Shooter

by Caroline Pignat

  And I am a master at that. Just to prove it (and in part to stop Alice from freaking everyone out with her gunmen trivia) I kick Xander’s foot. “So, loser. Tell us what you did that’s got Izzy so freaked out? Did you take her picture or something?”

  He stops messing with his camera and looks at me in surprise. Like he’s just realized I’m in the room. Or where he is. Total spacer.

  “Hogan!” Izzy snaps. “Why don’t you just mind your own busin—”

  “Was she naked? She totally was!” That must be it. I mean, why else would she be so riled up about it? “Were you stalking her through the bedroom window?”

  I see it all play out in my imagination. It’s pretty sweet.

  “No,” Xander mumbles. “The door was open and I saw her—”

  “Shut! Up!” Izzy cuts him off.

  “Dude,” I go, “you could make some serious coin with those.” I know I’d pay to see them. What guy wouldn’t?

  Alice is completely bug-eyed. “That’s child pornography! You know that, right? A criminal offense. Even if you don’t pay for it, even if it’s e-mailed and you just forward it, you could be implicated. Don’t you remember what Officer Scott said? In that Social Media Safety presentation about—”

  “I wasn’t naked!” Izzy yells.

  I look at Xander and he shakes his head. Now I’m really curious. “So…what, then?”

  He opens his mouth.

  “I swear to God, Xander.” Izzy points at him. “If you say one word about it, you’re dead.”

  His face goes pale, like she’s waving a machete and not a manicured finger. His mouth snaps shut.

  So much for that.

  “But you guys know that, right?” Alice continues with her public service announcement. Totally killing my buzz. “About naked pictures? Because a teenager is legally a minor. So, even if I forwarded a photo like that in a text, I’d be liable. And—”

  “Yeah, we get it!” Izzy interrupts. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. People sending you naked photos, Alice? Is that, like, a real-life true-drama problem for you?” Izzy looks at her with that face. The one I thought she saved for me. The one that says: God, you’re an idiot. “Do you, like, even have a phone?”

  “Um, no. Well, not exactly,” Alice says. “My Gran has a flip phone—”

  “A flip phone?” Izzy laughs. Alice might as well have said she uses a banana phone. I mean, I don’t have a phone either. But only because I lost it. Three times. At least when I have one it’s the latest model.

  “Yeah.” Alice laughs, but her face doesn’t.

  “How do you text? Or check e-mail? Or take pictures? It’s like you’re living in the 1980s.”

  Alice shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I never really…I dunno. I guess, I just don’t need a phone.”

  “Oh, right. I get it.” Izzy nods condescendingly. “I mean, no offense, but who are you gonna call?”

  “GHOST…BUSTERS!” Xander explodes. We all stop and stare at him. A look of panic crosses his face. “You know?” And then, he starts to sing, like that’ll help. “Some-thin’ strange…” He’s nodding and waving his hand for us to join in. “In your neigh-bor-hood…Who you gonna call?”

  Silence.

  Xander’s lips part like he’s showing his teeth to the dentist. I think he’s trying to smile. Or something. It’s just weird.

  “Something strange is right,” I say.

  His mouth closes and he looks back at his camera. “Ray Parker, Jr.,” he mutters. “From the soundtrack. I have the 45.”

  “SUCH a loser,” Izzy says, cutting him off.

  “It’s a movie,” Alice explains. “About a trio of spirit exterminators. I think it’s from the 80s.”

  “Well, you would know.” Izzy sighs dramatically as she returns to her phone. “Could this day get any worse?”

  I wish she hadn’t asked that. Because it always can.

  At least, for me, it always does.

  ISABELLE

  BRI: Sorry, couldn’t reply. Trying to hear what Wilson and the cops are saying in his office.

  There’s like five of them here now and more on the way.

  IZZY: Do they know who it is?

  BRI: Don’t think so.

  IZZY: Are you ok to txt? I don’t wanna get you in trouble.

  Or draw attention with the buzzing.

  BRI: On mute.;)

  Txting is my lifeline. Seriously.

  This whole thing is INSANE.

  I can’t stop shaking.

  You doing ok?

  IZZY: Ya if you think being stuck in a washroom with Hogan and Xander Watt is ok.

  BRI: ?? Xander is there too?

  IZZY: Yep. Shoot me now.

  Sorry. :/

  …you know what I mean.

  BRI: It’s like your worst nightmare.

  IZZY: No kidding.

  Get this. He’s already taken two pics of me!!!

  BRI: Seriously?? WTF?

  What about Wilson’s “behavior contract”?

  Isn’t it supposed to be like some restraining order—no more pics of you?

  IZZY: Kind of. Wilson made him destroy mine.

  BRI: I never did see them. How bad could they be?

  You look amazing all the time.

  IZZY: Bad. Believe me.

  BRI: They should’ve done more than just kick him out of Yearbook class.

  IZZY: He never should have been in it in the first place.

  He never edited the grad write-ups.

  And his pics were just…weird.

  People pay $60 for a yearbook, they want pics of GOOD memories.

  BRI: Like hot football players.

  IZZY: EXACTLY! Teams winning. High-fives. Spirit Week.

  BRI: Friends hanging out and having fun.

  IZZY: Not creeper shots of breakups, loners eating lunch, or druggies lighting up.

  BRI: Seriously. Who wants to see that?

  IZZY: I had to do all my work AND his to meet the deadline.

  BRI: What’s he doing now?

  IZZY: Just sitting there. Zooming in and out on the floor.

  OBSESS much??

  BRI: Effed up. Loser.

  XANDER

  Writer’s Craft Journal

  Xander Watt

  February 18, 2016

  ASSIGNMENT: read the poem “Ellie: An Inventory of Being” and write one in a similar form about yourself. Explore and express those inner conflicts as concisely as you can.

  I am Xander.

  I am seventeen years old.

  Mom calls me Alexander.

  Grandpa can’t remember what to call me.

  Dad just never calls.

  I am sometimes ignored,

  often forgotten,

  mostly invisible—

  but it’s no superpower.

  I don’t know how to talk to girls.

  I don’t get them

  so I don’t get them.

  But that’s okay because, like all strange and unusual creatures,

  they both intrigue and terrify me.

  I think too much sometimes,

  blurt the wrong thing often, and

  feel confused, always.

  I do Social Autopsies,

  dissecting my awkward conversations

  to determine the exact

  cause of death.

  I want to finish the Lego Death Star I started when I was nine.

  But I’m still missing a key piece—

  my dad.

  I am anti-Superman

  and pro-Marvel.

  I like a hero with a troubled past.

  I guess, it gives me hope.

  I wish life unfolded in graphic panels,

  logical boxes of daily drama

  narrated by Stan Lee or George Lucas.

  A world where thoughts were clear and bold

  in big bubbles overhead.

  Then I’d get it.

  I’d get you.

  Because we are all just comic
characters, really.

  All of us villainous heroes or heroic villains

  depending on the day.

  I wonder what my life’s mission will be?

  Where will I boldly go?

  But first, I need to fix some broken things.

  Like my cracked camera lens.

  My Lego Death Star.

  And my family.

  My name is Xander and this is me in 2016.

  ALICE

  I feel bad for Xander. He really has no clue. Conversations are like skipping double-dutch—completely confusing, next to impossible to enter, and mastered only by the cool girls, like Isabelle. She was the double-dutch queen back at St. Daniel’s. Double-dutch, like a conversation, can look really confusing at first with so much going on in two directions, but if you watch closely, find the rhythm, and pace yourself, you just might be able to jump in.

  Theoretically.

  Timing is everything. So is how you enter. And leading with something like a terrible rendition of obscure lines from an ’80s song is a sure way to kill a conversation. Jump in with that and just watch lines of communication drop dead around you.

  Believe me, I know. Too bad Xander doesn’t.

  I never was able to get the hang of double-dutch even though I spent most grade 4 and 5 recesses as an ever-ender. Watching. Waiting. Wishing.

  Well, at least until they replaced me with the flagpole.

  Thankfully, no one is talking now. It’s a lockdown, for heaven’s sake! We’re not supposed to make any noise at all. Bad enough that we aren’t in our classes. Or that we didn’t even have the door locked at first! Need I remind them, this isn’t just a drill? (Maybe I do. They obviously forgot all about the Social Media Safety presentation.)

  Rules exist for a reason. I know all about living with rules and, especially, the chaos that happens when they are ignored.

  “There’s, like, five cops downstairs and more coming,” Izzy says. Thankfully, she’s keeping her voice down. “What are they waiting for? Why aren’t they just going after him?”

  The Hulk leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “After who, exactly?”

  “Duh! The shooter,” she says. “What are they waiting for?”

  “Well,” he adds, not opening his eyes, “if an armed posse is sweeping the halls, it’s probably smart to first get some idea of who they’re looking for. There’s fifteen hundred people in this building. He could be anyone. How are they gonna know which one to arrest?”

  She frowns for a second. “Well, he’s the one with the gun, obviously!”

  “Oh, right. He’s just sitting there waiting for them to come and find him.” He smirks. “It’s not some hide-and-seek game, Iz. The guy probably has some kind of plan.”

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  “It’s common sense,” the Hulk continues. “They need to know as much as they can about the guy before they start shooting everything that moves.”

  “Is that what they do?” I ask, aghast.

  “All the kids and teachers are locked down,” Isabelle says. “Anyone out in the hall is clearly the perp.”

  “Pfffft!” the Hulk chides. “The perp. Listen to you. You think binge-watching HBO cop shows makes you an authority on policing?”

  “Oh, and petty theft does?”

  “Guys, guys,” I remind them, “we really shouldn’t be talking.” I glance at the blue door. “I mean, he could be right outside.”

  “We’re fine,” the Hulk says. “For all we know the guy took off after he trashed the atrium displays. It’s just anoth—”

  BANG!

  We jump at the explosive sound still ringing in the hall outside. Even the Hulk sits bolt upright and glances warily at the door.

  “Is that a gunshot?” Isabelle whispers hysterically. “It’s him! It’s him! He’s right outside our door!”

  BANG-BANG-BANGBANG!

  Isabelle screams. Or maybe I do as I cower at the sound, hands over my ears. But nothing stops the thud-thud-thudding of my heart. Another shriek. This time I know it’s not me. Or Isabelle. The scream is coming from outside the washroom, fading with the footsteps as someone runs down the hall.

  I go numb. It can’t be. It can’t.

  But it is.

  I’d know that wail anywhere. And though everything in my body says hide, I push my back into the wall, dig my feet into the floor, and drive my shaky legs to straighten and stand.

  “Ohmigodohmigod, we’re gonna die!” Isabelle rocks slightly as the Hulk moves over and puts his arm around her.

  “You’re okay. We’re safe in here and no one is getting in,” he whispers, as he rubs her back, trying to comfort her. I move towards the door. “That’s probably just the police,” he says. “If they’ve found him, it’s gonna be over soon.”

  He’s probably right. And that is exactly why I have to go out.

  HOGAN

  Alice moves to the door. What the hell is she doing?

  The panic on her face is clear as she looks at the bolt and back at me and Izzy. “I have to go out there.”

  “What?” I jump up and join her. “Are you nuts?” I whisper. “Five minutes ago you’re obsessing like some crazy bylaw officer: lock the door, no talking, no texting. And now, you want to leave?”

  She unlocks the deadbolt with a thunk.

  I slap my hand on the door, holding it shut. “Listen. Maybe there is nothing to worry about. Like I said, it’s probably some lame prank. But use that nerd-brain of yours, Alice. The fact is some nutjob is out there with a gun. A GUN!”

  She heaves on the handle, but it won’t budge. “Please!” She pulls with all her puny strength. “That is exactly why I have to go out there.”

  “What about the rules?”

  “It’s Noah.” She looks at me with desperate eyes. “That was him screaming. He’s out there somewhere. Don’t you get it? Noah needs me.” She tugs on the handle. “You have to let me go. Please! I have to help my brother.”

  My hand falters at the word “brother,” and just like that—she yanks the door open just enough to squeeze through.

  Crouched, she scurries down the side of the hallway, stopping to listen every few feet. For her prey. For her predator. Just like a small mouse.

  “OhmiGOD! What are you doing?” Izzy whispers, pushing on the door as I watch Alice kneel by the corner at the far end of the hall. “Are you, like, insane?! Shut it! Shut it! Lock it! Lock it!”

  Xander doesn’t move. “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” he says. Like he knows what I’m considering. Hell, I don’t even know.

  No, wait, I do.

  I’m thinking about Randy. About how helpless I felt watching the blood, so much blood, spill out of my brother’s head on the gray tiles.

  And it was all your fault.

  I’m thinking about how I would’ve given anything, done anything, to save him. I’m thinking Alice has a ton of nerve, that little Nerd Girl. And heart. And absolutely no common sense at all.

  And without thinking any more, I fling open the door and run after her.

  NOAH

  Not the room.

  Not the room.

  Not the right room.

  Ha-KU-na Ma-TA-ta!

  Ha-KU-na Ma-TA-ta!

  Ha-KU-na Ma-TA-ta!

  ISABELLE

  He left me? He left me! Ohmigod!

  How could Hogan just leave me? Now? In here with him?

  For a moment, I think about running after Hogan and Alice. I even crack open the door and check down the hall.

  Empty.

  Screw you, Hogan! How could you be so selfish? What about me?

  Who knows where they are now, or the gunman, for that matter? I close the door and lock it. Xander is sitting in the corner with his damn camera.

  Better the psycho I know than the one I don’t, I guess.

  I hope.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I say, moving to the corner farthest from him.

  He blinks. “I
get ideas all the time. How do you stop yourself from—?”

  “I mean stay over there. And no pictures.”

  He nods.

  I check my phone. Still no word from Darren. I send another text.

  Why isn’t he answering?

  Maybe his phone is dead. I don’t let myself think beyond that. I can’t or I’ll lose it completely.

  This can’t be happening. It can’t.

  And yet, it is.

  “Could this day get any worse?” I mutter.

  “Why do you always ask that?” Xander says. “It is an odd question. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to ask how it might get better?”

  True. With an armed psycho on the loose, it definitely might get worse. Much worse. “Whatever.”

  Nervously, I fiddle with my woven bracelet, spinning its knot around my wrist.

  “Did you make that?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, not really wanting to talk to him, of all people. But I need the distraction. “It was a gift. From my DR mom. She made it for me.”

  “What’s a DR mom?”

  “You know, the DREX team?”

  He shakes his head. How has he not heard of DREX? We’ve been fundraising, like, all year. The cake auction. The dance. Hello? “Dominican Republic Experience team? A bunch of us went to the DR.”

  “Like, at a resort?”

  I snort. “No, this was nothing like a resort. We stayed with the locals and visited the sugarcane fields, the orphanage. Stuff like that. You know, see what their life is really like. Anyway, Teresa, the mother at the house that billeted me, she gave me this when I left.”

  Teresa. I smile a bit, just thinking about her and her family. Even though I was only with her for ten days, honestly, it was the closest thing I ever felt to being truly mothered. We barely spoke each other’s language and yet, from the moment she welcomed me off the bus and into her home, I felt like she knew me. Really knew me. Really cared, anyway.