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“Sylv.” I pull her through our section of seats, toward the farthest corner from
Ty, not waiting for Asha to make the same trek. Behind the last row of seats, we
still cannot hide. The stares of those around us burn.
The fingers of my free hand push the ballet shoe charm deep into my palm.
Ty steps forward, and the door shuts behind him. As if we are in a vacuum, the
silence in the auditorium intensifies. The world outside might cease to exist and
we wouldn’t notice.
Tyler pulls a lock from his pocket and tosses it to a sandy-haired boy standing
nearest to him—a skinny kid who almost drops it. “Be so kind as to lock this
door.”
The boy trembles. He takes a step, moving slowly, as if the lock weighs him
down. He hesitates, and the next shot drills through his shoulder.
“NOW.” Ty’s voice echoes through the auditorium. “If you please.”
The boy cradles his arm against his body. He stumbles.
Students stare. We stare. We do not help. We do not fight. I don’t speak up.
It’s self-preservation.
The boy starts to crumple, and a mousy-haired girl reaches out to steady him. I
think her name’s CJ. She’s a junior too.
She glances at Ty and the gun. Everyone else who came too close has been
shot. Tyler nods, graciously giving his approval. I guess it doesn’t matter who
locks us in as long as someone does.
CJ supports the boy as he weaves the chain with the lock through the door’s
handles. Their hands touch as the padlock clicks shut.
We’re trapped.
The key tumbles onto the crimson carpet. CJ reaches down to grab it, as if by
reflex, then freezes.
Ty beckons with the gun. “Bring it to me.”
She eyes the weapon and does not hesitate. We all hold our breaths to see what
will happen to her.
Nothing.