Junior Year

204. All of them. ALL!!! OF!!! THEM!!!

As soon as I heard Nick tell Valerie that it was time to take care of things, I felt my gut drop. They disappeared through the double doors, and I whipped back to find Mr. Angerson, who was always, always, always standing by the bus loop stopping everyone from having any fun.

Always.

But not May 2nd.

I raced down the entire bus loop looking for him, peering through the open bus doors and peeking in between parked buses. He had just been standing there. But now he was nowhere to be found. Mrs. Tate, our guidance counselor, was way down by the main entrance, and for a second I stood rooted in my spot, hearing the ticking of an invisible clock. I needed to make a decision, quick, before time ran out.

I was halfway between Tate and the double doors. I could either flag her down, say something, or just go in and try to find Nick, stop him myself.

I chose wrong.

Tate had a walkie-talkie. So did Mr. Angerson and Officer Belkin, our student-resource officer. Tate could have radioed Belkin. He could have gotten to Nick before anything happened. Or maybe he couldn’t have. I would never know, because I didn’t choose going to Tate.

I chose the double doors. I chose to find Nick.

The hallways were clogged, as usual, with people reluctantly going to class. Nobody in a big hurry, because nobody ever was in a big hurry to start the day. It was May; who cared about tardies anymore?

I shoved and pushed and shimmied my way through the throng, hearing shouts and protests behind me but not caring.

The first shot rang out just as I entered the Commons. There were a few startled squeals, but nobody really reacted, like they thought it was a joke or something, and even though I knew what I knew, a part of me wanted to believe right along with them. Over the crowd I could see a little scuffle, some chaos, going on by the wall. I thought I saw Nick’s black coat move quickly and steadily into the middle of the room, and then I heard a scream.

“Oh my God! Somebody! Help!” I would know that voice anywhere. Valerie’s voice.

“Valerie!” I yelled, springing forward.

I tried to get to her, but just as I started to move, there was another bang, and finally it began to dawn on people that it was real gunfire. There were shouts and screams and the sound of tables being knocked over. People started pushing toward me in droves. I still tried to shove through, but I couldn’t get anywhere. The farther I got into the Commons, the harder the crowd pushed back. My feet were getting stepped on, my sides were getting elbowed, and then someone thumped me hard on the head, and I went down.

The second I hit the floor, even as I clawed and scrambled to get to my feet, people raced right over me, their shoes smashing my hands, my arms. Someone’s knee hit me in the nose, and I saw a flash of light and felt blood trickle over my lips. Everyone was pressing so hard against one another, it was impossible to move, impossible to get up.

For a moment I was terrified. More bangs, more shouts, and with every shot there was a new surge, people tripping over my legs, stepping on my ankles. I doubled over on the floor, crying out in pain every time someone stepped on me, thinking I was going to be the kid in the news story who got trampled to death.

And then there was a hand. Right in front of my face, reaching toward me in the darkness.

“Come on!” I heard, and I looked up to see Chris Summers standing over me, reaching down between people to get to me. “Come on, we need to get out of here!” He gave his hand an insistent shake.

Even though it made no sense to me, rationally, that Chris Summers was going to help me, I grabbed his hand, and he pulled, yanking me up to my feet. He looked a little manic, a little petrified, running on adrenaline alone.

“He’s shooting! Go!” he yelled. He gave my shoulder a shove toward the exit, but still I stood. I watched him turn to go back into the Commons. Watched him kneel and pull a bleeding girl under an overturned table, where she’d be safe. Watched him steer another girl toward the door, pushing her farther into the crowd.

And then I saw him crumple to the floor. I saw him bleed. And I saw Nick standing several feet behind him, holding the gun out at arm’s length.

Nick looked up, and our eyes locked. His mouth twitched on one side in the tiniest of smirks. He looked scared. But also proud. And in that moment when we stared at each other, I felt it. I felt him thinking, This is ours. Because he wasn’t the only one who put Chris’s name on the hate list. I was guilty, too.

I turned and ran. Shoved right over the tops of people who’d been shoving over me. Didn’t care if I knocked someone down or hurt them or left them behind. All I could think was that I needed to get out of there, that I needed to get away. Not from Nick. Nick wouldn’t have hurt me.

I needed to get away from Chris and all that blood.

I needed to get away from my guilt.

Never, I promised myself. I will never talk about it. I will never say anything.