Tad kept talking to keep his mother focused. When Tad’s mother began to panic again, Rashid turned and studied the long hallway. It was in shambles, but he’d seen worse this summer on the sightseeing trips his cousins had taken him on. Gaza was filled with buildings that had been bombed.
“They’re showing the school now!” Tad’s mom shouted. “A lot of fire trucks are in the parking lot. And it looks like the fire is on the back side of the school, or maybe on the side? I can’t tell. But I see smoke on the screen. Wait. The front entry doesn’t look like it’s on fire. Go out that way. Go now, Tad. You have to get out.”
Fire on the back side of the school and maybe on the first floor in the hallway to their right. He and Tad were in the hallway nearest to the front of the school right now, but both sets of stairs leading down were blocked.
Tad ran a hand over his head and cut off his mother’s panicked words. “We can’t get out the front, Mom. If you can’t tell where exactly the fire is, maybe we should just wait for the firefighters and—”
“No. Don’t wait. There’s something wrong. The reporters are saying that the police think the bomber is still inside the school. Oh, Lord. You have to get out of there.”
“What?” Rashid turned and hurried back toward the phone.
“Mom?” Tad yelled. “Where is the worst damage? Can you see?”
“Oh, God. The woman is saying that the police got a message from the bomber. He says there are other bombs that are going to go off. If anyone tries to enter the school, he’s going to set them off. You have to get out right now, Tad. The terrorist is still—”
Her voice disappeared. Tad looked at Rashid with wide eyes, then back down at the phone display. Tad yelled, “Mom?”
Still nothing. “The call must have been dropped.”
“I’m calling her back,” Tad said as he hit REDIAL. Nothing. Tad tried again and looked as if he was going to throw the phone when the call still didn’t go through. “What the hell, man? No service.”
Rashid grabbed the phone and looked at the cracked display.
No bars.
They hadn’t changed locations, but something had changed.
Rashid hurried down the hall, looking for a zone where they could get a signal. But there wasn’t one. The cell-phone signal in the school was never reliable. Everyone was always complaining about it, but he had a feeling this was due to something else. “The police must have jammed the cell-phone signal for the school. They must want to cut off any contact the bomber would have with the bombs or anyone outside who might be helping him.”
“So they think the person behind the bombings has more bombs and is trapped in here with us?” Tad kicked a bent piece of metal, and it skittered down the hall and slammed into the door of an open locker. “What kind of terrorist takes out a school when school isn’t even in session? It’s not like we’re some kind of major military target or a church or—” Tad went completely still. “Hold on a sec.” His eyes narrowed as he turned his head and looked at Rashid. “I know who you are.”
Rashid stepped back and balled his hands into fists at his side. Everything inside him tensed. Heat built inside him. He replayed all the insults in his mind as distrust twist Tad’s face. Distrust that had become more and more a part of Rashid’s life from people who thought they understood him. They thought they knew what he was. Was it any wonder he did what he did today? It was because of Tad. Because of Tad’s friends and all the people like them.
Normally at school he turned away when the distrust surfaced. This time he lifted his head to look Tad straight in the eyes. Rage and humiliation burned hot as the floor shuddered beneath him. “No. You don’t. You don’t know me at all.”
Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.
—James Baldwin
12:24 p.m.
Tad
— Chapter 26 —
THE BEARD WAS GONE. That’s why Tad hadn’t recognized Rashid. Without the beard, the guy actually looked normal. Kind of like he had when they were in English freshman year. Rashid hadn’t had the beard then, but he had always been tall and skinny and quiet. Different. He looked the way Tad always felt—like someone on the outside, looking in. Tad used to think about trying to talk to Rashid, but that seemed like a good way to make people look sideways at him—something he had no interest in. He had just wanted to be as normal as possible in this place.
And that’s when Tad realized something. “You never called 911.”
Rashid stared at him with dark, unblinking eyes. “What?”
“When I called my mother back. There was only one 911 call on the list. You never called for help.”
“I never said I did.”
Of course you did, Tad thought. Rashid had shaved. He must have done that to make sure people wouldn’t recognize him, and now he was lying. Mom said the bomber had given a “message” to the cops. Rashid must have known the emergency line would be jammed and had reached them some other way. How else would Rashid have had an explanation handy for why cell-phone signals were blocked?
The smell of smoke was getting stronger. The fire had to be getting closer. He had to get out of the building. And the guy standing in front of him was looking seriously pissed, which made this even worse. Rashid had been timid in class, but this didn’t seem to be the same guy.
“Look, man.” Tad took a step back. “I don’t care why you’re doing what you’re doing. I just want to get out of here before something else blows up.”
Rashid stared at him then took a step forward. “You think I’m the one who did this? Why?”
Tad automatically stepped back. “How the hell should I know why crazy people do things like this?”
“Crazy people?” Rashid repeated. Anger simmered under the measured words. “What’s that supposed to mean, Tad?”
Tad looked around, trying to decide which was the best way to run.
“You think I woke up today and decided to blow up the school because I’m a Muslim? Unbelievable.” Rashid shook his head, turned on his heel, and walked several steps down the hall. Tad reached for a board sticking out of the pile of debris. He yanked it free as Rashid spun around and let out a bitter laugh. “And now you’re going to beat me up? This keeps getting better. My family is Muslim, so to you, that makes me a crazy person. Well, maybe I should call the cops and tell them you’re the one who robbed the house at the end of my street a few weeks back. After all, you’re black. Aren’t all black people gang members and criminals who belong in jail?”
“That’s not the same thing,” Tad shot back, even though it was. A splinter dug into his hand as he tightened his grip on the board.
“I’m sure you can figure it out. You’ve got everything else figured out, don’t you, Tad? I’m a Muslim, so I must hate you. Fine. I do hate you, but it’s because you’re an idiot.” Rashid jabbed his finger at Tad. “I didn’t blow up this stupid school. I’m not a person who would do that, and you can believe me or not. I don’t care.” His shoulders slumped as he shook his head. “I just don’t care.”
“You’re just walking away?” Tad shifted his feet and cocked the board back a bit in case Rashid was trying to get him to lower his guard. That’s the kind of thing his brother would do to gain the upper hand.
Rashid lifted his eyes and met Tad’s. “If you want to believe I’m a bad person, I can’t stop you. But I for one do not wish to die in this building, and I especially do not want to spend my last minutes with you.”
Tad stood tense—heart pounding and ready to fight. But Rashid didn’t rush him or reach for his bag or anything threatening. He just looked at Tad with a sadness that made Tad think of the way his brother had looked at him last year when their dog had died. Then Rashid walked backwards and slowly eased down the hall, never turning his back on Tad. Twice Rashid glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t going to run into something, but he didn’t reach for his phone or do anything else threatening. He jus
t moved farther and farther away.
Tad looked down at the board in his hand. His stomach turned. If Rashid had taken just one step toward him, Tad would have clocked him with the splintered wood. He would have beaten him until Rashid was no longer a threat. He’d never gotten into a fight at school or pummeled anyone. How many times had he walked away or ignored things the team was doing because he didn’t want them to turn on him?
But he’d stood here, ready to fight Rashid. A guy who rarely spoke. When he did, it was never more than one sentence at a time in that quiet way he had. The dude never yelled or flipped out. Not even when Nicco and J.R. tripped him last year in the cafeteria or when the others called him names and bumped him into lockers as they passed in the halls. He just put his head down and kept walking. Rashid never showed that he was upset. He never struck back, even though he had to be pissed. Tad would have been.
So maybe the guy had a good reason to want to make people at this school pay. Maybe that’s why he had blown the crap out of this place. To get even for all the names he was called and the slights he’d suffered. Maybe that’s why he was acting so strange now and was lying about calling 911.
Or maybe—just maybe—he was trapped in this hell, scared and confused, just like Tad, and wasn’t telling the truth because Tad had never given him a reason to trust him.
His chest tightened as Rashid continued down the long hallway. Rashid’s words pricked at him like the splinters in the board he held in his hands. Because they felt like the truth. And if they were, what did that make Tad?
“Hey,” Tad called as Rashid tried the handle of one of the classroom doors. Still holding the board, Tad stalked toward him. “I’m not a racist.”
Rashid didn’t look back at him and instead went to the next door and tried the handle.
“Hey!” Tad yelled as Rashid tugged on the door. “Did you hear me? I’m not a racist. Bombs have been set off, and you look different now and lied about calling 911. What do you expect me to think?”
“What I expect is for you to think and say exactly what you did,” Rashid said, leaning against the door, which wouldn’t budge. His bag slid off his shoulder and caught Tad’s eye. The guy had brought that bag out of the bathroom with him. What was in the bag that was so important?
Tad didn’t move as Rashid said, “I don’t expect you to be any different from your friends.”
The bag slipped lower on Rashid’s arm, and Tad lunged forward. He grabbed the strap as Rashid yanked himself and the bag backwards. “What are you doing?”
“Who did you call?” Tad shouted as he pulled Rashid off balance. “Show me!” he yelled. “If you don’t have anything to hide, you shouldn’t have any problem letting me see what’s in your bag.”
Tad tightened his grip on the black backpack. Rashid was pulling hard, but Tad had at least thirty pounds on Rashid and a lot of football training. This time when Tad tugged on the bag, he leaned his whole body back. The strap snapped. Tad stumbled back, tripped over a broken tile, and crashed into an open locker. Tad yelped and scrambled for the bag, which had landed not far from him. He reached for the zipper as Rashid charged forward and yelled, “Give it back!”
“No way in hell.” He was going to prove Rashid was hiding something important. He was lying, and Tad was going to prove that he wasn’t wrong for feeling threatened. He wasn’t like the guys on the team who lashed out just because someone wasn’t like them.
Tad juggled the bag and tugged the zipper down as Rashid grabbed the side and pulled. The backpack gaped open. Tad lost his grip, and everything inside fell out.
Tad dived to the side, covered his head, and held his breath in case anything in the bag exploded when it hit the ground.
Nothing happened.
No explosion. No fizzle. Nothing.
Tad opened his eyes. Rashid was staring down at the floor with an expression Tad couldn’t read. Then slowly Rashid squatted down and reached for the bag that had fallen at his feet.
“Foolish,” Rashid said in a flat voice. “It was foolish to come here today. I should have known better.”
Tad looked at the items that had spilled out of the bag and to the ground.
A brush.
A bottle of hair gel.
Some notebooks.
Rashid grabbed a can of shaving cream and something else that had rolled under a piece of broken board and shoved both back into the bag, along with clothes and a bottle of water and a bunch of comic books.
Then Rashid reached for the phone.
“Let me have that,” Tad demanded.
Rashid looked at the phone, then back to Tad. “Fine. You want it? Here.”
The screen had been cracked before. This fall to the floor had shattered it.
“Who did you call?” Tad asked again.
“What does it matter?” Rashid replied. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
Rashid picked up a T-shirt, and Tad spotted a book on the ground. Tad reached for it.
“Give me that,” Rashid said, snatching the Koran from Tad’s hands.
Tad let the book go. “You always carry that around?”
Rashid looked at him long. Hard. As if someone had hit the PAUSE button on a video. Smoke was still snaking down the hallway. Things snapped and popped and groaned around them. Tad flinched as, under it all, he could suddenly hear someone—a girl—scream. Rashid’s eyes widened. He heard it too.
Still they stood there, looking at each other. Tad waiting for Rashid to explain the call or explain away the book. But Rashid just shook his head, shoved the book into the bag, and grabbed the rest of his stuff. “Someone might need our help,” Rashid said, heading in the direction of the girl’s voice. “Hello?” he called. “Where are you?”
No one called back. There was just the dripping and the sound of Rashid kicking bits of debris as he made his way down the hall.
Tad knew he should be trying to find a way out, but there was someone in trouble, so he followed Rashid. “Hey. If you aren’t involved in any of this, why aren’t you denying it?”
“Because someone needs my help, but even if there wasn’t someone else here, there wouldn’t be any point.” Rashid stopped and called again. “Hello? Are you there?”
“You can’t ignore me. I know what you’re doing,” Tad insisted. “If you were innocent, you’d be pissed as hell. You’d be taking a swing at me, instead of pretending I’m not here. You’d—”
Rashid spun, and Tad could see the guy was well and truly angry as he yelled, “You should know better! You of all people.”
“Me of all people. What does that mean?”
“You know what it’s like to be different, but instead of thinking about that, you stand there while your friends hurl insults and believe everything they hear on television. You should know better, but you don’t, so do you actually think my telling you that you’re wrong would change any of that?”
When Tad didn’t answer right away, Rashid nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought.” He turned again and jogged toward the other collapsed stairwell that Tad already knew was a no-go as far as an escape route. If the guy was really looking for a way out, he wasn’t going to find one there. But if he was looking to set off a bomb he’d already planted . . .
You of all people.
Tad looked at Rashid, then back at the blocked stairs and the hallway near it, which was hazier than it had been before. That couldn’t be a good sign. Rashid moved toward an unopened classroom and pressed his ear to the door. Then he tried the handle. When the door didn’t open, Rashid went to the door next to it and listened.
“What are you doing?” Tad asked. He needed to be searching for an exit. Instead, he yelled, “I asked you a question! What are you—”
“Quiet.” Rashid pressed his ear against the door and frowned.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Shut up.” Rashid help up a hand and waited. “I thought I heard something.”
Tad went still. “Somet
hing? What kind of something?” Ticking? The cracking of fire?
“I think the scream came from here.” Rashid turned the handle. This door opened. Rashid pushed it open as far as it would go and peered inside. “Hello?” Rashid shoved harder, shifting a bunch of boards and debris that were in the way. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Leave, Tad told himself. But what if it was Frankie trapped in there?
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Hello?” Rashid asked again as he shoved the door all the way open. “Is anyone there?”
Diana
— Chapter 27 —
DIANA KNELT UNDER the tall chemistry tables and tried to get her bearings. Fear. She could still taste it. Still feel it pulsing inside her.
Don’t panic. As long as she didn’t panic, everything would turn out okay. Her father always said that true leaders kept their cool in situations in which everyone else would lose their heads. She and Tim had talked about that a lot during the last few months. Success required the ability to do what had to be done without letting anything—like fear—get in the way. Her father and Tim never panicked. She wouldn’t do it now.
She took out her phone and dialed Tim, while everything around her creaked and wires hung from the ceiling like a scene out of a bad movie.
No answer.
She frowned and crawled out from under the table with her cell phone in hand, then surveyed everything around her. Where was the backpack? She’d had it when she’d been dangling from the desk leg, hanging on for dear life. Then she’d let go, with nothing beneath her, and had hit the floor below feet first, sending a jolt of pain up her legs and spine. More pain when she’d crashed forward to her knees, almost smashing her face into one of the desks.
She had to find that bag.
She had to get out of this room.
Her thoughts tumbled over one another. She couldn’t see the doorway to the hall. But there was another door on the side of the room that led to a pass-through closet, which opened to the hallway. The chemistry teachers used it for storage and as a break room, equipped with a coffeepot, a microwave, and enough microwave popcorn to feed the entire school.
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