3:55 P.M.
Amina ABDI was spacing the hangers one inch apart when she spotted it. A discarded Perk Me Up cup. Because the store sat near the food court, people seem to think they could wander in with a drink, or sometimes even food. Pinching the cup between her fingernails, she carried it to the trash. She ignored the look Hannah and Giselle shot each other. Instead of working, they were leaning against the counter, gossiping.
On Amina’s shifts, she never stops moving. There’s always something to do, if you look. She makes sure that everything’s in place, appearing exactly as it should. On the days she’s scheduled, you’ll never find an XS shoved in among the size Ls. She’s determined to show Culpeppers that she’s just as good as any other employee—if not better—despite her hijab. That even though the manager has hinted about Culpeppers’s “all-American vibe,” Americans can be all kinds of things. Including Muslim.
Now there’s some kind of disturbance out in the mall. Moving to the entrance, Amina tries to make sense of it. A fire alarm starts to blare. In the food court, people are screaming, stampeding in all directions. Some lie crumpled on the floor. As she watches, an old woman topples off an escalator. Just lands on the floor and lies there, unmoving. And that sound, which she knows only from movies and cop shows—are those gunshots?
Hannah and Giselle push past Amina and start running. Careening through the food court. Then a bullet hits Hannah in the back and sends her sprawling. Amina screams, without meaning to. Giselle takes one look behind her and then sprints faster.
When the mall isn’t open, Culpeppers closes with a metal roll-down security shutter. If Amina pulls it down, will it stop bullets?
She doesn’t know, but it’s better than nothing. It’s better than standing here, waiting to die.