#NotReadyToDie

by Cate Carlyle

  “You really need to work on the judging, Ginny,” Kayla half-teased. “Get to know people before you decide who they are. We aren’t all what you see on the outside.”

  Whoa! “Thanks, Cheer Queen,” I lashed out.” I’ll add it to my to-do list, right below getting out of this classroom alive.”

  Most of the group had gone back to their positions under their desks, and I decided to do the same. I’d given MJ the opportunity and confidence to lead an impromptu memorial service, and now I was getting trashed by Kayla for being judgey?! Classic. Kayla and MJ could bond over my flaws. Screw ’em.

  I pulled my hoodie up over my head, lay down on my back under the ode to Jarrod and closed my eyes. Oh Jarrod, you have no idea how lucky you were that you lived at a time when being called a wiener was probably your biggest worry at school! I slowly dragged my fingernail along the scars on my forearm. I didn’t need anyone. Owen had Max now, and Kayla could have MJ. Hell, Kayla and I hadn’t even said two words to each other before this all happened. I didn’t need her; I’d be fine on my own. I’d just have to wait it out under my desk until the cops let us all out.

  My mind wandered and I wondered what Mom was doing and thinking at that moment. In a crisis, you wanted Susan Bartholomew on your side. She never lost it, was always cool and rational, and she always made those around her feel better no matter how it affected her. The only exception was when it came to her daughter. Since Dad died, she was super protective of me. If I so much as mentioned in passing that someone had ticked me off, Mom was on the warpath. If I coughed, she ran to the store for echinacea, lozenges, and ginger ale. When I twisted my ankle at a school dance, she refused to let me leave the couch for the entire weekend. I spent the time with my leg propped up, scented candles on the coffee table, and a steady stream of my favorite baked goods delivered from the kitchen at regular intervals. I made that treatment last as long as I could. I’m sure Mom clued in that I had recovered, but she kept on pampering me anyways.

  I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking while holding vigil outside, but I was sure she was keeping busy lifting others’ spirits and distracting them when she could, mom-ing all over everyone but herself. I reached up and yanked a pen and scrap of paper off of the desk above my head and started writing:

  I was folding my list carefully into thirds to shove it into my back pocket when the stillness in the room was broken.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Someone very strong was banging so hard on the classroom door that the windows on the other side of the room rattled. And then the screams started.

  I bolted to a sitting position and looked around the room trying to see who had screamed. Whoever it was had quickly been silenced and all was quiet again. No one moved. The Nerds had Rodney secured in their own private lockdown huddle, the Jocks must have had Gregg secured too. The terror in the air was thick.

  A voice in the hall yelled, “I’m back! You can’t hide. I see all!”

  Some people broke out in whimpers as we heard the shooter speak. His voice sounded scratchier this time, raw and manic. A loose cannon. He was a few feet away from us, and we were once again separated only by the door and walls. Our safe haven could easily be shattered with a single shot through the glass. Our new normal of the past few hours, patiently waiting under our desks, texting, tweeting, reassuring our friends, was wiped out, and the grim reality of our situation was thrust back in our faces.

  There was the wrenching sound of metal being dragged across glass as the shooter scraped his weapon along the window in the door. He then tapped it slowly on the pane.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Then we heard him speak again, this time much calmer and slightly quieter, and for some reason I found that control even more terrifying.

  “Sit tight, I’ll be back for you,” he said.

  We all held our breath as we heard the shooter’s heavy footsteps retreat. He walked slowly and deliberately, each step like thunder. When the doors at the end of the hall once again creaked shut, there was an audible exhale in the room. Another near miss. Crisis averted, for now. Who knew if and when he would be back, and if he would make good on his threat? Why had he left and spared us? Would his twisted hallway patrol bring him back to our door again?

  Kayla appeared under my desk, her face pale, as I’m sure mine was, after another close brush with the shooter.

  “My God, Ginny. Just when I was starting to think it might soon be over,” she said.

  Kayla seemed a bit defeated and definitely more scared than I’d seen her all morning.

  “Yeah,” I answered her. “That was like a sequel to the horror movie of his earlier appearance. Except it’s real. Too real.”

  “I saw some tweets that say the police are trying to flush him out in parts of the school with smoke bombs. Maybe that’s what sent him back down our hallway. I know some students escaped from the cafeteria too,” Kayla said.

  “Good,” I replied. “He can’t win. Do they know who it is? Cops still think it’s staff?”

  “Think so,” she replied. “Some temp maintenance worker whose wife was going to leave him and take his kids was the last I saw online.”

  “Jeez, you just never know, I guess,” I tried to wrap my head around the situation and, failing, turned on Kayla. “How are you feeling? How’s MJ? You two besties now?”

  “Oh, Ginny,” she started. “I’m fine and so is MJ. I didn’t mean to criticize you. I flew off at you and I’m sorry. My nerves are raw.”

  “I get it. I shouldn’t have lashed back at you either. We aren’t ourselves today, obviously.”

  “And MJ’s actually pretty cool when you get to know her. We have more in common than I thought,” Kayla revealed.

  “Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, still a teeny bit jealous of how Kayla had defended MJ earlier, and pegged me as judgey, accurately too. Get over yourself already, Ginny.

  “Back at it?” she asked looked down at the thin blood trail where my fingernail had reopened an old scar.

  “Now who’s judging?” I asked defensively.

  “Not judging, just concerned. Maybe this isn’t the best day for drastic changes?” she smiled.

  “Ya think?” I laughed.

  “I saw some tweets from my friend who’s up on the second floor. He thinks that most classes were locked down quick enough, so maybe it won’t be too bad when it’s all over. He’s safe at least.”

  “Friend?” I asked with a smirk. “Something you’re not telling me, Kayla? God knows I could use a distraction right about now.”

  “Yes, a friend,” she insisted. “We’ve been out a few times for coffee, nothing serious. His name is Paul, he’s on the basketball team ... and he’s pretty hot.” She blushed.

  “Do tell!” I said. It was nice to feel normal for a few seconds

  — girl talk and gossip amidst the blood and chaos.

  “Nothing to tell really. It’s early days, taking it slow. He is an incredible kisser though. We were actually supposed to go to the movies tonight. I think he’s going to ask me to prom.”

  Kayla was starting to gush just a bit, speaking quickly and unable to keep the smile off her face.

  “Okay, stop,” I cut her off. “Never mind, I was wrong. It’s too soon. I’m still trying to figure how I went so wrong with Owen. I’m jealous. Not ready to hear about your hot new expert kisser. Sorry.”

  “No worries, I get it,” she said. “Hey, you could come with us if he asks me.”

  “I’m sure Paul would love that, third-wheel Ginny along for the ride. No, thanks. But nice of you to ask, Kayla. You really are too nice for your own good.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. At least Kayla didn’t reply with a “No you are too nice, Ginny.” That was another thing I was starting to really admire about Kayla. She told it like it was, nothing sugar coated or fake. You could really trust people like that.

  “Liste
n Ginny, I’ve been thinking, maybe we need to try to move everyone away from the hallway side of the room. Just for that extra security, in case he comes back. What do you think?”

  “Probably not a bad idea,” I agreed. “We could get some of the guys to rearrange the desks and then try to corral everyone.”

  We moved around the room helping to move desks and ushering students closer to the other side and away from the inner wall. Kayla mostly pointed and directed others; she couldn’t risk dislodging my fine stitchery. It was quite impressive how quiet everyone was staying; there was only an errant scrape or two from a desk leg when everyone would freeze for a few seconds and hope that the shooter wouldn’t notice and return. It was much harder to usher our classmates into new positions. Some clung to their desk legs like castaways to a life raft, afraid to leave the one thing that they believed had kept them safe up to that point. We couldn’t move Owen. He was still breathing but remained semi-conscious, eyes closed, not speaking. Max insisted that he would stay with Owen and kept a firm grip on Owen’s hand when we suggested Owen would be fine on his own and that Max could check on him periodically. While I was still stung by Max’s revelation about their relationship, I had to give it to him; if I couldn’t have Owen, he seemed to be in good hands with Max. And damn, they would make a stunning couple when they were back on their feet.

  The dynamic in Homeroom A changed. There was a noticeable buzz in the room. It could have been due to the fact that everyone was huddled much closer together under the windows, or that they felt safer as a group. Or maybe it was the fact that time was passing and the belief in a quick rescue was long gone. Maybe people were just fed up and wanted to feel less like victims and more in control. Or it was anger setting in. Students were whispering among themselves and sharing information gleaned from texts and tweets:

  “I read that the shooter is dead and the cops are just waiting to remove the body and then get us out.”

  “I read that the Prime Minister is flying to Southwestern tonight.”

  “My dad said that if it goes on much longer they will call in the military.”

  “My uncle is a cop, he said his team won’t eat or sleep until they get us out of here.”

  “I heard that PeeWee was the first one killed.”

  “CNN is live tweeting from outside, how cool is that?”

  “If you want the latest use #SouthwesternStrong.”

  “Beyoncé just retweeted the news about us!”

  Some were discussing what they’d do first when they were released —how they had a newfound gratitude for everyday comforts and routine and people in their lives. It was a nice distraction from our brutal reality.

  “I can’t wait to hug my cat Phoenix, and my parents and my baby brother.”

  “I just want my mom’s lasagna with garlic bread, and a nice cold one.”

  “I will be stopping at 7-Eleven on my way home. Big Gulp and hot dogs, I can almost taste it.”

  “My stomach stopped growling hours ago; I’m not even hungry anymore. But I’d love to take a shit in my own bathroom. This one’s disgusting, there’s even puke on the walls.”

  “First thing I’m going to do is jump in my boyfriend’s arms and tell him how much I love him.”

  And of course, there were those seeking revenge, bragging about what they would do if they had the shooter alone for a few minutes. Jace’s voice was often the loudest in the crowd,

  “He’ll regret the day he came to my school ... he won’t know what hit him ... that guy will pay ...”

  All talk and bravado, empty threats from the safety of the locked classroom.

  Jace’s parents were both high priced attorneys in Southwestern, quasi-small-town celebrities with their shiny red convertibles sporting license plates advertising SUE4YOU. Their house was the largest in town, complete with an infinity pool, a go-kart track, and a guest house that was often party central for the Southwestern Sabres football team. Jace’s parents doted on him and his pageant winning older sister, Joy. He had been coddled since birth, and groomed to be the perfect Ken doll, fit, athletic, smooth, and popular. Too bad he was dumb as a stick and felt the world was his for the taking, screw the consequences.

  I could understand why Kayla had kept quiet about what happened with Jace. His parents would have raked her through the coals. Victim blaming was real and Jace was Teflon. When he had given another boy a black eye in elementary school for daring to call him a loser the boy and his family had been ostracized in town. The Goodwin’s network had boycotted the boy’s family’s hardware store and they’d ultimately gone out of business. While I could totally get how Barbie Kayla would be attracted to Jace, now that I knew the real Kayla, I couldn’t understand why she would ever go out with him. Hormones were a powerful thing, I guessed.

  I prided myself on having a pretty good feel for people and I knew at a very young age that Jace was not someone I wanted to be around. My parents bragged about how, at the age of six, I had caught Jace trying to peek under my skirt during recess and had trapped him inside the dome shaped monkey bars until he apologized and promised to leave me alone. Except for that one spin the bottle incident, Jace and I had kept clear of each other ever since.

  Faintly, among the whispered chatter, I could make out voices singing softly. I looked around the group trying to find the source. A group of students gathered in a row alongside Miss Jones tablecloth draped body. They were holding hands and their heads were bowed.

  I once was lost but now am found

  Was blind but now I see

  I recognized the lyrics to “Amazing Grace,” a personal favorite, and made my way over to the gathering. I stayed off to the side slightly and didn’t reach for anyone’s hand as I chimed in quietly for the last few lines.

  Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost but now am found

  Was blind but now I see

  Was blind, but now I see.

  As our song ended, I looked up and noticed MJ was one of the students paying tribute, and she was looking at me.

  “Ginny, you have such a beautiful voice,” she said. “Soft but strong at the same time. Do you sing somewhere?”

  “No,” I replied, secretly pleased. “Unless you count carpool karaoke or belting out the hits in the shower.”

  “Your voice is incredible; you should totally join our choir. We meet every Tuesday after last period,” MJ offered.

  “Thanks, but I’m just a wannabe, no training. I wouldn’t want to ruin your choir.”

  “No, really. That voice! We need you. Think about it?” MJ pleaded.

  “Alright, I will,” I told her. But what I would really be thinking about was who this confident girl leading her classmates in song was and what she had done with the invisible MJ who I poked with my Blundstone just this morning. Had she been in there all along? I reached around to my back pocket and pulled out my to-do list and pen and added one more line:

  Kayla was seated under the window ledge, cross-legged and surrounded by cheerleaders. They were whispering among themselves, ponytails bobbing like birds pecking at seeds on the ground, and I swear they smelled like cotton candy and lollipops. Her squad — Or was it a troupe of cheerleaders? Or a gaggle? Or a flamboyance? No, that was definitely a group of flamingos ... Bad Ginny — was there, even Kelsie, who seemed calmer than before but still clutched my phone. I scooted over to the group and tapped Kayla on the shoulder.

  “What are you guys talking about?” I asked feeling a little excluded and wanting my new friend back.

  “Oh, nothing,” she said. “Trying to keep our minds off of things by reviewing a few cheers and routines. I know it sounds creepy, but we need something normal to think about. Something to look forward to, I guess”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “Kelsie seems much better now, right?” Kayla asked. “That was really nice of you to give her your phone.”

  “It’s weird,” I said. “
Usually when I don’t have my phone I’m lost; I feel naked. But I haven’t missed it at all today. She needs it more than I do. I’ll explain to my mom later, if there is a later.”

  “I hope this all ends soon,” Kayla said. “I don’t know how long Miss Jones should be lying there. It’s not exactly freezer temps in here, if you know what I mean. My shoulder is throbbing, and I’m starting to get a bit claustrophobic. Need to get out of here, get some fresh air. All the body spray mixed with sweat, and that bathroom, jeez. It’s all starting to make me lightheaded!”

  “Yeah, me too.” I agreed. “I’m getting antsy. And salty. I’m finding myself thinking what I would do to the shooter if I had a few minutes alone with him. Tell me a story, Kayla. Distract me.”

  “A story? What kind of story?”

  “I don’t care, whatever you want. No shooters or guns or violence though. Just get me out of my head. Please?”

  “Alright,” Kayla sighed loudly, looking up at the ceiling trying to think of a story to tell. Okay, got one.”

  “Great, let me get comfy.”

  I scooted flat out on my back, hands under my head.

  “Mentally eating popcorn with M&Ms mixed in, Coke in hand. You may begin!” I smirked.

  “Okay,” Kayla replied. “It’s super weird telling stories in here with all that’s going on, but what isn’t weird about today? Here goes. There once was a very happy little girl who lived in a small town with her parents. She was adorable! Blonde haired, blue eyed, freckled. Everyone loved her and fussed over her like a little princess. She — ”

  “Hold up, what’s her name? She needs a name.” I interrupted.

  “Ugh, I am not doing this if you are going to keep stopping me, Ginny. Her name was ... Beth ... alright?”

  “Beth? Great. Continue.”

  “So Beth had the best life, a life most kids only dream of. She just had to point at a toy and her parents would buy it for her. They all took trips together to beaches and fun fairs and parks. And every Sunday the family had pancakes for breakfast and her dad would shape the batter into bunnies and Mickey Mouse heads with huge ears and chocolate chips for eyes. When Beth grew out of her crib and then her toddler bed, her mom decorated her big girl room with a princess canopy bed and a three-story dollhouse that was a replica of Beth’s real house. Life was a fairytale.