Just Another Hero (19 page)

THURSDAY, MARCH 10

LIKE A DELAYED ECHO, AS SOON AS THOSE
outside the school heard the round of shots and shrieks, they started screaming as well. Officer Johnson pushed Arielle and Mrs. Witherspoon under the table and pulled out his own weapon. The mood seemed to shift from shock and horror to hysteria.

“It's the terrorists!” someone cried out.

“They're killing our children! DO something!” a parent screamed, tugging frantically at Officer Torino's arms.

Arielle squatted under the table, terrified, as the police scurried like ants in response to the new gunfire. They seemed to be mobilizing to go in and take out the shooter or shooters.

“My daughter is in that room!” a familiar voice yelled from the crowd.

“Parents are to meet at the recreation center across the street, ma'am,” a police officer said back.

“Why don't YOU go across the street?” And Arielle knew who
that
was. She scrambled out from under the table as her mother gave Officer Torino a piece of her mind. “I am not leaving this block of concrete I'm standing on until somebody gets my daughter out of there safely! Now get out of my way and get back to rescuing those children!” The officer retreated, and Arielle flung herself into her mother's arms.

The two hugged for a very long time. “I'm okay, Mommy,” Arielle said, wiping away the tears that streamed down her mother's face.

“How did you get out?” asked her mother, touching her daughter's face.

“I was never in there. I was late to class,” Arielle explained.

“Thank God. I thought…oh God…I thought I'd lost you,” her mother cried, pulling Arielle in tight again.

“How'd you get here?” Arielle thought to ask.

“I took a cab. Nice guy. I told him my daughter was at the school where the shooting was going on, and he didn't even charge me for the ride.”

“My friends are up there,” Arielle told her. “I'm scared, Mom.”

“We've got to pray they'll be okay,” her mother said softly, taking Arielle's hand in hers.

Natasha Singletary and the other reporters babbled continuously, frantically trying to keep up with each new development. Since none of the police or administrators would talk to them, they interviewed students and parents instead.

“Do you know any of the students trapped upstairs?” Natasha asked Susan Richards.

“I know all of them,” she told her. “I'm a senior, and I'm terrified for them.”

“Do you have any idea who might be shooting?” the reporter asked her.

“No, ma'am,” Susan replied. “It's got to be somebody who's really, really sick.”

Just then a third set of explosions rocked the air above. The cries and wild speculations from the parents and students below continued.

“Oh God! Have they all been killed?”

“Who's the shooter?”

“A student, I heard.”

“I bet it's one of those strange kids who wear black coats and make death threats on their MySpace page.”

“Quit stereotyping!”

“All teenagers are a little strange, if you ask me!”

“Where would a kid get a gun?”

“It's easy. The Internet, eBay, Gunstupid.com. Who knows?”

“I buy guns off the Internet all the time. But I'm a hunter,” a parent commented.

“Well, somebody is hunting our kids up there because of idiots like you!” the man standing next to him replied angrily.

“Don't blame me for the crazies in the world!”

The two men, about to come to blows, were silenced by the forceful voice of a diminutive girl from the crowd. “I just got a text message from room 317!”

The crowd hushed as Susan Richards raced to Mrs. Sherman, who gratefully took the girl's cell phone.

Mrs. Sherman read the message, then passed the phone to Officer Johnson, who nodded. The news reporters pushed their way forward. The principal held up the phone, then announced, “We have information to share. A text message has been received from Osrick Wardley, one of the students in the room!”

“What does it say?” a father yelled out.

“I'll read it,” Mrs. Sherman replied breathlessly. “‘JACK KRASINSKI IS THE SHOOTER. NOBODY HURT. EVERYBODY SCARED. HELP US!'”

THURSDAY, MARCH 10

KOFI, WHO HAD MOVED HIS BODY SO THAT
Dana was behind him, surveyed his trembling classmates. Some held their ears; most curled themselves into the smallest possible target. Eric sat in his chair, higher than the others, gripping the wheels of his chair. He was exposed to the greatest risk. Osrick, almost hidden in the corner, seemed to be fiddling with something in front of him. Kofi hoped it was a cell phone and that the kid wasn't so scared that he'd forget to turn off the sound. He also prayed Jack wouldn't notice Osrick's furtive movements.

The girls in the room, even though they were teary-eyed, also looked angry and ready to fight back. Kofi knew that November would fight to make sure that her baby saw her again, and that Dana was as fierce as the wolf of her name when she had to be. Olivia's physical strength and power could overwhelm a small combat force. Rosa's one-inch fingernails could be useful.

Of the boys in the room, in addition to himself and Jericho, he guessed Cleveland, Luis, Roscoe, Brandon, and Eddie were big enough and tough enough to take a skinny kid like Jack. Make that a skinny kid with a loaded rifle—big difference.

Jack still stood on the front table, swaying crazily and talking even crazier.

“Let there be light! Sunlight only!” Jack screamed.
Pow-POW-POW!
He shot out first one of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, then the other. More sharp-edged glass particles rained down on the screaming students.

Somebody's gotta do something,
Kofi thought. But what?

Jack glanced up at the closed-circuit television in the corner. “They're watching me,” he said, ducking down. “Spies are everywhere, but I know their secrets. They hide in the television and try to steal my thoughts.”

From a squat, without warning, he shot the television. It burst into thousands of fragments. The noise was tremendous, but the students did not cry out this time—they only huddled closer to one another.

Where are the cops?
Kofi wondered.
What's taking them so long?

Then Eddie stood up.

Dana and a couple of the others gasped.

“Hey, Jack,” Eddie said in a voice that sounded so lazy, so mellow that Kofi could hardly believe it. Eddie carried a freshly sharpened yellow pencil in each hand. He didn't look scared. He took two steps forward.

“Don't move!” Jack warned, aiming at Eddie.

“You
are
the king of everything, Jack,” said Eddie. He took two more steps. His voice was quiet, yet still had that gravelly quality. “I like your noise.”

Jack cocked his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Noise.”

Eddie took one more slow, deliberate step. “Drums are my favorite,” he drawled.

“Drums,” Jack repeated. He seemed mesmerized.

Eddie took the two pencils and began to play a rhythm on the back of the desk closest to him. “Flamadiddle, paradiddle, double-stroke, roll,” Eddie chanted as he bopped the pencils. “Ratamacooey, ratamacooey, rimshot, bop!”

“You're good,” said Jack. He blinked rapidly. “Where'd you learn percussion?”

“I used to be in a band,” Eddie said, his voice even and slow. He never stopped his rhythmic tapping with the pencils.

“It's not
loud
enough!” Jack complained. He lowered the rifle a few inches, but his finger stayed on the trigger.

“So make it louder. You got your sticks with you?” Eddie never took his eyes off Jack. He kept drumming.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Get 'em out. Play with me. Let's make it loud! Flamadiddle, paradiddle, double-stroke, roll,” Eddie said once more.

“I need my drum,” Jack said hesitantly, looking confused.

“No, you don't, man. Just your sticks.”

“My sticks are in my bag!” He glanced quickly to the floor, his eyes lingering on his book bag. His finger, however, was still firmly curled on the trigger of the gun.

“We can play on the table,” Eddie's voice could have melted concrete.

“I'll dominate, man.”

“Show me,” Eddie said, still tapping, still tapping. He took two more steps forward.

“I gotta get my sticks.”

“You and me—we'll rock the house!” Eddie nodded gently, encouragingly.

Jack eased himself slowly off the table and carefully reached behind him for his book bag.

Kofi looked to Jericho and Cleveland and mouthed the words, “Get ready.”

Jack began to dig down in his bag for his drumsticks with his left hand.

Eddie kept tapping.

Jericho moved slightly.

Jack kept searching.

Kofi shifted his weight forward. Jack didn't seem to notice.

Eddie kept tapping.

Jack turned his head slightly to look in his bag.

That was all they needed.

It all happened at once.

Jericho lunged forward, all his football training exploding as he tackled Jack to the floor.

As Jack fell, the rifle went off and disintegrated the glass cabinet. Beakers and flasks and tubes and cylinders exploded.

Screams blended with the sounds of shattering glass.

Cleveland and Roscoe landed on Jack as well, pinning
him down so he couldn't move. Then Olivia leaped on top of the pile as well, hollering, “No more shooting!”

The gun, however, was still firmly in Jack's hand.

Kofi saw what he had to do. He darted around the pile of kids on Jack, slid to the floor, uncurled Jack's forefinger from around the trigger, and carefully but forcefully pulled the gun from Jack's hand. Jack had no struggle left in him.

Kofi stood up and gazed at the rifle like it was a specimen from an alien museum. He held it firmly in both hands, awed by its sleekness and power. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Instead of silence, however, suddenly Kofi was surrounded with even more screaming, because the classroom door burst open. What seemed like hundreds of police officers with helmets and shields and guns drawn stormed into the room. “Don't move! Police!” one of them bellowed at Kofi.

Another officer yelled, “Put down the weapon! I repeat. Put down the weapon NOW!”

Are they yelling at me?
Kofi thought in confusion. He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could say a word, two massive cops slammed into him, ripping the gun from his hands, dragging him roughly to the floor.

Kofi cried out in pain. His face was being pushed into the broken debris on the floor. Like a close-up on television, he could see the sharp edges of the glass shards. They looked like tiny jewels, but he could feel the glass cutting into his face.

They're gonna kill me! They think I'm the shooter!
He tried to speak up, but he could barely catch his breath
because of the weight of a heavy boot on his back. Kofi felt cuffs being laced around his wrists. He knew his nose was bleeding.

“Hey!” he heard Dana shout. “You got the wrong guy! Get up offa Kofi!”

“Is anyone hurt?” a policeman's voice called out, ignoring Dana.

“We're all fine,” Dana insisted. “But
you're
hurting Kofi!”

“The perpetrator is not injured,” another officer's voice replied. “We have secured him for your safety. Now everyone out of here. Now!”

“You don't get it!” November cried out.

“Kofi is no perp!” Dana screamed.

“He's not the shooter!” said Rosa, her voice sounding exasperated.

“So who is this Kofi?” an officer said, sounding perplexed, but finally listening.

Finally!
Kofi thought.

Brandon's voice followed. “You want the dude under there!” he shouted, pointing to the pile of kids on the floor.

“Jack Krasinski is the shooter!” Dana tried to explain. “Kofi took the gun from
him
!”

Kofi could imagine the looks on the faces of the officers who were gradually figuring out what was going on. He hoped they looked real stupid—and sorry.

He could hear the other kids in the class. It seemed to take the cops a million years to admit they were wrong and let up on him.

“Kofi wrestled the gun from Jack.”

“He ripped it from the hands of Crazy Jack! Then you stomp on him like that.”

“He did
your
job, man.”

“We all did. What took you all so long?”

“Let him
up
!” Dana's voice shouted again.

Kofi then felt himself being lifted from the floor. The cuffs were removed. He rubbed his wrists.

“Sorry, kid,” an officer said as he brushed off Kofi's shirt. It was covered with tiny pieces of broken glass.

“We thought you were the shooter,” another one explained. “You
did
have the gun in your hands.”

“Protocol,” said a policeman with a deep, officious voice. “Disarm the suspect first.”

Kofi, trying to maintain a bit of his dignity in front of the rest of the class, replied, “I'm just glad you didn't come in here and start shooting! I'd be dead, and all the ‘sorries' in the world wouldn't make a bit of difference.”

The cops looked away without responding. Finally the first officer asked him, “Are you hurt?” He peered at Kofi's face.

“Nah, but you guys sure don't operate like the cops on television!”

Kofi looked around. There must have been twenty-five heavily armed police officers in the classroom. They all wore helmets and thick protective vests. Some were talking with students, asking questions and jotting down notes.

“I'm Officer Garfield,” another officer said, addressing the whole group. “Let me ask once again: Is anyone
injured? Anybody need medical attention?” He had put away his gun and replaced it with a pad of paper and a pen.

“I don't think so,” Olivia replied, looking around the group.

Glass crunched under the heavy boots of the officers as they helped Jericho and the other boys up. Finally Jack was lifted from the floor.

Roscoe, Cleveland, and Jericho looked stunned, and pleased with themselves. “That was awesome, man,” Jericho said, brushing dirt and debris off his shirt.

“It was like a slow-motion movie,” said Cleveland.

“Best tackle I ever made,” Jericho whispered. “And my girl Olivia is the bomb!”

“Coach would be proud of her,” Roscoe added. For once he didn't joke or grin.

They all watched Jack, who had gone completely limp, mumble incoherently. He looked pale and dazed as the officers cuffed him roughly.

Kofi said, “He's sick, man. He didn't hurt anybody.”

“Where're my drumsticks?” Jack asked. His voice sounded thick and syrupy.

“We heard so much shooting,” one of the officers said.

“He only killed computers,” Dana explained.

Once Jack was cuffed, the police officers appeared to relax. They almost seemed a little disappointed, Kofi thought, that they really had nothing to do but take Jack into custody. Two of them walked Jack toward the hallway.

Eddie, who leaned against the door of the classroom
watching the drama unfold, told Jack, “We still gonna play together one day, my man.”

Jack nodded in confusion as two officers led him out.

Kofi caught Eddie's eye. “You saved us, man,” he said in amazement.

Eddie just shrugged. “It was no big deal.” Then, like a shadow, he quietly slipped out of the room.

Making their way through the unbelievable mess of glass and broken electronics, the police took photographs and continued to question the still-shaken students.

One by one everyone stood up shakily, dusted themselves off, and hugged one another in relief.

Jericho grabbed Olivia and enveloped her in a bear hug.

Kofi ran to Dana and kissed her passionately. He didn't care who saw them.

Luis wiped Rosa's tears and brushed away bits of glass from her face.

“We're going to need statements from each of you,” Officer Garfield told them all.

“I wanna see my mother first!” Rosa cried out.

“And my baby,” November added quietly.

“I gotta get out of here!” shouted Olivia. “You can talk to us downstairs!”

Garfield replied with understanding. “I have everyone's name and address. After you have found your parents, please come with them to the communications area we have established outside so that you can be properly interviewed.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, and they filed out of the room slowly. Roscoe pushed Eric and headed toward
the elevator. Brandon, looking pale and shaken, followed behind with Cleveland. Olivia held Jericho's hand tightly. Rosa and Luis stood so close together they looked like one person. Osrick walked alone.

Kofi whispered to Dana, “I'll be right down.” He kissed her lightly, and she hurried out with the others.

Kofi looked back at the shattered room as they left. The police, who worked quietly and effectively, collecting data for their reports, ignored him. Kofi inhaled and realized that he felt great—no itching, no chills, no yearning for the pills.
Dana will be proud of me.
Then standing taller, he said to himself,
Heck, I'm proud of me!
He knew he'd never go back. A small fragment of the tattered window shade flapped noisily as the wind blew through the gaping hole where ordinary used to be.