Here in this Sorrow Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Steve Valentine

Rubin calls our house at six o’clock this morning. My mom is outside feeding her horse, and my dad already went to work, so it just keeps ringing. Every time the answering machine picks up, he hangs up and calls back until I finally answer. He says he was out all night at some show, and is probably drunk. He wants me to help him fix some girl’s car today. I have to translate this as I do all the fixing while he stands by and looks like he knows something about cars. The idiot can’t even change his own oil. I have to work tonight after school, so I can’t. I don’t really want to go to school today, and I consider pretending to be sick. My mom is a nurse though, so it’s not easy to pull one over on her. Rubin claims it’s an easy thing to do, you just need practice. He used to stay home all the time, but she always seems to catch me.

My mom is bugging me about some homework I didn’t do last night. She just can’t accept that I forgot about it. Finally, I get aggravated and leave for school early.

I meet my friend, “Wheels”, at the Burger King near where Rubin used to live. He wanted me to go to that party last night, but it was all older kids, so I didn’t want to go. While we eat, he asks if I can help him put an engine block into his Camero this weekend. I don’t have to work, so I agree. He tells me he’s having a party this weekend and wants me to get beer from the grocery store where I work. I don’t drink though, so I don’t want to risk it. He calls me a pussy.

When we get in the parking lot, “Wheels” makes fun of my car, like he does every day. It’s a gold Honda Civic that my mm gave me when it broke down and she had to buy a new one last year. She was convinced that it was completely dead. “Wheels” and I fixed it up in less than a weekend and it’s ran fine until a couple weeks ago, when it started overheating all the time. I can’t find what the problem is, so I’m going to get a new car soon. My car is so fine-tuned that when we race to school, I beat him by nearly a minute. He can’t take losing, so he blames it on traffic.

When I get to my first period class, I notice Alison Drew staring at me. I smile and she smiles back. She just started working at the grocery store with me, and I think she likes me.

I hate social studies class. Every day is a battle. I can’t remember these people, or dates, or what they did. What’s the point of all of it. It’s in the past, and I don’t care!

The only good part about social studies is that it’s right before my Technical Drawing class. It’s not that I like the class any more than the others, but I’m able to breeze through it, only pretend to do work, and still ace it. At one point this year, Technical Drawing and gym were the only classes I was passing. I had to have Rubin write my English papers for a while, just so I could pass.

Unfortunately, English is right after Technical Drawing. It’s upstairs to Mrs. Tremier’s class. I don’t want to read Inherit the Wind. I especially don’t want to read it out loud. I do it anyway though. I almost stop when people are laughing at my mistakes. My face burns red with humiliation.

I have gym class fourth period down by the cafeteria. I think Mr. Kazaminski only passes me sometimes because I at least try, unlike Rubin, who rarely even bothered to show up. Whenever I miss a ball, or make a mistake, or run when I shouldn’t, or forget to run when I should, Mr. Kazaminski just sighs and says, “At least you’re better than your brother, Valentine.”

We’re playing volleyball, and normally, I go out of my way to position myself across from Jennie Dix (Oh, the jokes we used to make about her!) so I can watch her shirt fly up when she jumps. Usually, she’s full of energy, and Mr. Kazaminski has to tell her to stop talking every couple minutes. Today, she is just sitting on the bench and not playing. She seems really upset and looks like she is about to start crying at any minute.

The ball is coming to me when I hear the first ‘Pop!’ echoing somewhere not far off. The ball hits me square in the chest. A couple people laugh, but then we hear the screaming. At first, it sounds like a joke, but then more frightened. Then come more ‘pops,’ then more screaming, this time right outside the gymnasium door.

Then, the explosion.

The doors are ripped off their hinges and fly half-way across the room. The angle I’m at shields me from the debris, but a couple kids cry out and clutch at parts of their body. A few people, bloody and wailing, stumble into the gym.

Everyone is silent, unable to believe that this actually is happening. It can’t be happening. This is all stuff that happens on TV, in Colorado, or Pennsylvania, or on the streets of New York City, not at Robert Zimmerman High.

The second explosion, the bigger one, seems to prove to everyone that it is real.

I’m close enough to this one to be knocked over by the force and deafened. All I can think about is my mother’s face, and how I left angry this morning. I want to cry. There is a red mist in the air. I don’t want to die.

I can see people in the hall, crawling around. I can see them screaming, but can’t hear it. There is a crowd of onlookers, standing in shock, having been shielded from the blast by the people in front of them. Oh God, some of them are missing pieces and are still crawling around!

The crowd panics and tries to scramble. Several people spasm and fall. I know these people. I see a lot of these people every day. This isn’t like on television at all, and my hearing is returning, and I can hear myself screaming now. Some kid in a black trench coat stomps by and I can see the gun in his hand and I know that death is just a few feet away, but he isn’t looking into the gym and the office is completely blown apart and the fire alarms are going off and I know I need to get out fast, but I can’t move...

Mr. Kazaminski hits my shoulder, breaking me out of the trance. “Valentine,” he says. “Let’s go.” He’s leading the class out the doors at the back of the room. We go down the back stairs and out the stairs and out the door in the locker rooms.

I’ve never been so glad to see the sunlight. Some people are bleeding and are being supported by other classmates. Between my mother the nurse and seven years of Boy Scouts, I’ve learned enough first aid to help with the wounded. We are taking cover at the bottom of the bleachers on the football field. As the crowd gets larger, I slip away. All I can think about is getting home.

I get to my car and drive home as fast as possible. As soon as I get in the door, I collapse and start crying. I haven’t gotten much farther than that when my parents get home less than an hour later. I embrace them and we stay that way, crying together, for a long time.

John Parker

When the alarm goes off at five AM, I’m sitting up right away. I’m already in a great mood. Twenty years from now, I will look back and be able to say that yesterday was the best day of my life. Everything went so amazingly perfect, that it’s almost not worth going through today.

My dad is already up when I get out of bed. He’s working on a big case, and has been so consumed with it for the last two months that it’s like we don’t even know him. I sit down across from the kitchen table from him after I’ve gotten my first cup of coffee. He glances up at me. “Your mother called last night,” he says, still scribbling notes on his yellow legal pad. His face splits into a smug smile. “I told her about her acceptance.”

I found my acceptance letter to Harvard Law when I came home for lunch yesterday. My dad had gotten a hold of it before I did, and there was a note attached that read: “I’ve never been so proud of you in my life.” Ever since I sent in my application, he’s been telling me that I could join his firm when I finish school. He also told me he was going to kick my ass if I didn’t get in. I know he resents my sister, because she never even went to college. He told me that it was because she spent too much time with my mother. He was already mad at me because I decided to not follow his footsteps in the Marines. I hope getting into Harvard makes up for that. He didn’t even go to Harvard.

After I finish my coffee, I go upstairs and do two lines of coke from my emergency stash. I was planning to quit, but I think being accepted to Harvard is reason enough for celebration. Besides, once my stash is gone, I’m never going to buy any more again. It’s too fucking expensive.

I shit, shower and shave. The glory of yesterday didn’t finish with Harvard. We had the big game with Ithaca High, our big rival. Even though I’m the team captain, I rarely do more than talk big. Coach Green usually doesn’t play me very much. Last night was different though. I wowed everyone with my first grand slam ever, right in the last inning. The four runs I scored put us over the top and won the game for Zimmerman High. They carried me off the field to the locker room. I felt like a fucking star!

After I shower, I get dressed and go downstairs. My sister, Amanda, is watching the news. They’re going on and on about some war in Zimbabwe. Who really cares? For all I care, those niggers can kill each other off until they are gone. I didn’t really have a problem with them until Amanda got mugged by a couple of those coons in the New York City a couple months ago. They were going to rape her, but a beat cop showed up and scared them away. Now I hate those fucking smelly bastards.

No one was home last night when I got back from the game. I just changed my clothes and went right to the party at Ashley Terrence’s hose. To celebrate his twenty-first birthday, Chuck Egan bought five cases of beer, and the party was already in full effect when I got there. Warren Boyd was completely trashed, because I think he came with some of his dad’s beer. He tried to get me to drink some of his, but there is no way I was going to touch it. It’s bad enough I have to hang out at his house occasionally.

Around quarter after seven, I take my brand new Saturn to school. My parents got it for me as an early graduation present. It was the only time my parents actually did something together since the divorce two years ago. I’m listening to Limbaugh on the radio railing against Clinton. My father hangs off every word this guy says, and it’s easy to see why, he’s a fucking genius.

I was kind of annoyed with the party until Jennie Dix showed up. She’s this sophomore girl that’s been checking me out hardcore for a couple weeks now. I started talking to her as soon as she showed up. I had three beers in me, and I don’t drink that much, so I was feeling pretty confident for a change. Things couldn’t have been going more perfectly. She was falling all over me, but I couldn’t get her to drink anything.

I pull into the school parking lot, and can’t help but scowl at the stoners that are standing around the edge of the school property. Every single one of them has a cigarette between their fingers. If they don’t give a bad name to the school, I don’t know what does. They are nothing but human filth that should be dragged out in the street and shot. I arm up my car as I get out, but I don’t like the way they are looking at it, so I re-arm it again as I walk past them. Stephen Joyce starts laughing, but I flip the lot of them off and they quiet down. They wouldn’t dare fuck with me. At least they have the brains to understand that I’m far more important than them in the grand scheme of things.

It took me less than an hour to convince Jennie to come upstairs with me. We went into Ashley’s parent’s bedroom and I locked the door. I wasn’t about to let anything get in my way. I was determined to finally lose my virginity right then and there with her if it killed me. I was afraid that it was going to start getting around that I lied about all those other girls, so I didn’t want to risk more. I told her I just wanted to talk and be able to hear what she said, but I’m sure she knew what I wanted. She had to know.

I go into the school I’m feeling a little edgy from the cocaine wearing off. I’d really like to do another line. Jim Smitt, Ben Tramer and Warren Boyd are sitting on the benches near the main office. Personally, I loath Warren Boyd. He’s unintelligent, crude, and has an unsightly complexion. However, he can play baseball like nobody’s business, and the team has to stick together. I sit down on the bench next to Jim, and say, “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Jim answers. Yesterday, he wanted me to help him siphon the gas out of Christian Duke’s car. I don’t like Christian either, but I didn’t want to get caught doing that. I have reputation to uphold here. At the party, they told me they weren’t able to finish, because Principle Andrews came out and almost caught them.

“Dude,” Warren, on the other end of the group, says. His face is particularly acne-encrusted today, bright red and reaching almost to his eyes. He looks disease-infested, and I think that if I ever had to touch him, I would vomit. He lives in this filthy rat-hole of a house outside of town with cars up on blocks in the driveway. In the yard, there is this fence around the property that is all broken down by him and his brother. Sometimes, we go out there after practice to drink. I completely hate going there, and usually leave early. The whole place had this faint smell of shit that I couldn’t put my finger on. “Did you bag that chick last night?”

I adjust my turtle-neck and smile confidently. “Was there ever any doubt?” She was all for it when we started making out, but she started to get a little overwhelmed when I started to undress her. I kept assuring her that it was alright, and that kept her going. She seemed pretty eager to give me head. It was a nice change. I’ve given it enough times, but this was the first time I ever got it back. It still took a little convincing before she would have sex with me. At one point, I even thought she was going to run out on me like Sara Jenkins did. Finally, she relented. It must have been her first time too, because she cried the whole time. When I was done, she didn’t want to talk, which I was glad about, because neither did I. I waited a couple minutes, then got dressed and went back downstairs. When I found the beer was gone, I went home and got a good night’s sleep after the perfect day.

Ben gives me a high-five over Jim. “Dude! She wanted you so bad!” he gasps.

I smile. “I fucked her right in Ashley’s parents’ bed.”

The three of them high-five me again. I conveniently miss Warren’s hand.

“Did you hear what happened after? Jim asks.

“No,” I say.

He leans back against the wall, laughing. “You know that chick’s friend, Shelly? The one that was all drunk when she showed up with Bill Johansen.” When I nod, he says, “She went upstairs and found that girl you nailed and got all pissed off. I guess she wanted your meat too. She threw beer all over your girl there, and ran out of the party. It was the funniest fucking thing!”

Being the student council president, it’s my job to read the morning announcements, so we laugh about it until the first bell rings. I say, “Sorry, gentlemen, I must depart.” I’m sure it’s the first time that Warren Boyd has ever been called a gentleman.

After I read the announcements, reading off lame club-meetings, accomplishments and sports scores (being sure to include a congratulations for me that weren’t on the paper, just so all the people that couldn’t bother to show up know how good I am), I go to my economics class. We are working on income tax, which I already know how to do. I had to do them last year when my dad hired me as an assistant. All I can think about is Jennie Dix’s tits in my face. I wonder if I can fuck her again tonight. She didn’t even make me wear a condom! She probably thinks I’m her boyfriend now. Nope, not with college coming up in a few months. There’s no way I’m getting stuck having a girlfriend at home when I’m away.

I have study hall next period, so I just skip it and wander the halls. My psychology teacher, Miss. Cataran, is in her office, so I stop to talk to her. She’s barely 25, and has one of the nicest bodies in this whole school, students and faculty, even better than Melanie King, who I promised myself I would lose my virginity to our freshman year. Everyone knows that Miss Cataran–Karen–makes eyes at students all the time, and I bet she would let me fuck her. I tell her about Harvard, and she is impressed. When she tells me how she went to SUNY Cortland, I pretend to be impressed, but come on, I’m talking about an Ivy League school here.

My psych class with her is next period, so we walk there together. She has us do this exercise where we have to throw rings on a cone to determine our self-confidence. She tells me I have the highest out of everyone who tried. Not surprising if you ask me.

I go to lunch and meet up with Jim Smitt, Warren Boyd, and Chuck Egan. Yesterday was Chuck’s twenty-first birthday, so the three of them are planning to go to a couple strip clubs in Syracuse this weekend, and ask me if I want to go. The idea of hanging out with Warren Boyd is bad enough, but Chuck Egan? The school told him that if he didn’t graduate this year, he is going to have to quit school. Jim and Warren are all excited that Chuck will be able to buy them beer. If for any reason I want booze, my sister gladly gets it for me, so I’m not all that excited.

We’re laughing about something when Christian Duke comes in, painted up like death. As usual, Jim starts yelling immediately. I don’t like that kid either, but Jim has this fucked-up obsession with him that teeters between annoying and amusing me.

Christian goes over and sits down with his fag-buddy, Andy McCarthy. Someone said they saw those two kissing in the locker room once. If that doesn’t justify Jim’s behavior, I don’t know what does. We’re all laughing like maniacs. Why the fuck would anyone, even Christian, show up to school looking like that? Doesn’t he understand that he get’s picked on enough as it is? Does he think we aren’t going to laugh at him? Does he think that Jim isn’t going to be waiting for him outside after school? I don’t understand what some of these freaks think sometimes. It’s like they think that just because that freaky Marilyn Manson guy can get away with it, so can they.

I’m pretty shocked when Christian actually comes over to us. That little fag has guts! Jim asks him what he wants, and Christian says he just wants to talk. He actually gets up on our table and sits down Indian-style. Mr. Henry, who not only loves us, but hates Christian, is yelling at him to get down, but Christian isn’t listening.

“You told me that if I talked to you about something, if I told you I didn’t like something, you would stop,” Christian says calmly. Jim is playing this so cool. I would have expected him to just get up and punch the little shit. Mr. Henry is still yelling and coming this way. Jim asks Christian what he is supposed to stop. Warren and Chuck are smiling. I’m having a hard time keeping from laughing too.

“I would greatly like it if you would stop calling me ‘faggot,’” he says. “Please refer to me by my name.” Mr. Henry is walking towards us slowly now, and is still yelling at Christian. Christian turns to him and tells him to shut the fuck up! This kid has totally snapped! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I’m so glad I didn’t go home for lunch today. He just turns back to Jim and says, “So what do you say?”

Jim actually agrees! This is the same kid he talked about pummeling all day yesterday, for no reason at all. This is the same kid whose gas tank Jim drained yesterday, just because Christian didn’t come out to get beaten up again. Is he actually going to get respect for Christian now? I was actually convinced, right up until Jim says, “Nice make-up. . . faggot.” We all start laughing.

I’m sitting next to Jim, and am the first to see the gun as it comes out of Christian’s coat. “Holy shit!” I yell. I’m pushing myself back in my chair as he points it at Jim’s head. Time seems to freeze for a moment as Duke looks like he’s rethinking all of this. Mr. Henry is right behind Christian, reaching out, but he pauses in shock when he sees the gun. Warren, Chuck, and I are all scrambling away.

The gun goes off and Jim’s head explodes.

I’m sprayed with some of his blood as I dive away. Everyone is screaming and running, and Christian Duke is standing up and shooting people, and I know I have to get out of the room fast. People are already running for the door to the hallway. I join in the mad rush and, being larger and stronger, manage to fight my way around the corner, out of Christian’s firing arc. It’s only ten feet to the safety of the courtyard door. Some people are already outside. I get to the door and am about to step out.

I feel the air pressure slam against me. Then the heat, tremendous heat, followed by tiny objects peppering my body. I’m flying through the air. I slam into the gymnasium door.

Sara Jenkins

I had to get up early today because I didn’t get a chance to do the reading for English today. We’re reading The Doll’s House in my Advanced Placement class. It’s such a dull book. We had to write a paper about it, on what we thought it symbolized. I had a wonderfully written paper about the religious overtones, comparing it to Adam and Eve. I had everything worked out, all the parallels, Original Sin; The Devil; Everything! I failed the paper, and Mr. Henry told me I was completely wrong. He totally plays favorites with that class. He’s had all the honors kids since they were freshmen, but I am the only one to rise through the ranks and go from Regents level to Advanced Placement. I’m not one of his “kids,” though, so he doesn’t like me. I was even in one of his classes before, but it was just one of his Regents classes, and he looks down on those, I just wasn’t special enough.

I read the book quickly, just to give myself some base knowledge. I know were just going to be reviewing the same the same things we reviewed yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Mr. Henry is so enamored with these terribly boring books that he just goes on forever about the same things.

I go right to class when I get to school. I’m reading through the book in class, just reviewing it, when Mr. Henry comes in. He starts going on about how I should do my work before I come to school. I think he’s kidding at first, but when I chuckle about it, he starts bitching about how if I think it’s a laughing matter, maybe I shouldn’t be in Advanced Placement. I try to explain to him that I read it, but of course, he doesn’t believe me. Maybe if I was Annie Stenta, he would pay attention.

During class, I sit in the back and only speak when spoken to. Annie Stenta, who I heard fucked John Parker right around the time I was trying to dispel the rumors that I did the same, dominates the conversation as usual. I hate that tramp. She’s always chasing the guys that I like. First John, and now she has her eyes set on Stephen Joyce, who I’ve been dating on and off since we were freshmen. She probably doesn’t even like him, just wants a rebel boyfriend to scare her rich parents with.

I have gym second period, so I go down to the locker rooms without even stopping at my main locker. My gym locker reeks of those worn, green Adidas sneakers that I’ve had since I was eleven. I know I should get rid of them, but they are the most comfortable pair of shoes I’ve ever had. It was just this year that they got reduced to a pair of gym shoes. I change into the red and white school shorts that I got when I played softball, and the ragged Cure T-shirt that my brother gave me, and go upstairs. We are playing volleyball, and Ms. Aspling is setting up the nets. I give her a hand–an act that always gets me branded an ass-kisser. There was a rumor going around that I was seen on a date with Ms. Aspling, which was a total lie, but people still believed it. I think that was half the reason I went on that date with John.

What a mistake that was! For some reason, he thought I was going to sleep with him. I was so scared when I turned him down. He was furious, shoving me around that motel room he had rented, screaming that if I let him go down on me, that I must want it. I really thought he was going to rape me. He probably would have if I didn’t run out of the motel, screaming and naked. I told that officer that stopped me that I didn’t know the person who attacked me. I should have told on John, but I never did. He tried to apologize two days later, but I wouldn’t talk to him. Three days after that, the fucking slut, Annie, gave him what he was looking for.

I get put on a team with Ashley Terrence. In grade school, she used to be my best friend. It all changed though, in middle school when it turned out I wasn’t cool enough to be friends with her. We still hang out once and a while, but she always makes the distinction, “to study,” because she thinks I’m really smart. I still like her, I guess we’re still friends, but it hurts a lot to think that she wanted to give it all up for her rock-head boyfriend.

When I leave the locker room, Stephen is there waiting for me. We start walking together. He’s such an atrocious dresser, wearing these ugly blue jeans that he got one time we were at the Salvation Army, and this faded, purple Bugle Boy shirt that he’s had as long as I can remember. Stephen and I are “just friends” right now, but I’m sure things will change some time soon, and he’ll be my boyfriend for probably the hundredth time. I’m sure that I'll marry Stephen some day.

After I got away from John, the cop that found me took me to the hospital to make sure I was all right, and that was where my parents picked me up. I changed out of the clothes I got at the hospital, and snuck out of the house. It was almost four on a Friday night, so I knew Stephen would be at the diner. He goes there after he parties to chill out and sober up. He just sits in a corner booth and reads until dawn. It’s so odd. We went back to his house, and I told him what John did. He was furious, stomping around the house, screaming about how he was going to kill John. I thought his parents were going to get up to see what was wrong. He told me he was going to call up some of his buddies and go to John’s house right then at five in the morning. As angry as Stephen was, and as bad as his friends are, I thought for sure they would actually kill John. As upset as I was, and as much as I wanted John hurt, I still had managed to get away before he could do anything. I didn’t want Stephen getting in trouble over John Parker. When he calmed down some, Stephen asked me if I wanted John “taken care of.” I know that he knows people that would, and possibly have done things like that before, so I made him promise not to do anything. I didn’t want to be mixed up in anything like that if. If John had raped me, I know that he would be dead right now. I never asked Stephen, but I’ve always wondered if it was coincidence that John’s sister got mugged less than a month after it happened.

I don’t like some of the people he knows, or approve of all the things he does, but Stephen is one of the greatest guys I’ve ever met. He’s the only guy I’ve ever gone out with that didn’t try to sleep with me, even though he was the only one I almost did it with. This year, on my birthday, he took me to the nicest Italian restaurant in town, read me poetry by Lord Byron–his hero–and then took me to the opera to see Faust. After the opera, I asked him if he wanted to come back to my house, because my parents were away. I probably would have done it with him that night, but he just kissed my forehead, and reminded me that I wanted to wait until I was married. He spent the night with me that night, but we didn’t do any more than fool around. That was the last time I went back out with him. It lasted until December, when something happened that he wouldn’t even tell me about. All he would tell me was that he almost got killed, and he needed me to just be his friend for a while. He’s pretty much normal now, but we haven’t gotten back together yet. It looks like it will be even longer with this little slut, Annie, going after him.

I don’t have class this period, so I walk with Stephen up to Mr. Holowinski’s class for chemistry. Stephen is a chemistry genius. He’s been fascinated by it for as long as I’ve known him. He was reading chemistry textbooks for fun ever since he’s been in high school. I remember back when we were little kids, he always had one of those chemistry sets. When we were ten years old, he converted part of his parents’ basement into a chemistry lab. He was always mixing this and burning that. I used to think he was trying to make bombs.

Last year, when I was taking the class, he was tutoring me in it. The only reason I even passed eleventh grade was because I had a sophomore telling me what to do.

I wave to Mr. Holowinski, who used to hang out with my older brother when they were punk rockers. He waves back, even though I don’t really think he ever remembered me, despite the fact that he used to hang out at my house everyday, smoking pot in the room next to mine when I was eight.

Stephen goes into class, and I go to the library. I have to read a Newsweek article for my Participation in Government class with Mrs. Himbry next period. There is really nothing interesting in it, so I just do one on the Balkans conflict. I really should type it, but the class ends before I can do it.

Mrs. Himbry’s class is across the hall from the ground-floor computer room at the end of the hall. She is organizing some papers when I come into class. She’s one of the youngest teachers in the school, and is really nice. I’ve spent quite a few afternoons in here talking to her after school. It’s nice to have someone so in touch with the student body. I take my seat, back row center and start reading the Newsweek again. Shannon Donahue usually sits next to me, but she’s not here yet.

I don’t know why Shannon gets such a bad rep. She really is a nice girl, even if she does dress all freaky and hang out with Christian Duke and Clark Golding. We usually get put in groups together in this class, and she is really smart. She knows all about these terrible things going on in other countries that American corporations are doing. She’s let me read some of her magazines before, and it makes Newsweek look like a joke. There is so much that you don’t hear in the news.

About halfway through class when I hear the first shots. It’s like, “Pop! Pop! Pop!” echoing in the hall. No one says anything at first, even though no one could have missed it. The explosion is impossible to miss though. One time, back in February, someone put a quarter-stick of dynamite in one of the toilets by the cafeteria when I was in this same class. It echoed through the whole school. This blast is much different though, bigger, louder. My ears hurt and all the chalk is knocked off he ledge on the blackboard. The second explosion is even bigger, and I have to cover my ears. It knocks paint off the walls.

“Wait here,” Mrs. Himbry says.

The fire alarm goes off.

“Everyone be calm,” she says, forcing herself to not lose control. She looks at the ground, swallows and picks her head up. “Let’s file out in an orderly fashion, no pushing. Everyone stay calm.”

When I hear people screaming, I get really scared. People are chattering about what it could be. I can feel a ball in my throat and tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. It’s happening here, now, just like in all those other schools, just like the TV said it would happen. We’re all standing up. The screaming is louder, both boys and girls, right outside the door. I can hardly hear them over the fire alarms.

Above everything, I can still hear the “Pop! Pop!” and in my gut, I know what is happening.

All around me, I can hear kids in the class screaming. I think I am too. From where I’m standing, I can see the hallway. Dead people look so much worse in person than in the movies.

The din in the hallway gets less, and almost completely stops. People are cowering all around, hiding behind file cabinets and overturned desks. Kim Peters is trying the emergency window, but it’s jammed. The fire alarms are ringing, and I’ve never been so scared in my entire life. There is someone shooting, near-by but muffled.

The significance hits me like a brick. The shooter is going into the classrooms where people are hiding, and killing them there. If we continue to sit here, we’re sitting ducks. Travis Kit is throwing things through the windows, the sound of shattering glass is all but drowned out by the fire alarms and the renewed screaming outside. I’m not going out the window. It’s a fifteen foot drop into concrete stairs below. Some people are already hanging off the ledge and trying to drop. I’d rather take my chances in the crowds spilling back into the halls. I can’t hear any gunshots, so he must still be in the rooms. I’m still in the room, but the most of the class is already out when the next explosion comes. A couple people get knocked to the floor and I can see blood spray. A nail hits the ground in front of me. A thick, crimson liquid coats it, and I don’t want to admit that I know what it is.

The screaming has stopped.

We need to get out of here. If we don’t, we’re going to be killed. There is little more noise than people crying in the halls. I go out the door with Chris Colpatrick and Tom Thomas. There are dead and injured people all over, mainly around the ruin of the door. I need to get out, need to get away, but there are so many dead, and the door is blown to bits, and the stairway door is all torn apart. I’m pushing my way through it, and that’s when I see Stephen...

Jamie Hertz

I would have liked nothing better than to stay home today. I’m so tired I can hardly move. It would have been stupid to ask my dad to let me, not after I got home last night, and found him waiting for me. I know I’m in for it tonight when I get home. I wish I could tell him why I was out so late, or why my clothes reeked of beer, when I didn’t even have anything to drink. I can’t tell him though, can I? Even though that look of disappointment in his eyes nearly killed me, I don’t know if I can tell him. I can’t tell him the real reason I couldn’t sleep, even after I finally went to bed. I just have to suffer through today and wonder if any good is going to come out of this.

I’m skipping my first period chemistry class and sitting down by the cafeteria. I’m trying to take a little nap, until the end of the period, when I have to go to English. I’m already in enough trouble, why not get in more.

Much to my surprise, I’ve been doing fine in chemistry all year. Last year when I took it the first time around, I just couldn’t get it, no matter how hard I tried. I did all the homework, came in for as much extra help as I could get, studied for hours, and still failed miserably. This year, when I took it again, it was like I just needed a year for it to sink in. Now, I never study, rarely do the homework, and I’ve kept up a B+ all year long. It’s frustrating, really. I mean, why couldn’t this happen last year. I’m doing fine in chem, but English is another matter, I can’t afford to skip that.

Sleep isn’t coming to me though, just like last night. I keep replaying the events in my head: Going upstairs to the bathroom; Passing a smiling John Parker on the stairs; Going past Ashley’s parents’ bedroom, and hearing the sobbing, that awful sobbing...

My eyes are closed, and I’m not paying attention, so I don’t realize Ben Tramer is there until he sits down next to me, too close, his hip practically pressed against my ass. I sit up quickly and move a foot and a half down the bench before he can put a hand on my hip. Ben has been laboring for years under the impression that he is God’s gift to women, and that I’m in love with him. How could I be attracted to someone with such a faggy orange jeep. He was so proud of it when he got it, he showed off to everyone. He asked me if I wanted to go for a ride around some back roads that day. I knew what he wanted, and I might have even done it, because I hear he’s a great kisser, but I didn’t want to be seen in his jeep. Everyone is always making fun of him behind his back about it, but he has no idea. He still thinks he’s so fucking cool.

I know that with Ben here, I’m not going to be getting any sleep. I’m already in a bad enough mood, and I don’t know if I can force myself to be nice to him, especially since he’s one of John’s best friends. I’ll probably end up taking all my anger out on Ben, which isn’t entirely a bad thing.

He asks me what I’m doing this weekend, and I tell him that I plan to just sit around and watch TV. I’m actually going to Syracuse with Melissa Bentridge and Emily Mann, but Melissa likes Ben, and if he asked to go with us, she would let him without a doubt. Ben asks me if I’d like to get together, maybe go to the lake, or somewhere, which is a totally repulsive thought. It’s taking all my strength to not slap him. I’m sure John has bragged to everyone about what he did, so I bet Ben knows about all of it, or at least John’s version, and now he’s trying to get me to do the same thing.

“Look, Ben,” I snap. “I’m not in a real good mood right now, why don’t you just let me be, all right?”

He looks dumbfounded for a couple seconds, which is hardly a new look for him. Finally, he curls his lip and indignantly says, “What, are you ragging it or something? You just had to say so, that’s all.” He gets up and sighs, and I hear him mumble, “Bitch,” under his breath.

The urge to hit him passes quickly, and I force myself to relax. People like Ben just aren’t worth the time.

I wish I could tell someone about what happened. I just can’t get the image of Jennie Dix’s face out of my head, the pathetic way she was looking at me when I pushed the door open. She had been wearing makeup, but her tears had made it all run. She was still naked, and was curled up in a little ball at the head of the bed. When she saw me, she whimpered, “He... he made me.” That was when I saw the bloodstains on the sheets.

I went to her side and covered her up with a blanket and held onto her. I couldn’t say anything, I was way too shocked. “It’s okay. It’s over,” was all I could manage to spit out, even though I knew that neither was true. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run downstairs and attack John, because I knew it was him before she even told me. There had been rumors about him, about girls he had tried to force. No one really believed it though. I mean, John was such a popular guy, why would he need to force anyone?

“Please,” she was crying. “Please don’t tell anyone.” She kept saying it over and over, like it was the only thing she could spit out. I tried to tell her that she had to tell someone, that she had to tell the police, or her parents, or anyone so John could get what he deserved, but she just kept repeating that. “He thought I wanted it,” she whispered at last. “I led him on, I came up her with him, and he wouldn’t listen to me when I told him to stop.”

I tried reasoning with her, telling her that she didn’t lead him on, that she needed to do something about it. She wouldn’t listen to me though. She just kept begging me not to tell anyone.

The bell rings and I start going down the hall to Mr. Henry’s room. It’s a creative writing class that I’m doing very poorly in. I have to pass it, or I can’t graduate. Why did I decide on an English sequence? I’m not good at it at all. I’ve been failing since grade school. Rules of grammar, parts of speech, it’s all a mystery to me. To this day, I couldn’t say for certain what an adjective is. Mr. Henry likes me though, so I don’t think I have to worry too much about failing. I’m sure I can talk him into scraping me by somehow.

I take my seat in the back of the room and put my head down on my desk. I wish last night had just ended with me finding Jennie Dix. I wish it had been that simple, but as usual, things got worse. Jennie’s friend, Shelly, was totally wasted. She had been wandering around all night causing all kinds of trouble. Bill Johansen said he had bought her eight wine coolers before she even showed up, and when she got there, she started drinking beer right way. She had already thrown up once by the time I went upstairs. She had been going on all night about how bad she wanted John, and how she was mad at Jennie for being such a slut. She was looking all over for Jennie, and most people thought she was really funny.

Having grown up with my father during his fight with alcoholism after my mother died, I was getting pretty pissed. If there’s anything to make a person swear off drinking, it’s nearly being killed because of it. What made last night worse, was not being able to tell my father that I wasn’t drinking. When I walked in the door, he was sitting at the kitchen table. He smelled it right away and wrinkled his nose. There was no anger in his eyes, just disappointment. “How could you?” he asked, staring at the ground. I could actually feel the scar on my head, the one from the car accident, the one that made me learn his lesson with him. I was still too shocked by the whole night to explain anything to him. When he got up and walked out of the room, I didn’t have the faculties to stop him.

I heard her raving when she was coming up the stairs, and I knew there was about to be some trouble. I hadn’t shut the door to the bedroom, and we could be seen quite plainly from the hallway. I was trying to angle myself so that I was blocking sight from the door, but I couldn’t do it in time. I think Jennie was actually trying to get around me, trying to get Shelly’s attention, not realizing the problems it would cause.

The drunk girl came in, half-smiling. She was completely wasted, and stumbling. Then, her eyes focused, and she realized who was in the bed. Her jaw dropped open, and the plastic cup of beer in her hand nearly fell. “Why, you little slut!” she cried out. “You actually did it! You actually fucked him! He was mine!” Her voice was shrill, and I thought she was about to cry. “I thought we were friends!” She started screaming and took two steps towards us. I thought I was going to have to stop her from attacking Jennie. Instead, she looked down at the beer in her hand, and tossed the glass. It bounced off Jennie’s face and splashed all over both of us. Jennie slumped down on the bed again, weeping. As soon as it hit, Shelly turned and ran downstairs. Everything else got quiet after that, and I heard her run out the front door, still screaming.

I helped Jennie into the bathroom and got her cleaned up, and then I took her home. John was already gone when we left, which one could say was either good or bad, because I think I would have killed him. On the way home, Jennie continued to plead with me to not tell anyone. I told her that she needed to do something about John, that she had to turn him in, but she refused.

When I got to school this morning, John was in the main office. He looked so smug, it took everything in me to not just walk in and claw his eyes out. I passed by Jennie on my way down to the cafeteria, and she couldn’t even look me in the eyes. I felt so bad for her. I just wanted to go to her and comfort her, but she walked away really fast. It made me want to cry.

I fake my way through creative writing, pretending to take notes, but really just drawing little lines all over my notebook. I sit right in the middle of the room, two back from the one Mr. Henry sits on when he’s reading to us. If Carla Franke didn’t sit in front of me, he would be able to see what I was doing. I wonder if he can? I wonder if he even cares.

Luckily, I have study hall and lunch for the next two periods, so when the bell rings, I go right upstairs to the library. I couldn’t even think of eating right now, even though I skipped breakfast, so I’ll probably just stay here for lunch and a nap. Usually, Mr. Lombardo, the Librarian, gets upset if you sleep in the library. He comes over to you and says, “This is a place of learning, not a hotel, please keep that in mind.” He’s about 100 years old though, so it’s easy to escape his attention, especially if there is something else going on to distract him. My dad told me that Mr. Lombardo was the librarian here when he was going to school, and that he was ancient back then. Some people say that he’s been here since the school opened, and he’s kept alive by a cryogenics chamber in the basement. He just putters around the library, organizing books and telling long, tedious stories to anyone brave enough to try and check out a book. I had to do that last year when I was writing a paper for my Health class. Mr. Lombardo started telling me this story about how he used to live in New York City, but he had to leave, because he got psychosomatic back pain that went away as soon as he moved. There was more to the story–there is always more to the story–but I just left the book on the counter and walked away.

I sleep most of the way through the period, waking up only when obnoxious freshmen start making noise at the table next to mine. Mr. Lombardo comes over and starts ordering them to quiet down, so I have to pretend that I’m reading until he goes away. He threatens to take the kids to the office if they continue to be a disturbance. They quiet down for the moment. I’m hoping they will be leaving as soon as the class is over.

Unfortunately, they don’t. They sit in the same seats and are just as obnoxious. I wish I had my walkman with me. I just got the new Barenaked Ladies album, and I really want to listen to it right now. I really want something to drown out these damn kids. They are getting louder and louder, and I want to tell them all to just shut up. A few minutes after the bell rings to start fourth period, one of them yells loud enough to catch Mr. Lombardo’s attention. He comes over and orders them to come down to the office with him. If you ignore Mr. Lombardo long enough, he’ll get angry, and say he’s going to call the office to have someone come get you. By the time he gets to the counter, something usually will have distracted him, and he’ll forget all about you. It’s kind of an unwritten rule that someone will ask him a question to distract him. No one is doing that for these kids though, and I sure as hell aren’t about to. They all look sad as they gather their belongings and follow him out of the library. Finally, I have a chance to get some sleep without having to worry about getting caught.

My head is buried in my arms for about five minutes, before I hear Laurie Myers say, “Hi, Jamie!” Laurie and I were on the swim team together. She’s a junior, and is thinking of going to New Paltz for college, where I was already accepted. She’s really nice, and I wish I had met her before this year. I fake a smile, because I don’t really want Laurie to think I’m mad at her. She sits down at my table and starts talking.

Kevin Mellen, who was also on the swim team with us, asked her to the prom the other day, and she’s absolutely glowing. Jake Anderson and I are going together, just as friends. He was supposed to go with his girlfriend, Melanie King, but they broke up last month. Jake and I have been friends since we were like five years old, so we decided to go together. We are planning on doing everything up right. We already rented a fully loaded limo and everything. I suggest that Laurie and Kevin should come along with us. She gets really excited and says she’ll talk to Kevin about it.

She’s in the middle of answering me when the whole building rumbles. Everyone is quiet, unsure. Has something happened? Was it an earthquake? Are they going to evacuate the school? Before anyone can recover, or really do anything, there is another rumbling, this one much bigger. A couple books are knocked off the shelves. People are shuffling about nervously, looking to one another for some kind of answer. I wish there were some windows in here, so we could see what was going on outside. I want to know if the whole neighborhood is affected, or if it’s just the school.

“What could it be?” Laurie is asking, but I’m not answering. She keeps saying it over and over again, hoping to get some kind of comfort for her fears. I touch her hand, more to ease my own tension than hers, but it seems to sooth her anyway.

Not far off, I can hear the echoes of screaming. It sounds like it’s right outside in the hallway. I’m not sure, but I think I hear a faint, “Pop! Pop!” somewhere too. A couple people go out in the hall to check, but Laurie and I stay in our seats.

There are screaming in the hall outside the library, a lot of them. Something is definitely wrong here. What could it be? An earthquake? Explosion? Fire? I’m too terrified to find out for myself. Instead, I stay glued to my seat, waiting for the excitement to die down, so that we can found out that it was really nothing major, that a lot of people got really scared over nothing. That’s the way it has to be, doesn’t it?

After the third rumbling, I’m not so sure. There are a lot of panicked people in the halls, dashing about like chickens with their heads cut off. All the classes are out too, and the there teachers are trying to get some kind of order. I can hear them over the din, telling people to calm down. From my seat, I can see the occasional flashes of what looks like kids who have been splashed with red paint, but I know it isn’t paint, and this is when I can’t deny that something serious has happened.

Stephen Joyce

I was up late last night. Originally, I was planning to go to that party at Ashley Terrence’s house. I only wanted to go though, because I thought Annie Stenta was going to be there, and I really wanted to hang out with her. I was just getting ready to leave my house when she called me. She also was planning to go, just hoping I would be there. Neither of us really wanted to go, so I just grabbed The Complete Works of Lord Byron, that Sara got me for my birthday, and met Annie at the park. We smoked pot, which was the first time she had ever done that, and then I read her poetry for hours. We ended up laying in the grass until well after midnight, and she was pressed so tightly against me. I seriously thought I was going to hook up with her. After we had made out for a while, she told me that she really liked me, and was upset that she was going away to college so soon. I told her that it didn’t matter, because we still had the whole summer before she went away. I really like Annie a lot. She’s so smart, and beautiful, and one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Sara, who I’m probably going to marry someday, hates Annie, but she’s probably just jealous. She really doesn’t need to be, because Sara is the only one for me. No matter what I do now, I want her in the long run.

I had to be practically dragged out of bed this morning, right in the middle of a dream about Sara. I get up, stumble like a zombie into the shower and fall asleep while I’m there.

When I finally get out of the shower, I put on an old purple Bugle Boy T-shirt that I’ve had for years. I thought I would be so cool back when I got it. I thought it would actually make friends for me. That was my freshman year though. Now I think all those fucking high school cliques are stupid.

On the bus, I listen to an old Iron Maiden CD. I’ve been told by everyone that metal is dead–by the grunge kids, the punks, the alternatives. Now, all those fads are fading away, Kurt Cobain is dead, the Sex Pistols have broken up again, and everyone realized that Alternative was just stupid. The same kids that ridiculed me before are now asking to borrow my CD’s.

I get to school and go immediately to get a bagel in the cafeteria. I usually talk to Clark Golding before classes start, but he isn’t here today. He was going to that Misfits show last night. He offered to let me go, that they still had room in Christian’s car, but I hate the fucking Misfits. I bought one of their albums a couple years back because Metallica were such big fans. They have a couple good songs, but that’s about it.

Nick Caufield comes in and we talk about Metallica for a while. He’s jealous that my older brother took me to see them before they turned into pussies (I hope I don’t get sued for thinking that). Clark and his friend, Christian, hate Nick, but I don’t think he’s so bad. I’ve seen him do some fucked up shit to people though. He kind of became a dick after his sister got killed a while back, but it’s understandable. That kind of thing messes you up, especially since they still haven’t caught the guy.

When the first bell rings, I start heading towards class. I have math first period. I have to know a lot for chemistry, so I’m pretty good at it. We’re having a test. As usual, I didn’t study, so I don’t do as well as I should. It’s okay though, because I scored 120 on my PSAT’s this year without even studying, and the SAT’s are what really count for college.

After Math, I meet Sara down by the locker rooms when she’s coming out of gym. I’ve known Sara for as long as I can remember. We always just kind of ‘clicked,’ and we’ve been seeing each other on and off for years. I don’t really know if I love her, but I can certainly say that I don’t feel this way about anyone else. We broke up in December after... after some fucked up shit happened to me, and I just needed to be alone. I was going to ask her to the prom and see if she wanted to get back together, but it looks like Annie is going to ask me. Sara walks with me to my Chemistry class upstairs. I purposefully avoid any discussion about Annie. When we get to my class, I give her a hug and go inside, where I talk with Mr. Holowinski for a while, until people start coming in and asking questions about the homework. I was really surprised that he assigned it, because it was really difficult. I even had trouble, and I think I’m the only one in class who understands what’s going on. He explains it in the beginning of class, but most people are still clueless. It’s lab day, and we start that right after the homework. My lab partner, Amanda Reese, hardly has to do any work, and that’s why she begged to be my partner. Being the master negotiator that I am, I got a blow-job out of the deal. I burn the various materials and make her record the data so she looks busy. We finish long before the rest of the class, and having become bored with Amanda’s conversation shortly after I blew my load in her mouth earlier in the year, I go talk to Mr. Holowinski. Two weeks ago, he found out that he got tenure, on the same day he and his wife, who teaches Spanish downstairs, got the news she was pregnant with their first child. He is still glowing.

I have study hall after lab, so I skip out and go down to the cafeteria, where Annie is sitting with Kathy Olomsky. We talk for a couple minutes, but I have to excuse myself when I remember that I was supposed to write a book report for English. To be perfectly honest, I read Macbeth long before I had to read it in class, and didn’t bother to re-read it this time. I hope I remember it well enough to write this report.

I’m at the farthest set of doors down the hall when I hear what sounds like a gunshot. I freeze, flashbacks to that cold December night at that crack-house where my friend Don lives, the night when I honestly thought I wouldn’t see morning. Slowly, I turn around and stare. I can hear screaming. There is no mistaking the echo of a gunshot. Especially when it’s followed by three more.

More screams from people in the hall. It’s just like on TV. Some teachers are looking out their classroom doors.

Explosion.

The building shudders. Dust falls around me. Silence.

The screaming starts again, but it’s different. These screams are full of pain, not panic. The fire alarms start ringing, and I can hear people stampeding towards me, shrieking, their voices full of terror. More people are in the hall around me, talking, stirring, frightened. The same thing is on everyone’s minds.

The second explosion knocks some people, including me, to the ground. People are pushing and shoving all around me, and it’s hard to get to my feet. I manage to do so anyway. Visions of the crack-head with the gun are spinning through my head, along with visions of news footage from schools all over the country. I keep thinking, “It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at me, it’s not the first time I’ve seen someone shot, It’s not the first time...,” but it isn’t helping to reassure me at all.

I’m one of the first to see the carnage. There are a few people still standing, but the bomb ripped most of the kids to pieces. The people still up are standing like statues, most of them staring in horror at the fleshy debris that had once been humans. At the end of the hall, I can clearly see someone wearing a black trench coat like the one Clark’s friend, Christian, always wears.

When the kid raises his hand, I know what is about to happen. Most people are already trying to run. There is a ‘bang!’ and Storm Johnson, who is only a few feet away from me cries out and falls. People panic. Jake Anderson gets hit and goes down. People seem to think there is some kind of drama to shootings. The movies have told them that time slows down, you can see each person screaming. The music is pumping. It’s not like that in real life though, just a lot of screaming, running, confusion and the crack of the gun. They all try to run. People are trampled. I’m doing my best to keep a cool head in all the chaos, but it’s not working. We’re farther down the hall, near the last set of doors, where I first heard the shooting.

Christian is right among us. I keep telling myself that I’m an old hack to this. I’m only a few feet away from Christian, who isn’t doing anything, just watching. The crack-head would have killed us too if we hadn’t taken the offensive. I know I have to do the same thing here, I need to be the hero, because no one else can do it (Music in my head: “Johnny! Don’t be a hero...). I need to stop Christian Duke.

I start to advance, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. I’m not yelling anymore, just doing what I have to, being the sensible one. Being the action hero. I know I’m the only one that can do this.

He turns and sees me coming at him, he points the gun at me and starts shooting. I jump away and try to hit the ground, but as I fall, I feel a sting in my side. I can actually feel the bullet rip through my vitals and exit through my shoulder.

It’s a bizarre feeling, knowing you’ve been mortally wounded, and there is nothing feasible you can do about it. It’s even more distressing to know that under different circumstances, something might have been possible.

I actually land with my feet beneath me, running. There is the disgusting feeling of blood soaking my shoulder and side. I stumble through he doorway into the stairwell. There are people here, and the sight of me running in, dying (DYING!) panics them. They are running up the stairs, even though there is no way to escape up there (aren’t they thinking clearly?). I go up, trying to follow them, trying to warn them. I’m on my knees though. I can taste blood. I wonder if the bullet hit anyone else. I’m laying face down on the floor now. I can feel my blood pooling around me.