39

The sound of Chloe’s cell phone interrupts my panic. She has different rings for each of us. This one’s the theme song from the Winnie the Pooh movie. At first I feel irritated with her. She knows better than to take her phone off vibrate at school. It’s going to get confiscated.

And then the meaning of the ringtone sinks in. It’s the tone that means Dad is calling her. Why is he calling her? Why not me? Suddenly I realize that when I left the message at Dad’s office, I didn’t identify myself. I just said I was his daughter. Maybe his cell is still off. Maybe the officer at the department called him on the intercom in his car. Maybe he hasn’t seen my text yet.

The music continues. People turn to look, chuckling at the song choice.

I see her suddenly in the crowd, fumbling in her pockets to try to find the cell, to silence it. She’s wearing her bright red “Yes, they are real” shirt with big white letters across her boobs. She’s maybe twenty feet from Simon.

“Hi, Dad!” she answers, and I can hear her from here. I flick my eyes over to Simon. He is watching me. “No, I didn’t call you. Maybe it was Gabi.”

Simon’s eyes narrow. His skin deepens in color.

I push through the crowd, moving closer to Chloe.

He does too.

Simon gets there first. I watch as he slips his arm through hers, gripping it, and speaks in her ear. Her shoulders droop, and she drops her phone. Leaves it there on the ground to be stepped on. Simon whispers again in her ear, turning his head to look at me. His eyes are pointed, and I know exactly what they’re saying. They say, Stay away. Don’t get too close.

Chloe is his hostage.

The phone in my pocket vibrates. I glance at it as I move, hoping it’s a text from Dad.

It’s Garth. I see him. He’s with your sister. What do you want me to do?

It’s hard to text and walk and keep my eyes on Simon and my sister at the same time. But I do. I text blindly, hoping I’m hitting the right keys.

Tell the others where he is. Get close, but not too close.

I edge forward. My senses are on overdrive. I see every slight movement in the crowd. I hear the sounds of people chatting, moving forward, the sounds of the band warming up, getting ready to play a song.

I see my preppy wrestler bodyguard in the corner, eyes on me, and I want to scream at him. What good is he? He’s too far away for me to reach him, and it’s too risky to yell, so I just gesture with my arm for him to follow me. I hope he has a gun.

Simon and Chloe walk stiffly, like their bodies are connected and they have no joints. He leads her to the stadium, to a spot on the side. His positioning is genius. There is no one behind him. Everyone is in front of him. He can see the stands. He can see the stage. He’s driving this train wreck.

Students settle into their seats. The band is playing strains of Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind.”

I see Chloe’s face. Her eyes must be filling up, because her mascara is beginning to drip. Her whole body is shaking uncontrollably. She says something to Simon. Gestures to her backpack. He seems to be listening. Gripping her arm still, but listening. He slips her backpack off her shoulders. Unzips it for her. Pulls out our photocopies of the pictures. Looks at them. Nods.

He turns to me, his eyes pointed, but the anger is gone. He nods his head again. I know he is trying to say something to me. But I don’t know what. I want to scream, What? What? But I don’t.

Text from Miguel. Garth and I are close enough to tackle him. We can totally take him. You tell us when.

I search the crowd and see Miguel and Garth, as close as they can be without alarming Simon. They are both wearing sunglasses, looking like Secret Service men, their eyes hidden. I text back, K. But I don’t know when to say “when.” I don’t know what Simon has in that backpack. My sense is that he’s got some kind of explosives. Probably fake ones meant to look real, but who the hell knows? I can’t make that judgment call. If they tackle him, we might all go down.

Another text from Miguel. I love you.

I realize something. I love him back. On some level I didn’t totally trust him until now. Like maybe he had some part in this bomber mess. It’s such a huge relief that he’s not involved. I promise myself that if I live through today, I’ll tell him that I love him.

No wait—what if either one of us doesn’t live through today? I text him now, even though I know I’m wasting precious time. I love you too.

The president of the LGBTQ Club is speaking. About remembering Jo and giving her a moment of silence. And plugging his club. Not to be outdone, the chair of the Suicide Prevention Committee steps up and talks too. He says something almost identical and then plugs his committee. The band will play one more song; we will all have a moment of silence to remember Jo; and then the cheerleaders will perform.

Simon turns Chloe, all stiff, to face me and whispers in her ear. She and I lock eyes. Hers are a mess. Mine might be too, for all I know. But whatever he said must have been reassuring. Because her face has relaxed. She looks the way she used to as a kid, when she knew she was going to get a shot at the doctor’s office. She’d lie on her stomach, butt bare, waiting for the poke.

At first she’d cry, but then I’d hold her hand and help her count the cars in the parking lot. “How many red cars do you see, Chloe? How many blue? Here, let’s link pinkies. We won’t let go until it’s over. It won’t hurt, Chloe, if we count the cars. It won’t hurt much.”

We must be on the same wavelength, because she moves her left hand slightly, like she’s linking pinkies with an invisible someone. I know it’s a message to me.

The moment of silence must be the longest minute in the history of man. Three uniformed officers are in the crowd, moving down slowly, edging toward Simon. I wonder if he sees them. Dad must have gotten my text. I see other movement. Four adults I don’t recognize, in plain clothing, positioning themselves around the stadium. Sharpshooters?

I text Dad again, hoping he got my original text, even though he never responded. He’s got Chloe. He wants you to kill him. Suicide by cop.

People are taking the moment of silence pretty seriously. This surprises me a little, because normally we get the half-swallowed giggles, the whispers, the jackasses who make fun of it. Even the cheerleaders have stopped stretching for a moment. They stand hand in hand, their heads bowed.

I inch forward. Simon is angled away from me and cannot see my movement. This is my chance. I have to get closer. I can’t give Miguel and Garth the go-ahead, but I can’t stand being so far from them. So I inch. And inch. And inch. Until I’m five or six steps away from Chloe.

The moment the band starts playing again, there’s movement. The cheerleaders drop their hands and come out on stage for their performance. And Simon moves. He whispers one more time in my sister’s ear, and then he whips out a gun. And places it against her temple.