Hate List

by Jennifer Brown

  I shook my head slowly. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

  She stared at me for a few minutes, cocking her head slightly to the side and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Odd, I don’t remember ever seeing her chew on her cheek like that before. She looked… vulnerable somehow. Earnest. Maybe even a little bit scared. It was a look I wasn’t used to seeing on her.

  “You sure? ’Cause it’s just Sarah and me over there and Sarah’s working on some sort of research project for Psych anyway. She’ll never even know you’re there.”

  I looked past her to the table where she normally sat. Sure, Sarah was sitting there, her head bent over a notebook, but there were about ten other kids there, too. All of them Jessica’s crowd. I seriously doubted they wouldn’t know I was there. I wasn’t stupid. And I wasn’t desperate, either.

  “No. Really. That’s nice and all, but I don’t think so.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you can come over any time if you want.”

  I nodded. “I’ll remember.”

  She started to walk away, but stopped. “Um, can I ask you a question?” she asked.

  “I guess.”

  “A lot of people are wondering why you came back to Garvin.”

  Ah, so here it is. Here’s where she calls me a name, tells me I’m not wanted, makes fun of me. I felt a familiar wall begin to build itself up inside me.

  “Because this is my school,” I said, probably a little too defensively. “I shouldn’t have to leave it any more than anyone else here. The school said I could come back.”

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek again, then said, “You’re right. You didn’t shoot anyone.”

  She disappeared into the Commons again and I was struck with a thought that jolted me to the core: She wasn’t making fun of me. She meant what she said. And I wasn’t imagining things—Jessica Campbell didn’t look like she normally did. She looked changed somehow.

  I picked up my tray and threw the food in the trash. I wasn’t hungry at all anymore.

  I sat back down on the floor and angled myself to where I could see into the Commons. See what’s really there, Valerie, Dr. Heiler’s voice said in my head. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my notebook and pencil. I watched the kids inside. I watched them do what they normally do and I drew them doing it—a pack of wolves bent over their trays, their long snouts drawn up into snarls and sneers and smiles. Except Jessica. Her wolf-face stared delicately back at me. I was almost surprised to look down at what I’d drawn and see that her wolf-face looked a lot more like a puppy’s.

  MAY 2, 2008

  7:41 A.M.

  “Don’t you remember our plan?”

  When Christy Bruter hit the floor in front of me and the room erupted into this screaming rushing chaotic emergency, I had a bizarre moment where I felt sure that I was imagining all of it. Like I was still at home in bed, dreaming. Any minute my cell was going to ring for real and Nick would be calling me to tell me that he and Jeremy were going to Blue Lake for the day and he wouldn’t be coming to school.

  But then Nick rushed off and Willa fell to her knees next to Christy and rolled Christy over and there was all this blood. It was everywhere. Christy was still breathing, but it sounded really bad, like she was trying to breathe through a bowl full of pudding or something. Willa was pushing down on Christy’s hands and telling Christy over and over that she would be all right.

  I knelt next to Willa and started pressing down, too.

  “Do you have a cell phone?” I yelled to Willa. She shook her head, no. Mine was in my backpack, but in all the chaos my backpack seemed to have completely disappeared. I saw in the security videos much later that it was actually lying on the floor behind me, soaking up blood. When I saw those videos I thought it was weird that I’d looked right at it but in my fear and confusion didn’t recognize it. Like “blood” and “backpack” could in no way ever go together.

  “I have my cell,” Rachel Tarvin said. She was standing right behind Willa and was incredibly calm, like she dealt with shootings every day.

  Rachel pulled the cell out of her jeans pocket and flipped it open. She started pressing numbers when there was another loud crack followed by more screaming. Followed by two more loud cracks. And then three more.

  A crowd of kids surged in our direction and I jumped up, afraid that I would be crushed under them.

  “Don’t leave us,” Willa cried. “She’s going to die. You can’t go. I need help. Help!”

  But the crowd was surging me right along with them and before I knew it I was slipping across the floor on Christy’s blood into a knot of kids that were trying to shove their way out of the Commons. Someone elbowed me in the lip. I tasted blood. Someone stepped on my foot, hard. But I was craning my neck too hard to notice. Christy now seemed an impossible distance away. Plus now I could see something worse.

  Over by the Student Council doughnut table there was blood. And I saw two bodies underneath the table, not moving. Beyond that I saw Nick overturning chairs and dumping tables over. Occasionally he would crouch and look under a table, then drag someone out of it and talk to them, waving a gun in their face. Then there would be another one of those cracks and more screaming.

  I started to put it together. Nick. The gun. The cracks. The screaming. My brain was moving slowly still, but was picking up speed. It didn’t make sense to me. But then again, maybe it did. We had, in a way, talked about this.

  “Did you hear about that school shooting in Wyoming or whatever?” Nick had said one night on the phone, just a few weeks before. I was sitting in my bed polishing my toenails with Nick on speakerphone on the night table next to me. One of a million talks we had, no more or less important than any other we’d had before.

  “Yeah,” I said, wiping the last of the wet fingernail polish off the side of my toe. “Wild, huh?”

  “Did you hear the crap the media was giving about the guys who did it and how there were no warning signs?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. I haven’t watched much of it.”

  “They keep saying these guys were real popular and everyone loved them and they weren’t loners at all and stuff. What a crock.”

  We were silent for a minute and I used the time to plug my MP3 player into my computer. “Well. The media sucks. You know.”

  “Yeah.”

  More silence. I flipped through a magazine.

  “So what do you think? Think you could do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Shoot all those people. Like Christy and Jessica and Tennille and stuff.”

  I chewed on my finger and read a caption under a photo of Cameron Diaz in the magazine. Something about the purse she was carrying. “I guess,” I mumbled, flipping pages again. “I mean, I’m not popular or anything, so it wouldn’t really be the same.”

  He sighed—the noise came out of the speaker like thunder. “Yeah. You’re right. But I could do it. I could totally blow those people up. It just wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.”

  We’d both laughed.

  He was wrong. Everyone was totally surprised. Especially me. So surprised I was sure it was a mistake. A mistake I had to stop.

  I shoved my way past a couple of girls who were hugging one another. I pushed through the cluster of kids by the door, going the opposite direction of where I wanted to go—where everyone else was trying to go. As I walked I got stronger, more forceful, shoving kids out of my way. Bumping into them and sending some of them sprawling on the floor, slipping in blood, landing with thwacks against the tile. I started running as I moved along. Shoving. Running. My throat making hoarse sounds.

  “No,” I was saying as I bumped kids out of my way. “No. Wait…”

  Finally I found a small clearing and I rushed into it. I saw a kid I didn’t recognize lying on the floor about two feet away from me. He was facedown and the back of his head was totally just blood.

  Three or four more shots rang out, ripping my attention away from the dead boy.


  “Nick!” I screamed.

  Now that I was in the middle of the room I couldn’t see him anymore. Too many kids were going in too many different directions. I stopped and looked around, whipping my head frantically from side to side.

  Then I caught a familiar-looking blur to my left. Nick was approaching Mr. Kline, the chemistry teacher. Mr. Kline was standing his ground, his arms outstretched in front of a small group of kids. He was red-faced and appeared sweaty or maybe just covered with tears. I raced to catch up with them.

  “Where is she?” Nick screamed. Several of the students behind Mr. Kline gave tearful squeals and pressed themselves tighter together.

  “Put down the gun, buddy,” Mr. Kline said. His voice was trembling, although I got the impression he was giving his best effort to keep it steady. “Just put it down and we’ll talk.”

  Nick cussed and kicked a chair. It flew into Mr. Kline’s legs, but he didn’t budge. Didn’t even flinch.

  “Where is she?”

  Mr. Kline shook his head slowly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Just put down the gun and we’ll discuss this…”

  “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Tell me where that bitch Tennille is, goddamnit, or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

  I tried to run faster, but my legs felt like rubber.

  “I don’t know where she is, man. Don’t you hear the sirens? The police are here now. It’s over. Just put the gun down and spare yourself…”

  Another crack filled the air. My eyes closed instinctively. And when I opened them again I saw Mr. Kline falling to the floor, his arms still outstretched. He fell straight down like that, and then crumpled onto one side. I wasn’t sure where he was hit exactly, but his eyes had a bad look in them, like he wasn’t looking at the cafeteria anymore.

  I stood immobile, my ears clogged up with the noise of the gun, my eyes burning, my throat raw. I said nothing. I did nothing. I just stood there looking at Mr. Kline lying on his side shuddering.

  The kids who’d been hiding behind Mr. Kline were now trapped between Nick and the wall behind them. There were maybe six or seven of them, still huddled together and making puppy noises. In the back of the cluster was Jessica Campbell. She stood bent over at the waist, sort of in a crouch, her butt pressed against the wall. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, but had come out of the rubber band in clumps and was falling down around her face. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

  I’d been too close to the last shot and my ears were muffled. I couldn’t hear what Nick was saying, but part of it sounded like “get away” or “go away” and he was waving his gun around. The kids resisted at first, but he fired off a shot that hit Lin Yong in the arm and they all scattered, dragging Lin with them, leaving only Jessica crunched up against the wall all alone.

  And I knew. Right then I knew what he was going to do. My hearing was still foggy, but not so foggy that I couldn’t hear him screaming at her, and her screaming and crying at nobody in particular. Her mouth was stretched open and her eyes squeezed shut.

  Oh my God, I thought. The List. He’s picking off people who’re on the Hate List. I started forward again, only this time it was like I was running through sand. My feet felt heavy and tired; my chest felt like someone had tied something around it, squeezing the breath out of me and dragging me backward at the same time.

  Nick started to raise his gun again. Jessica pulled her hands up over her face and crouched lower against the wall. I wasn’t going to make it in time.

  “Nick!” I screamed.

  He turned toward me, still holding the gun in front of him. He was smiling. No matter what else I remember about Nick Levil in my lifetime, probably the one thing I’ll remember most was the smile he had on his face when he turned around. It was an inhuman sort of smile. But somewhere in it—somewhere in his eyes—I swear I saw true affection. Like the Nick I knew was in there somewhere, begging to be let out.

  “Don’t!” I screamed, closing in on him. “Stop it! Stop!”

  He got this curious look on his face. The smile stayed put, but he looked like he didn’t understand why I was running toward him. Like I was the one with a problem or something. He looked at me with that surprised smile and I couldn’t hear him very well, but I was pretty sure he said something like, “Don’t you remember our plan?” which kind of slowed me down a little because I couldn’t remember anything about any plan. Plus, when he said it, he had this really creepy faraway look in his eyes, like he was totally absent from what was going on in the Commons. He didn’t look anything like himself.

  He shook his head a little, like I was so ditzy for forgetting the supposed “plan,” and the smile grew wider. He turned back to Jessica and at the same time drew the gun upward again. I lunged for him this time, my only thought being I can’t watch Jessica Campbell die right in front of me.

  I think I tripped over Mr. Kline. Actually I know I did because the security camera shows me tripping over him. So I tripped over Mr. Kline and pitched sideways into Nick. We both stumbled several steps and there was another one of those cracks and I felt the Commons floor go out from underneath me.

  All I knew then was that I was lying kind of halfway under a table about four feet away from Mr. Kline and Nick was looking at the gun in his hand with a much more serious surprised look and he was so far away from me I wasn’t sure how I got that far away so quickly. And that Jessica Campbell wasn’t standing in front of the wall anymore and I thought I could see the back of her running into the crush of kids at the Commons doors.

  And then I think I felt more than saw, but definitely saw, too, a stream of blood pulsing out of my thigh, really thick and red. And I tried to say something to Nick—I don’t remember what—and I think I raised my head like I was going to get up. Nick looked from the gun to me and his eyes were all glazed. And then all this gray fuzz appeared behind my eyes and I felt myself getting lighter and lighter or maybe it was more like heavier and heavier and then everything just went black.

  5

  [FROM THE GARVIN COUNTY SUN-TRIBUNE,

  MAY 3, 2008, REPORTER ANGELA DASH]

  Morris Kline, 47—As Garvin High’s chemistry teacher and men’s track coach, Kline was voted Teacher of the Year in both 2004 and 2005. “Mr. Kline would do anything for you,” freshman Dakota Ellis told reporters. “Once he stopped on K Highway because he saw my mom and I had a flat tire. He helped us change the tire even though he was all dressed up like he was going somewhere really nice afterward. I don’t know where he was going, but he didn’t seem to mind getting dirty. That’s just the way he was.”

  Although students are upset by the loss of Kline, few have expressed surprise at the way he died—like a hero. Shot in the chest while protecting several students and trying to talk Levil into putting down the gun, Kline was “barely hanging on,” according to EMTs who arrived at the scene. He was later pronounced dead at Garvin County General. Kline did not appear to be a direct target of Levil, but rather shot in the heat of the moment.

  He is survived by his wife, Renee, and three children. Mrs. Kline told reporters, “Nick Levil robbed my children of a future with their father and personally I’m glad he killed himself. He doesn’t deserve a future after what he’s done to all these families.”

  Mom was the first car in line and I couldn’t have been more grateful to see that tan Buick. I practically sprinted for it when the bell rang, forgetting all about stopping by my locker for homework.

  I slid into the car and took my first real breath of the day. Mom looked at me, frown lines stretching across her forehead. They looked pretty deep, like she’d been working on them for a long time.

  “How’d it go?” she asked. I could tell she was trying to sound bright and cheery, but the worried edge was in there, too. I think she’d been working on that for a long time as well.

  “Okay,” I said. “Sucked, really. But okay.”

  She put the car into gear and pulled out of the lot. “Did you see Stace
y?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. That must have been nice to see your old friend.”

  “Mom,” I said. “Just let it go.”

  Mom glanced away from traffic and looked at me, the frown lines deepening. Her lips were pressed together hard and I almost wished I had lied and told her everything went great today because I knew how important it was for her to hear that I got back with all my old friends and even made some new ones and everybody knew that I had nothing to do with the shooting and I was part of the big old happy crowd we kept hearing about on TV. But the glance really was for just a second and then she looked back into traffic.

  “Mom, really, it’s no big deal.”

  “I told her mother. I told her you weren’t responsible for this. You would have thought she’d listen. She was your Brownie troop leader, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Mom, c’mon. You know what Dr. Hieler said about how people were going to react to me.”

  “Yes, but the Brinkses should be different. They should know. We shouldn’t have to convince them. You grew up together. We raised our girls together.”

  We were both silent for the rest of the ride home. Mom eased the car into the garage and shut it off. Then she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t think it was right to just get out of the car and bail on her. But I didn’t think she necessarily wanted to chat, either. She looked like she’d had one heck of a bad day.

  Finally I broke the silence. “Stacey told me that you talked to her mom.” She didn’t answer. “She said you told her mother to blow it out her ass.”

  Mom chuckled. “Well, you know how Lorraine can be. So uppity. I’ve wanted to tell her to blow it out her ass for a long time.” She chuckled again, and then giggled, her eyes still closed, her head still against the steering wheel. “This was just my first good opportunity. It felt pretty nice.”