Day of shooting

I woke to the repetitive buzzing of my phone against my cheek. Groaning, I lifted my head and answered the call without bothering to check who it was.

"Hey, babe. I got your text last night. I was wondering if you were feeling any better. Did you still want me to pick you up?" the words were enough to wake me up completely. I sat upright, feeling as I'd been drenched in a bucket of ice water.

I had gone straight to bed after my weird interaction with Clark last night; I hadn't even texted Miles goodnight I'd been so exhausted from everything that happened yesterday.

"Text? I didn't text you last night, Miles." I answered, swinging my feet over the side of my bed and looking toward the blank alarm clock at my side. It'd been unplugged. "Shit, what time is it, babe?"

Miles made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You sent me a text last night, Ev. And it's seven ten. If I swing by and pick you up we'll make it in time. I just need to know now."

"Yeah. I'll get dressed right now."

He ended the call with a quiet "love you" as I raced around my room to grab my clothes and hygiene items, wandering into my living room as I put my deodorant on. By the time I'd finished running a brush through my hair and my quickly brushing my teeth, I caught sight of Miles' truck pulling into the vacant driveway. Not even a minute later his horn sounded through the house. I raced back to my room, tossed my toiletries back on my bed then grabbed my backpack and Miles' Letterman from my computer chair and ran for the door. Miles greeted me with a forehead kiss once I'd climbed in, smiling weakly before he backed out of the driveway and headed out of the neighborhood and for the school.

"I'm sorry about last night." he broke the silence, sneaking a quick, apologetic glance in my direction. "I was being selfish. I just. . . I think I'm having seconds thoughts and cold feet about heading out for college. Maybe I should take a gap year."

"You'll be fine, Miles." I reached out and squeezed the hand that was resting on his thigh. "You'll only be a couple hours away, we can make the trip every weekend to see each other. Can we please just have one good last day? Saturday is graduation. Then we can figure all the details of this out."

He nodded, smiling, though it looked forced. "Yeah, you're right. We have our whole lives ahead of us. I don't know why I keep trying to rush things."

Smiling back, I kept my fingers laced through his until we pulled into the parking lot. I froze beside the bed of Miles' truck once we'd hopped out, my eyes scanning the lot. I had figured with my brothers gone early, that they'd possibly hit school early to beat the traffic, but Clark's Volvo wasn't here.

"You alright, babe?" Miles snaked his arm around my waist and hugged me against his side. Deciding against bringing up the unnerving feeling settling in my stomach I rested my head against his shoulder and allowed him to lead me toward the entrance of the school. I fell into my own thoughts the second we approached AP Chem, one of the two of my final exams today. Brady stood outside flirting with Valedictorian Naomi Chao. He pushed off the wall and fist bumped Miles as soon as we approached, and they fell into some sporty talk. Naomi offered me a small smile before she brushed passed Brady with a playful wink and disappeared down the hall. Not long after the bell sounded, and Miles deflated a little and turned to me. "Ugh, I can't wait til tomorrow. I'll finally be free of this hell."

I smiled and leaned forward, pressing my palms against his chest. "Well, put your brainiac cap on for four more hours and then you can think about how free you are."

"Mhm." He may as well of rolled his eyes with the expression he wore. His green eyes shone with amusement as he kissed me softly. "I'm okay with you being my sexy little brainiac."

Brady made gagging sounds a few feet away. "Gross. Get a room."

"I love you." I whispered, reaching up and brushing a strand of his dark hair off his forehead. "Now go get to class before you're late."

He kissed me one more time before nodding toward his best friend. "I love you too, babe. Brady, man, keep an eye on my girl, would you?"

Brady didn't answer directly but gave him a curt nod and stepped aside so I could step into the classroom before him. As soon as I sat in a desk, Brady took the one in front of mine, dropping into it with a loud, exhausted sigh. As soon as the rest of the students filed into the classroom, Mr. Nichols shut the door gently behind the last student. I barely listened to the rules of the test; I'd heard the run down a hundred times over the years, and at least a dozen times in the last week. As soon as he stopped talking, Brady threw me a bored look over his shoulder and I grinned, shaking my head in amusement. Once the elderly teacher had touched his hand to his thinning gray hair and set the timer, I picked up the pencil and stared at the scantron before me, wishing for once I'd talked my parents out of forcing me to take another AP class.

About ten minutes into the test a popping sound echoed through the hallway. It startled everyone, but not close to the extent in did me. My pencil flew from my hand and nearly hit the girl to my left, who was staring at the door with as curious of an expression as the other twenty-five kids in the classroom. Mr. Nichols, seeing the disruption it'd caused, waved his hand dismissively in the air, and said, "Someone probably just stepped on a chip bag or dropped a textbook. Get back to work."

Then came the second bang. This time I heard it distinctly and nearly threw up last night's dinner. I recognized that sound; ten years of my father dragging the three of us out into the middle of the woods during out camping trips and showing us how to hunt had my ears perking at the sound anytime I heard it.

"That didn't sound like a chip bag, Mr. Nichols." One of the Senior girls muttered.

"Yeah, sounded like a gun shot." Brady piped in, his own body tense. Though I was positive he was unaware of the action, one of his legs had been kicked out from behind his desk, one of his arms outstretched, looking as though he were ready to jump up and shield me and the girls on either side of at any given second.

Then, just as the teacher stood, the intercom buzzed and every head in the room whipped toward to speaker. "Students and faculty, this is not a drill, th—"

Bang.

A thud followed the loud bang and then I knew, without a doubt, that it was a gun. Whispers spread, a hysteria slowly spreading through the room. Mr. Nichols started toward the door, but within seconds, another shot sounded through the hallway, this time followed by another five or six. Brady shot out of his seat in front of me, having seen something I didn't, and shouted for everyone to get down. It wasn't until he yanked me to the ground beside him that I saw what'd caused him to take charge. Mr. Nichols lay on the white laminate floor, a pool of blood circling around his balding head, the puddle continuing to grow with every passing second. My hand shot to my mouth, a sob threatening to break passed my lips. Brady threw his own large hand over my own as if he were aware I was about to start screaming. My phone started buzzing in my pocket and scared that the ringer may decide to turn itself on, I tore it out and silenced it, but my eyes lingered on the text from Miles.

Miles- Babe, are u ok? Wtf is going on?

I readied my fingers to respond, but the group chat we shared with most of the baseball team and a few of the cheerleaders, including the beast of a boy in front of me, started up and momentarily distracted me from responding to my boyfriend.

Case- wtf was that

Drew- that was a fucking gunshot

Annie-omg no no no

Case- fuck. It's clark Rodgers. Jesus Christ

Brady, having leaned back to peer at my phone over my shoulder, stiffened at my side seeing the last text. I shook my head despite none of the chat being able to see me and looked to the boy before me pleadingly. This had to be some sick, warped prank of some sort. There was no way that my Chemistry teacher was dead with a hole in his head not even ten feet from me.

Feeling my body beginning to ravage with uncontrollable shaking, Brady squeezed my hand then reached out and hugged me against him. When I glanced up from my phone and around the room, I saw most of the boys had done the same. Trying to calm the girls around them, but they looked just as scared, their eyes wide and fearful, lips trembling as their fingers shot across their keyboard, likely telling their parents or friends what was going on. I felt my phone buzz again and looked back down to find another text from Miles light up my phone. Instead of responding to the repeated question, I stared at my lock screen. It was Miles and me at his Junior Prom last year, his arms wrapped around me from behind as he made a goofy face over my head. Brady could be seen in the background, making the same stupid face as his friend as he photobombed our picture. I'd loved the silliness of the picture so much I'd had the picture printed and slapped it in a photo album at home.

Bang.

This shot was close enough that my hands were over my ears and eyes on the door as it creaked open so it sat ajar. I peered through the open door and the sob I'd tried so hard to contain for the last few minutes broke out before I could stop it.

I couldn't see how many bodies laid still in the hallway; all I saw was blood. Blood on the walls like red paint on a canvas. Blood on the recently mopped, glistening tile. Blood across entire rows of lockers as if someone had taken a large paint brush and splattered it across.

It was everywhere.

"Oh, are you scared?"

No. No, please God no.

"Hope?"

Brady, for the first time since the first bullet sounded through the hall, looked terrified. He cowered back against the filing cabinet behind us as my brother entered the classroom. He tried to grasp my arm, but his hand was shaking so bad that my arm fell right through his fingers. Tears were glistening in his eyes and began to fall silently within moments of them surfacing.

Clark froze at the front of the classroom, casting a disgusted look down at the old man dead at his feet. He was dressed from head to toe in white; not his usual only black, white. It was as if he wanted the blood of the victims, he wore to be visible. He'd achieved it without an issue. His shirt was soaked in blood, none of it his own. His right hand was grasping an AR-15 hanging limply at his side, the other pressed into the rows upon row of mags that were hooked on to the belt he wore over his blood-stained white slacks. Even his blonde hair, tied back, was bloodied.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Clark cocked his head. "I told you to stay home!"

Brady looked toward me in fear, his big brown doe eyes full of tears. His fingers found mine on the floor and he gripped them.

"I told you to stay home!" Clark repeated, firing the gun at someone over my head. A round of bullets rained as cries of fear sounded through the room. "You're not supposed to be here!"

I shook Brady's fingers off and rose to my feet shakily, grasping the corner of the desk I'd occupied a few minutes ago to steady myself. "Clark, Clark what are you doing?"

"You need to leave!" my brother snarled, lifting the gun so the barrel of it was eye level. "Get out of here!"

I inched closer to him, hands up in surrender. "Clark, put the gun down."

"I said go!"

This time he pulled the trigger. I screamed, falling into a crouch and holding my head in my hands, but I was never the intended target for the bullets. Seconds later I heard multiple girls behind me screaming, which was quite possibly the dumbest thing they could have possibly done because Clark flinched, then didn't hesitate to pick them off one by one

"Stop!" I shouted. "Clark, please!"

His eyes found mine and I stumbled back in horror. Gone were the kind baby blues I'd trusted my life with, replaced with that of dark, dilated pits of darkness.

I was staring into an abyss of nothingness.

"Stop?" he spat, and with one quick, swift movement he slammed the hilt of the gun against my left temple. "Because they all stopped, right?"

I could feel the blood before it trickled down my cheek and landed against the top of my hand. For a few seconds my vision blurred and doubled, my equilibrium off and nearly sending me back on to the ground. Once I'd regained full vision and broke out of the disorientation, I looked to my brother.

"Clark, please." I reached out to grasp his forearm, but he jerked away and lifted the gun to hit me again but this time the blow never came. Because Brady Bowers had grasped the barrel of the gun and was trying to disarm my brother. Unfortunately for my friend, my brother had height and muscle on him and within seconds two bullets pierced through Brady's stomach and he stumbled back and collapsed against a desk. The few girls left cowering in the corner cried out, and something along the lines of a strangled sob tore through me as I tried to throw myself over my boyfriend's best friend before any more damage could be inflicted. Only, the second I lurched forward, Clark caught the back of my white blouse, the sound of it tearing echoing through the room. Within seconds he quite literally threw me out the open door. The impact I felt upon hitting the bloody tile sent a sharp pain through my tailbone and all the way up my spine. Sputtering on my own tears, I started to crab walk away from my brother, terrified of what he might do next. Almost as if he thrived on the fear, he closed the distance between us and pressed his white sneakers into my chest so my arms and legs gave out and I collapsed.

Turning my head to my left, another sob broke free. Though I couldn't see the faces of the bodies that lay on either side of me, there were handfuls in both directions, all still and lying in pools of their own blood. One had almost made it to the door and had been shot in front of Brady's locker, his body upright but head drooped to one side lifelessly.

"I told you to stay home." Clark said through a sneer. "If only you listened for once in your fucking life. That whole classroom is dead because of you."

Bullshit, I wanted to scream, you would have killed them anyway. But I didn't say a word, I just stared helplessly up into the empty blue eyes glowering down at me. There wasn't much I could do but let it happen, if I struggled, he'd continue to beat me. If I tried to break him down verbally, he'd take it out on my peers and open fire on innocent kids.

"Hope?" the voice was familiar and I all but started jumping with joy hearing it. If there was anyone in the world that could talk Clark down from all of this, it'd be his twin. When I snuck a look in the general vicinity of the voice, I found Frankie standing at the end of the hallway dressed in attire that mirrored Clark's. Blood and all.

Any hope I had of this ending dissipated that very second.

"Clark, what the fuck are you doing?" Frankie started toward us. "Let her go!

"So she can run and try to play hero?" Clark snickered. "Hell no."

They began to bicker, but in doing this, Clark fell a step back and retracted his leg from my chest and I was able to climb to my feet. Not chancing my escape, I shoved passed Frankie and took off down the hallway, nearly tripping over a couple bodies. Bile rose to my throat, and I had to keep a hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up. Rounding a corner, I was face to face with Coach Phillips, his index finger pressed into his lips with one hand, the other grabbing my forearm roughly and pulling me into the vacant classroom. He barricaded the door, not that it'd help much as the strength of my two brothers was far beyond a couple desks in front of the door.

But it was long enough for me to be able to catch my breath. Unfortunately for Frankie, Clark had been right. Because as long as I stood breathing, I'd fight with everything in me to try and ensure that they didn't kill anyone else.