The voice mumbles something unintelligible, and Fareed answers. “We’ve heard several shots. I don’t know if anyone is hurt.” He listens for a moment. “No, no, we’re not hurt.”
This Is Where It Ends Page 3
