How to Survive A School Shooting

3. Seven Weeks Before

The first week of school seemed to fly by. Before I knew it, it was Friday. Erica was going to come over after school and stay overnight. We almost always spent the weekend at each other's houses. The only reason my parents got me a cellphone was because they knew I'd be with Erica, but they didn't necessarily know which house we'd be at. So if they needed me for something, or needed me home to watch the twins, they could contact me. I thought it was a fair trade-off. I get a phone, they get a babysitter at their beck and call. My parents are also really fair about it. I think in the two years that I've had my own cellphone, they've called me twice to come home and watch the twins because they had to run out somewhere in a hurry. Once, my dad wound up having to fly out one evening because of a problem at one of the offices in New York, or Florida, and Mom was busy with a client meeting, so I'd had to go home. And another time was when Dad was on one of his trips, my mom had a client issue and needed to go into the office.

But, here I was, sitting in my last-period class - History - frowning at the quiz paper in front of me. I'm not terrible at History. I like it. I just didn't remember reading any of the stuff that was being asked.

I heard a hissing sound beside me. Looking over, I saw Erica looking at me and then at the paper. I shook my head. She frowned in frustration. Looking around the room, I saw a lot of frustrated faces and frowns.

"This is bullshit!" Kevin said, standing up, throwing the test paper at Mr. Hopkins, and storming out of the classroom. Mr. Hopkins tried to get him to sit down and complete the test but Kevin was gone before he'd had a chance to react. I frowned, watching the door swing shut behind Kevin. I was glad it was on a hydraulic hinge or he would probably have broken the glass in the window.

Everyone looked around at each other, none of us sure what to do about the distraction and disruption.

"Eyes on your own papers," Mr. Hopkins said.

"Sir," Caroline Sagat said from the front of the room. "None of this makes any sense."

Mr. Hopkins looked at Caroline and then up at the rest of the class.

"If you've done this week's readings, and if you listened at all in any of my lessons, you should be able to get the answers."

I frowned at the page again. None of it sounded remotely familiar. I have a pretty good memory and this quiz just wasn't making sense. I blew out a frustrated breath and reread the question I was still working on for the tenth time. It was a ten-question quiz, I was on question three and there were only ten minutes of class left. I wasn't going to make stuff up, but I hated leaving answers blank.

Erica was tapping her pen on her desk. Charlie was shaking his leg and frowning. Everyone seemed confused and out of sorts about this test. Kevin's outburst had disrupted everyone, and we were all now, sort of, fidgeting around. I looked around the class. Everyone looked confused. Graham was frowning at his test paper, Erica looked like she'd given up already because I knew she hadn't written anything for a while. We sit beside each other. I can hear her pen scratches.

"Sir?" Megan put her hand up. Mr. Hopkins looked up, frowning with his bushy eyebrows. He never looked particularly happy in general.

Mr. Hopkins was about 60 years old, and had white hair, but was bald on top. His only hair was just a tuft that ran above his ears, around the back of his head, and over the other ear. He wasn't very tall. I'm a little taller than he is, and he's got a stomach. Like, if he were a woman, people would ask him when the baby was due. He wasn't fat, but his stomach sure stuck out. He was a pretty good dresser, though. He always wore tan, brown, or black slacks, collared shirts with a sweater vest over top, a tie and, and loafers, also tan, brown, or black. He wore thick-framed, black-rimmed glasses, and on his left pinky, a gold ring with a purple stone. He wasn't a mean teacher, but he was stern and serious. He's a good teacher, however, and most of the student body, at least, those who have had him for History, like him. He's fair but again, stern. He expects a lot from his students, and he challenges and pushes us to excel. He's not the type of teacher you want to piss off. And if you treat him with respect, he does the same.