After catching her fiance cheating with his realtor partner, Aubrey Peters decides to sell everything and move cross country to LA. With the help of her cousin and self-proclaimed influencer, Eloise, Aubrey slowly starts to rebuild the shambles of h...
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"Ms. Peters, you're bleeding!" Christopher breaks away from my grip to point at my shoulder. "What happened?"
The gym is a chattering mess. I've counted at least four injuries since we barricaded ourselves inside.
For whatever reason, any time I attempt 9-1-1 it won't go through. I've texted Eloise, though I doubt it'll help.
I'm at a loss.
"Ms. Peters! Your shoulder!" Chris is adamant on me checking it, but I'm having a hard time concentrating on him. I'm too worried about Wendy. It's been nearly five minutes and I haven't heard from her. Is she still outside? I want to check, but I can't leave my students.
"Chris, go sit with the other." I smile down at the boy hoping it's convincing. His glasses are fogged and his face is hard, but he nods and obeys anyway.
I turn back to the gym scanning it again in vain. There's at least five classes in here. Mr. Harris' gym class, mine, Ms. Dylan's, Dr. Lang's, and Mrs. Evans. That's roughly 100 people crammed into a space that usually only holds 45. Max.
Fourth grade, who we were out at recess with, has five teachers. That means two other classes had to squeeze into the main entrance. Doable, but at what cost? There were at least thirty rounds being fired off. Some of those bullets had to have hit people. And at the rate they were firing at, there's a chance there was more than one shooter.
What is going on here?
There's no way they're done yet. And no way to know for sure if anyone's reached the police.
Should I try to make it back to my room? Or should we stay here and try waiting it out?
God! Why is this happening?
What should I do?
Who should I call?
"Ms. Peters, your shoulder! It's hurt! You need a bandaid!" Even from the wall, Christopher is trying to help.
Christopher.
Wait a second, his dad...his dad is a firefighter. If I can reach him, maybe... Maybe he can help.
I open my contacts and take a deep breath. Eddie Diaz, for the love of God, please pick up.
"Hello?" A single tear slips down my cheek at the sound of his voice. I wipe my hand roughly across my mouth shake my head. "Ms. Peters? Hello?"
"Mr. Diaz, hi!" I choke. "I don't know how to say this, but the school is under attack right now. I've tried calling 9-1-1, but my calls aren't going through. There's at least one gunman out on the playground, shots started at least three minutes ago. We're-"
