Rose
“You guys are fails!” Rob thunders. “You’ve done nothing to help us!” Scotch roars. “We . . . they . . . sorry.” Joe stutters looking at his feet. “Fine, we can start our little massacre early.” Rob decided. “Matt, Nick, get a gun.” He instructs holding out two guns. “You motherfucking idiots are gonna perform worst school shooting in history.” Rob explains. “Just go to your stupid little school and shoot as many people as you can.” Scotch orders. “And find disguises so your classmates don’t know it’s you.” he adds. “And most importantly,” Rob begins. “Make sure you kill those godamn bitches who call themselves Super Six!”
“Super Six?” Hunter asks. “It’s a good name for our group.” I insist. It’s unoriginal, cheesy and a seemingly pathetic attempt to recreate gang names from the 1960s. But I get tired of calling us “my group of DNA mutated animals”. “All in favor of Super Six, say I.” John announces. “I.” Hunter murmurs, rolling his eyes. “I!” I shout standing up on my chair. “I don’t like it.” Krys scoffs. “Too bad.” I mumble. “I.” John agrees with a small head nod. Jenny looks up. “I . . . think that’s a stupid name but I’ll go along with it anyway.” She giggles. “Whatever.” Mute mumbles, addicted to his cellphone games. I wonder how he ended up being the first member of our group to glow. “Super Six it is.” I announce proudly.
A few days later, I meet Jake at his locker so he can walk me to math class. I never knew it but he has chemistry right next door to my math class. Part of me is glad he's not actually in my math class or he would have seen my puking incident a million years ago. We walk to class as normal and I slide into my seat in the back. The teacher moved me the day after I threw up on him. Another embarrassing reminder to the 10th grade math class but I’m so over stupid mean-girl drama and gossip. I scan the room for Joy and she waves at me after rolling her eyes. I pretend I didn’t notice and sit down next to her. I notice Nick isn’t in class. As much of a delinquent he can be, he actually cares about his grades. I’m surprised he’d miss school on the review day before a test. The teacher’s chapped lips part and he takes a breath to speak. Before a single word comes out of his mouth a blaring alarm goes off. Some kids jump. Some girls shriek like One Direction fanatics. Some boys who are asleep jolt out of their 2nd period slumber and look around like they expect to be in bed with sunlight streaming in their windows. “Oh my God. What the fuck is going on?” Joy asks sounding really pissed. It sounds like the fire alarm but slightly different. The teacher looks around debating jumping out the window, diving under his desk or finally retiring while he has a few more years to play golf. Another teacher slams the door open. A few more girls shriek. “The school is under a lockdown! Someone brought guns to school and they’re shooting! Get under your desks and don’t move! I’ll lock the door!” He fires commands like bullets.
The room goes from a crazy circus to the quiet you hear opening your window right before the sun rises. Forget about hearing a pin drop, you could hear the dust dancing across the floor. We all dive for safety under our desks. The door slams shut and we hear a click. It’s locked. We should be safe. I bite my lip and ponder Nick’s absence. Twenty four percent of students said they could easily bring a gun to school if they wanted to. But I only know three who actually would. There’s a loud bang on the door. “Open up!” a deep voice thunders. I don’t recognize the voice. Maybe I’m wrong about Nick, Joe and Matt. The mystery person jiggles the doorknob but doesn’t open the door. I hear the glass window of the door shatter to pieces. I watch horrified as a hand reaches in and unlocks the door from the outside. The shooter slams the door open. He wears a black hoody, shades and ripped jeans. I wouldn’t care half as much if he wasn’t also glowing red.
Joe looks under desks at horrified kids. “Show yourselves!” he demands, entering the room. No one moves. Who would? I think watching Joe’s shoes move around the room weaving up and down between rows of desks. He doesn’t shoot but he is intimidating. I wonder how the same scrawny kid who grabbed my boobs on a dare to avoid looking like a pussy became the imitating, reckless ass who brings a gun to school. He looks under my desk. I reach into my pocket and feel the glassy textures of my pink gem. Not here, I tell myself. Joe and I lock eyes. I mentally plead with him to give me mercy. I know underneath his jerky and insecure exterior he really did have a crush on me at one point. “Bitch.” He mumbles holding out his gun. He points it to the left of me and shoots. He misses by a lot but it was clearly on purpose. I automatically know this is the work of the murderous Rob and Scotch. He stands up and leaves the room. I chew my lip like I’d chew on bubblegum. No one recognized him except me. He’s safe. Deep in my heart, I am glad.
