A few minutes later, the bus came to an abrupt stop in front of Our Lady of the Holy Cross High School. Holy Cross, a private Catholic school, had been my school for the past two years and this year would be number three. I was a cradle Catholic. Had been all my life. It was a part of who I was. Although I would never admit it aloud to my friends, my religion had always been important to me, as was the whole Christian philosophy. And although we really couldn't afford it, my parents had always been adamant about sending us to Catholic schools. My dad wasn't Catholic, but giving us a good education was important to him. My mother was Catholic through and through, and she insisted on giving us the best Catholic education available. As a result, my father worked his tail off as a truck driver to give us the best education they could afford while Mom stayed home with Timmy and me. Although Holy Cross was strict, the teachers were nice and, I hated to admit it, kind of cool.
"Okay, everyone out!" Joel bellowed, sliding open the door, ready to push us out if necessary. "Go learn what you can!" These were Joel's standard parting words of wisdom for us every day. I had a feeling they were the most philosophical words he knew.
"Yes sir, Mr. Joel, sir!" Brandon snapped a salute then helped me out of the seat. I jerked my arm away.
"Get out!" Joel retorted, looking at Brandon in the rearview mirror. "And don't push it."
I gave Brandon a warning look and walked ahead while he followed. Brandon—always the kidder.
"I'll meet you in homeroom," Brandon said, walking toward the bathrooms.
I nodded and smiled. As I walked the halls of Holy Cross toward Ms. Jenkins' homeroom, I noticed kids of all races and religions hurrying to class with me. At Holy Cross, you didn't have to be Catholic to attend. A good education was open to all, regardless of their religion. Some kids were rich, and some were not, like Brandon and me. But like our parents, their parents wanted their children to have a good education, so they paid the money and sent them to Holy Cross.
As I walked into Ms. Jenkins' homeroom, the bell rang and a flood of kids in blue and white school uniforms raced in to take their seats. I took my usual seat on the wall away from the windows. Don't tell anyone, but if I sat too close to the windows, I'd find myself roasting by the end of class. Ms. Jenkins always kept the window blinds open, exposing the whole wall of windows, sending bright sunlight streaming into the room. And let's face it: the sight of me sweating profusely in front of the windows wouldn't be a pretty sight.
A few moments later, the voice of Mr. Ross, our school principal, came booming over the speakers, filling the rooms, halls, and corridors, "Good morning, students, and welcome to another day at Our Lady of the Holy Cross High School!"
Too chipper, as usual.
A moment later, Brandon came in, late as usual, and Ms. Jenkins silently gave him a dirty look. No one ever spoke while the announcements were on. Brandon gave her an apologetic look then took his usual seat close to the front of the room a few rows over from me. He turned slightly toward me so Ms. Jenkins couldn't see and grinned. I smiled and shook my head in disbelief, stifling a laugh. Ms. Jenkins gave me a dirty look, as well. To Brandon, everything was a joke, but that was one of the things I loved about him.
A moment later, a new Pakistani kid got up and walked out the door carrying his backpack.
"Young man …" Ms. Jenkins called after him, moving toward the door, and then she stopped cold. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open as she held her arms up in surrender. "What's the meaning of this? Hadi, you don't want to do this."
The rest of us froze, unable to see what was on the other side of the door. My heart seemed to stop in mid beat as an endless second passed.
"On the floor, Jenkins!" a strong male voice ordered from the hall.
Ms. Jenkins didn't move. "Hadi, let's talk about this. You don't want to do this."
"I said MOVE! Now!" the voice bellowed. We still couldn't see what was going on in the hallway. A few boys in the class rose from their seats, craning their necks to see what was happening.
"I won't let you do this," Ms. Jenkins responded with her hands still up, not moving, trying to remain calm. "Give me the gun."
And all at once students in the classroom started screaming. Someone yelled, "He's got a gun!" Another student ran for the other classroom door into the hallway. Suddenly, the sound of gunfire went off in the hallway, ending with a deafening thud hitting the floor. All at once, Ms. Jenkins grabbed for something outside the door while another student threw a chair through the window as an escape, even though we were on the second floor. More gun shots went off in the hall, sounding like an automatic weapon. Then Ms. Jenkins' body writhed with a blank expression on her face while crimson blood spattered the whiteboard behind her. Her lifeless body fell backward to the floor.
"Freeze, everyone! Nobody move!" Hadi yelled, walking into the room with an M-16 and a red bandana tied around his head like a headband. Some students froze, their faces blank with fear, raising their hands. Other students ran toward the broken window and Hadi shot them down before they could jump. Their bodies writhed and blood sprayed the classroom as the rest of us watched their dying bodies fall over desks and to the floor. Hadi turned around to the frozen students and yelled, "Death to all Americans! Jihad!" Then, he squeezed the trigger. A loud burst of gunfire and sparks came from the rifle. Students fell over desks while crimson blood spurted from them. Other students ran toward the window as gunfire rang loudly outside, ricocheting off the school walls.
Brandon took cover under his desk, but suddenly yelled to me, "Jump, Casey, jump!" He gave me one last look—a look of love, a look of goodbye—then rushed the lone gunman as another round of gunfire rang loudly within my ears.
"Brandon!" I yelled, turning around in time to see Brandon tackle Hadi to the ground.
"Come on!" a voice yelled into my ear as someone pulled my arm. "Come on. Now!" I looked around and it was another boy in my class, pulling me frantically toward the window.
"Brandon!" I yelled, looking back toward him, tears stinging my eyes as I tried to pull free.
"It's too late! Let's go!" the other boy yelled as I let him pull me toward the window. "Jump for the bushes!" Then, he quickly lowered me out the window by my arms, then let go. I fell for what seemed like forever and hit the bushes, like he told me. Pain filled my body as the branches raked across my legs and arms. I looked up, and the boy who had saved me was falling from the window. I knew in this one, frightening moment, our lives had changed forever.
Aksara