Black Bird of the Gallows(46)

“What?”

I suppress a sigh. “You were talking to the hockey guys about me before Henderson’s announcement. It sounded like you were going to tell them about my…part-time job.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

My stomach jumps. “Thank you. It’s not for you to tell.”

“No, it’s for you.” He dips his head, swipes hair from his eyes. “If you don’t free yourself of that secret, you’ll always regret it.”

“Oh yeah?” I turn narrow eyes up to his. “Adding clairvoyance to your skill set?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’ve been around a while, Angie. I’ve seen a lot of regret—felt a lot of it, myself. It’s the kind of thing that will eat holes through you. You should show these kids the true you.”

“It’s my decision.”

We stop in front of my homeroom, lean against the lockers. He takes my hands in his and leans in close.

“Agreed. But at this point the only one judging you by your mother’s flaws is you.” He glances at the thinning hallway crowd. “Do you have your cell on?”

I nod. “Text me if you hear anything.”

“Okay. See you in a bit.” Reece’s homeroom is two doors down. He drops a kiss to my forehead and breaks away. I file into my homeroom last as Mr. Dougherty closes the door behind me and locks it. He motions for everyone to sit, and we do, waiting with fresh alarm to hear what’s going on.

Before our teacher begins, Anne Brighton springs from her seat. She holds her phone aloft and lets out a panicky cry. “My dad just texted that there’s some guy at the college shooting people!”





20-the preshow


Anne’s huge blue eyes just about bug out of her head. “My parents want to pick me up now.”

“No one’s leaving.” Mr. Dougherty dabs a handkerchief over his forehead. “Everyone stay calm. This is not happening inside the school, but a block away. We’re to stay right here and keep the door locked until the police say it’s safe.”

Half the room erupts. Even the tough guys go high-pitched. The other half are hunched over the phones we’re not supposed to have in school. Poor Mr. Dougherty tries to settle everyone, but he’s got to be the most high-strung chemistry teacher ever. On our best behavior, we make him nervous. I don’t know how he’ll survive being locked in a room full of panicked students.

I stay in my seat and text Reece. Shooter at the college parking lot? Your sister there?

His response is immediate. Yes.

Is she safe?

Depends.

What kind of answer is that? She’s either safe or she’s not.

Is this it? I text. Is this THE catastrophe?

So eager to be rid of me? ;-)

I let out an annoyed sigh. Is it????

He responds, No.

The pop-pop-pop of gunshots somewhere outside prompts a few of my dimmer classmates to rush toward the window and start yanking up the shades. Mr. Dougherty leaps for them, face red. “Get away from that window!” he bellows. “In your seats and quiet. Now.”

Amazingly, everyone listens. Seats are filled. The room goes silent. Honestly, it doesn’t sound like the gunfire is a block away. It sounds like it’s right outside.

We can hear the unintelligible garble of police speaking into megaphones. The blare of sirens. Then, the lights go out.

Whimpers. A few whispering prayers. Suddenly, this is real. This is happening and I’m scared. We all are.

A thought slams into me with the force of a bullet—if I die here today, Reece would be right.

I would regret hiding behind Sparo. I would regret hiding my music.

My dad sends me a frantic text, and I respond that I’m okay, safe in a locked classroom and this is all happening outside, away from us. Deno and Lacey, in other homerooms, send quick texts. They’re scared, too.

For the first time, I notice the details of my homeroom. The creamed-corn walls. Blue smeared whiteboard. Sun-bleached periodic table of the elements, peeling off the wall behind Dougherty’s desk. I don’t want these things to be the final images I see.

My heart pounds through my entire body. My phone is locked in my sweaty grip, but my hands are shaking too hard to text. What would I say, anyway? Should I tell my dad again that I love him? No, that would only make him worry more.

Don’t worry, Reece texts. No one in this school is going to die today.

I believe him—of anyone, I guess he’d know this—but I still can’t unbend my fingers enough to text back. The reality of it all rushes at me. Disaster. Catastrophic event. This thing is coming, even though it seems impossible.

Suddenly, noises erupt outside. I wrap my arms over my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Glass shatters somewhere, followed by a screaming car alarm. Orders are shouted. Sirens wail. A man yells. It’s a horrible, wrenching sound that makes my stomach twist.

The gunfire stops.

My phone vibrates.

Reece texts: Are you holding up ok?

I nod numbly at the phone, then remember I have to type. My fingers are stiff and shaking, but I manage: Yes. You?

There’s a pause, then, So fun to be trapped in a room with twenty frightened kids.

I automatically recoil at the words. Are you feeding off this?

Course not. Everyone’s alive here.