by Diana Urban
I cooed. “Are you seeing someone?”
“On and off. Nothing serious.” She shrugged, smoothing gloss over her lipstick. “Honestly, I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway.”
“You’re so lucky,” Priya said to me. “You’re going on a date with the hottest guy in our year!” She bit her lip. “Well, second hottest . . .”
I gasped and grabbed Priya’s wrist. “Oh my God, I have an idea. Let’s make it a double date.”
Her eyes widened, while Sasha’s narrowed in the mirror. “What do you mean?” Priya asked.
“I’ll ask Robbie to bring Zane, and then I’ll bring you! It’ll be so much fun.” Having Priya there would take some of the pressure off. Besides, she’d been mopey ever since Sasha started coming over so often. This would cheer her up.
“Really?” she asked. “Do you think he’d even want to go on a date with me?”
“Of course! I mean, come on. He totally thinks you’re cute. He calls you ‘gorgeous,’ right?”
Priya squealed and threw herself at me for a hug. “We should go shopping tonight and pick up cute outfits.”
“Seriously?” Sasha said to Priya as I knelt to retrieve the trig textbook I needed for next period. “You’ve got to practice for our meet on Saturday. Your form needs work.”
“Womp, womp,” Amy muttered to Maria, who grinned.
After Priya stole the bio exam for her, Sasha let her start doing stunts, but apparently Priya had a lot of catching up to do. It was nice of Sasha to take extra time to train her—with everything else she was working on, I didn’t know how she managed it.
But Priya crossed her arms. “But I can take a couple hours off to go shopping.” As they debated their schedules, I leaned out of Phil’s way—he was frantically chucking the contents of his backpack into his locker. Annoyed, I glanced over. As he rummaged through his locker, I caught a glimpse of something shiny in his backpack. Whoa. Was that a . . .
No. It couldn’t be.
But it was. I knew what I was seeing.
Phil looked up and met my gaze. My heart froze. My fingers went numb.
Did he know I saw the gun?
I couldn’t say anything. What if he took it out and started shooting? No. That wouldn’t happen. That couldn’t happen. Could it? This couldn’t be real. This could not be real. The blood drained from my face, and his jaw tightened as I continued digging around in my locker, pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t tell the girls. They’d freak out. And then he might panic. No. Best to pretend I didn’t see anything and go get help.
I pulled out my trig notebook and slammed my locker shut. Sasha flinched back. “Hey!” She’d been examining her eye makeup in my locker mirror.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.
“I’ll come with—” Sasha started.
“No, it’s fine. Go to class.” Go to class now before Phil goes ballistic! I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t set him off. Phil zipped his backpack, shut his locker, and speed-walked down the hall.
Her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Go!”
Sasha flinched, and her eyes widened. I’d scared her. The other girls watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, saying nothing. I didn’t know if they went to class right away, or watched me spin and bolt down the hall, past the girls’ bathroom, toward the principal’s office. I didn’t care if they thought I was nuts. I had to tell someone about the gun. What if Phil was about to shoot someone? He did get shoved around a lot, accidentally or not. Maybe he wanted revenge. Oh, God. Maybe I should have grabbed for the gun right then. What if he started shooting people right now? What if people died? It would be all my fault, because I could have stopped it.
As the bell rang, I turned a corner and nearly collided with Mrs. Burr. Her deep wrinkles furrowed into a frown. “No running in the halls—” But I raced past her. Telling her would be useless—it would take her forever to hobble down the hall to find Mr. Garcia or Mr. Turner, the school’s security guards.
Mr. Garcia’s desk outside the principal’s office was empty. While we didn’t have fancy metal detectors like other schools, he usually sat there facing the front doors, monitoring the stream of people coming and going throughout the day. Where was he? I dashed into the principal’s office. Mr. Garcia was filling his water bottle at the cooler, laughing at something Ms. Anderson, the principal’s secretary, was telling him. The principal’s door was closed.
“Mr. Garcia!” I put my hands on my knees, catching my breath.
He turned and spun the lid of his bottle shut. “Hey there, Amber.” His smile dropped at the expression on my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Gun!” I blurted between gasps. “Phil Pratt has a gun in his backpack. I saw it when he was at his locker. His is next to mine, and I saw a gun in his backpack. Please, you have to do something—”
But he didn’t have to hear another word. “Cheryl,” he said to Ms. Anderson, unhooking his two-way radio from his belt. “Look up what class Phil has now.” He held the radio to his lips. “Precinct, I need immediate backup at Brewster High. I have a report of a student with a gun.”
“Ten-four,” a woman said on the other end. “Sending the request now.”
“He’s in Mrs. Lanish’s trigonometry class.” Ms. Anderson squinted at her monitor, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Room 309.”
“Alright,” he said. As she bustled over to the principal’s door and stuck her head in, Mr. Garcia put his hands on my shoulders. “Does he know you saw the gun?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . .”
Mr. Garcia shook my shoulders gently. “I need you to tell me the truth. Did he see?”
“I . . . yeah. Yeah, I think he saw me looking at it.”
“Then what did he do?”
“He zipped up his bag real fast and left—oh my God, and I should be sitting behind him in class right now. He’ll know for sure I saw when I don’t show up.”
“Alright. I’m going to confiscate the gun. I need you to go straight to the parking lot, away from the school, and don’t come back inside, whatever you hear. Got it?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. Was I in danger? Would Phil come after me now? Since I got him busted, would I be a target? We both left the office, and I bolted down the hall toward the front doors and didn’t stop running, leaving the school and God knew what was happening inside behind me.
39 Minutes Left
“So wait . . .” Priya crinkled her brow. “You think Phil locked us in here?” She sat on the floor on her folded legs next to Scott, glass shards glittering on the floor around them.
“Yeah,” said Robbie. “He blames Amber for ratting him out.”
At the time, I’d been hailed a hero. But I sure didn’t feel like a hero. I was only terrified of what would happen if I said nothing.
Mr. Garcia had pulled Phil out of class under the guise of getting a phone call from home—a family emergency. Once out in the hall, he’d confiscated Phil’s backpack and unloaded the gun. Nobody saw what happened, and nobody was the wiser until Sasha cornered me later and asked what happened earlier. I was so shaken, I had to tell her. Of course, Sasha blabbed to Maria and Amy, and word quickly spread that I’d prevented a mass shooting.
“I don’t think Phil did this.” I brushed back my bangs, pacing between the table and the door. “I mean, I’m sure we can all think of someone who holds a grudge against one of us.”
“Well, Phil sure holds one against you,” said Robbie.
“But he doesn’t hate Amber in particular,” said Sasha. “He hates everyone.”
“Even more reason to suspect him.”
“He doesn’t hate everyone,” I said.
Sasha cringed. “Of course he does. He’s always scowling at everyone, giving them dirty looks. Hence the gun.”
Anger bubbled in my stomach. She acted like Phil was the only bad guy, when she was constantly ragging on him behind his back. “You sure gave hi
m plenty of reasons to scowl at you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. You always made fun of him behind his back.”
Sasha pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “That’s no reason to bring a gun to school. That’s no reason to kill people.”
“Dammit, Sasha.” I clenched my fists at my sides. “You know it was just a BB gun.”
“So?”
Robbie rubbed my upper arm. “A close-range BB shot can still kill someone.”
“But he wasn’t going to open fire in the hallway or anything,” I said.
“How do you know that?” Robbie asked. I swallowed hard. I knew why Phil had the gun, and I’d kept his secret for months. I hadn’t prevented a mass shooting at all.
Sasha shook her head at me. “I don’t get it, Amber. Why the hell are you defending him?”
“He never meant to hurt anyone.” My throat constricted.
Robbie furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? Why else would he bring a gun to school?”
Turning away, I folded my arms as a chill ran through me, despite the heat. I faced Diego, who stood at the end of the table watching me with his head slightly inclined, like he was trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle.
“Amber?” Robbie asked.
Oh, God. I had to tell them the truth.
7 Months Ago
JULY AFTER JUNIOR YEAR
Something about this crescendo didn’t sound right. I narrowed my eyes at the screen, examining the notes as the chords played in my headphones. It needed more resonance. I could try using a crossfading legato . . .
Without taking my eyes from the screen, I grabbed my glass of pink lemonade and took a sip, trying to audiolize a modification, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped, and lemonade sloshed over the glass onto my PJs. “Ahh!”
“Ahh!” Dad leapt backward.
I tugged off my headphones. “Oh my God. You scared me to death.”
He laughed. “Well, there’s no other way to get your attention. You’re deaf to everything but music. The doorbell. Your mother shouting. The house could be burning down and you’d still be sitting there, happy as a clam.”
I gripped my knees, waiting for my heart to slow. I hated when people snuck up behind me. Not because of the jump scare. But because it reminded me of Maggie.
It reminded me of the last time we ever spoke.
I’d been learning to use a multitrack sequencer and was on something like my fiftieth attempt to sync a piano and violin medley when a hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. I’d jumped and flailed my arms. “Ahh!”
“Whoa!” Maggie had backed up, laughing nervously. “Sorry, it’s just me.”
“What the heck, Mags.” I tore off my headphones and groaned. “I was almost done with this track. It was almost perfect.” I clicked the Stop button, slamming harder on the mouse than I had to, and the recording stopped.
Maggie’s eyes widened, and she tucked her wiry brown hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry! Geez, don’t have a panic attack.”
“What do you want?” I’d snapped, not in the mood to fight with her again. She’d been nothing but sulky and snarky over the past year. Despite our age gap, we used to hang out all the time; we’d geek out over the latest fantasy fad, have all-weekend movie marathons, gobble up fan fiction, and listen to the scores—some of the greatest ever composed. It’s how I discovered my love for movie scores. But then I’d become more of a nuisance to her than a sidekick.
Maggie shifted her weight on her feet. “There’s something I wanted to give you.” She reached into her pocket and plucked out her amethyst bracelet—the one my grandfather had given Grandma Betty as a wedding present. “Here. It’s yours.”
I swiveled my chair around to face her, staring dumbfounded at the bracelet. When we were little, we’d take turns sitting on Grandma Betty’s lap, counting the misshapen beads, trying to pick which of them was our favorite. When she died last year, she left it to Maggie. I shook my head. “But you wanted to wear it with your prom dress. Mom was going to help you find a purple dress to match—”
“I know. But I don’t want to go to prom.” She inched closer, dangling the bracelet in front of me. I held out my hand, and she dropped the bracelet onto my open palm, the amethyst beads warm from her pocket.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “No boy will take me. What’s the point?”
“You don’t need a date to go to prom, do you?”
“I just don’t want to go, alright?” She raised her voice, and her chin quivered slightly. “Here, let me help.” She grabbed back the bracelet and draped it over my wrist, securing the clasp for me. “There.”
I ran my fingers over the beads, unsure what to think. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She turned back to the stairs.
“Wait!” I called after her. She paused without looking back. “Do you want to hang out or something? Maybe we could watch a movie?”
“You’re busy with your music. I’ll let you get back to it.”
I glanced at my keyboard—I wanted to finish this track tonight. But maybe Maggie was reaching out, trying to be a real sister to me again. I missed spending time with her. But when I looked back up, she was already out the door, sprinting back up the stairs.
I didn’t follow.
It was the last time I ever saw her alive.
Now Dad stood next to me, crossing his arms and squinting at the stanzas on my screen. “Lookin’ good.”
I snorted, shaking away my sad memories. “Really?”
“I have absolutely no idea.” We both laughed. “So, that free software’s working out okay?” Worry etched across Dad’s forehead. When my laptop crapped out last year, I’d refused to take Maggie’s old one, so had to get a refurbished one my state-of-the-art notation software wasn’t compatible with. And the best compatible programs were too expensive.
“Yeah, it’s totally fine. I’m almost done with this track, actually—the end of act three.”
“Oh, good.” His posture relaxed. “Just one more to go after that, huh?”
“Yep.” I grinned. Dad knew I’d already completed act five—he liked getting updates on my progress. He was baffled I was scoring an entire Shakespeare play, and even reread it so he could listen and have a general sense of what was happening.
“Amber!” Mom shouted from upstairs.
“Oh yeah.” Dad wiped his upper lip. “Someone’s at the door for you.”
“Really?” Who could it be? Everyone had scattered for the summer. Priya went to India to visit her grandmother, and Sasha, Maria, and Amy were counselors at some cheerleading camp in Pennsylvania.
“Yeah. Now, remember. You’re not allowed to date until you’re forty-seven.” I raised my eyebrows. He raised his to mirror mine, and when he didn’t offer any more information, I bounded upstairs.
When I reached the foyer, I locked eyes with Robbie, who stood in my house holding a single red rose. Presumably for me. My lungs seized up, making it somewhat impossible to breathe.
“Hi,” I finally managed to choke out. Mom stood next to the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. I hadn’t seen Robbie since school let out for the summer. After the Phil Pratt incident, I’d canceled our date, too shaken to think about dating or kissing or generally having a good time.
But after that, Robbie made it his personal mission to make me laugh. He’d slip notes into my locker with jokes that were so bad, I couldn’t help but crack up, like, What do you call fake spaghetti? An impasta! I especially loved the jokes he attempted to draw, like one muffin being terrified of another talking muffin. We also texted for hours each night, seeing how long we could converse purely with emojis. I was convinced Robbie was a dork disguised as a jock. A particularly hot jock.
“Um . . . what’s up?” I glanced at the rose. Mittens was already having his way with Robbie’s ankles, rubbing his face all over his jeans, but despite the cuteness overload, Robbie held my gaze.
&
nbsp; “I’m taking you to the carnival. You know, for your birthday.”
I was pretty sure I heard Mom squeak.
“My birthday’s not until tomorrow—wait, how’d you know it was my birthday?” I’d deactivated my Facebook profile in eighth grade, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned the date to him.
He grinned. “Priya texted me.”
Our town hosted this cheesy carnival every Fourth of July weekend, and Priya and I always went together on my birthday. When we were little, it was the most magical thing in the world, like Disney World was coming to visit. Then our families took a trip together to actual Disney World, and we realized, nope. Still, we went every year, and even though Priya was halfway around the world, she’d made sure I’d carry on the tradition.
“Anyway,” Robbie said, “I figured you already had plans for tomorrow, so I’m stealing you for myself tonight.” He handed me the rose, and I took it, biting back a grin. My insides got warm and tingly, and my fingers trembled slightly, like I’d drunk a cappuccino too fast.
Mom looked like she was about to spontaneously combust from glee. Oh my God. How embarrassing. I turned to her and Dad, who’d finally made his way upstairs. “Is it okay if I go?” Dad’s jokes aside, I wasn’t sure if my parents were cool with me dating yet—I hadn’t mentioned Robbie to them in the spring.
“Of course!” said Mom. “Since when do you have to ask for permission to go out with your friends?”
Since before Maggie died. I didn’t have to say the words out loud for Mom to hear them. Her smile collapsed.
After Maggie died, it was like my parents’ ground rules vanished. I thought they’d get more protective, but instead they let me do whatever I wanted, as long as I texted Mom every so often. It was like they were walking on eggshells around me, terrified to upset me.
“Great,” said Robbie, the moment going over his head. It seemed to fly over Dad’s head, too—he was too busy sizing up Robbie. “So . . . you want to get changed first?”
I glanced down at my plaid pajama bottoms and fuzzy bunny rabbit slippers, both stained with pink lemonade. At least I was wearing a bra, but that didn’t stop me from turning bright red. “Right. Be right back.” I raced to my room, set the rose on my desk, and changed into jean shorts, a sparkly T-shirt, and Converses, and raced back upstairs before Dad could warn him that I wasn’t allowed to date for another thirty years.