This Is Not a Drill (8 page)

“No,” Jake answers, “and you shouldn’t, either. That stuff’s not good for you.”

“I tasted my dad’s one time,” Carlos says, “and it was nasty.”

“Exactly. Nasty stuff that makes you do dumb things.” He glances up at me with a regretful half smile. “Dumb things you’ll be sorry for later.”

I look away.

Jake looks over at Kenji, who’s daydreaming a little. “Right, Batman?”

“Right, Robin,” Kenji says without missing a beat.

“I wanna do something else,” Mason Mayfield III says. “These puzzles are no fun.”

“What?”
Jake says. “Those puzzles are
awesome
! Those puzzles are more fun than, um, than March Madness.” He grins at me. “Ask Miss Emery how much I love March Madness.”

Jake practically camped out in my den last spring, intent on convincing me that my life was incomplete without a working knowledge of college basketball. I picture him sprawled on our couch, and suddenly scenes of the two of us replay in my mind—strung together like the wall quilt of kids’ drawings that hangs above Mrs. Campbell’s desk, linked with black yarn through paper-punch holes. Pictures of hikes and picnics and dinners and movies and laughter and touches and kisses. Pieces of the past.

Damn it, play fair, Willoughby. Those days are over.

CHAPTER 14

JAKE

“OKAY, NEXT THREE AT THE COMPUTER
are”—I draw three more names from the flowerpot—“Mason, Anna-Caroline, and Janita.” The kids switch places with the others, and Mason Mayfield III elbows his way in front of the girls. I probably should get on him about his manners, but I’m just too tired to care. I’m picking my battles right now.

Emery’s giving me weird looks across the room. I wish I knew what she’s thinking. One minute we’re laughing with the kids, and the next second she’s giving me the evil eye.

Let me tell you, that girl can get a shit-ton of mileage out of the silent treatment. After that day she found out about Stacey, she refused to speak to me again, ever. Once I admitted I’d kissed Stacey Jordan, she was
done
with discussion.

I guess I can’t really blame her. I’m the biggest screwup ever. Emery knows it. My friends know it. My dad knows it. He didn’t exactly say it that way, the night I got arrested, but he did plenty of yelling, and it was tough to see how disappointed he was.

Of course, The Christine went nuts. She still brings it up constantly. It’s been over three months now, and I still can’t leave the house without her telling my dad I can’t be trusted. It’s like it’s her mission in life to remind him I’m a hardened criminal.

Last week he asked me to drop him at work because his car was in the shop. His cell phone rang that stupid ringtone she put on of some lame oldies song that’s “their song.” He answered, then listened without saying a word for, I swear, about five minutes, and then he hung up.

“What did she say about me?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. He reached over and turned up the radio. “She just wants me to be mad at you.” Then he rolled down the window and started whistling, like he didn’t want to talk about her or me. Sometimes I wonder what that woman does for him that makes it worth putting up with her. Wait—I don’t want to know. I
really
don’t want to know.

Emery said something once about my dad that made sense to me. We were on the golf course at night. I used to work there on weekends, so I stole the key to a cart to surprise her with a late-night picnic. I’m not very good at organizing, so the food was mostly chips and cookies and some peanut-butter crackers, but she loved it.

We were lying on a blanket looking for the constellations and I said, “What I don’t get is, how can a guy who’s been with someone like my mom choose to be with The Christine? There couldn’t possibly be two more different people.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” she said. “He knows he can’t have that again—what he had with her. So he’s making sure what he has now is so different, he won’t feel bad when it doesn’t even come close.”

It was better than anything I’d been able to come up with.

“I didn’t even know he was thinking about dating until I saw that Internet match thing on his computer,” I told her. “It seems like he could have waited at least a year.”

“Some people just aren’t meant to be alone,” she said.

I remember the crickets were chirping that night, and we could hear a bullfrog croaking down by the pond. It was so damn peaceful out there.

“The worst part about losing Mom,” I told her, “was she left us before she left us.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Those last two months, she stayed in her bedroom and hardly ever came out. I mean, I know she was sick and needed to rest—I’m not completely selfish. But it was more than that. It was like she didn’t want to talk to us.”

“The same thing happened with my grandmother,” she said. “The hospice nurse told us people withdraw when they’re dying. It’s too painful to think about leaving the people they love, so they pull away to keep from hurting so bad. It’s a journey you have to make on your own, and closing yourself off from everybody is how you get yourself ready to do it.”

“I just figured she didn’t want me around.”

Emery was quiet for a minute, then she said, “I think your mom loved you like crazy for as long as she could—until she had to let you go.”

I guess I have to find a way for that to be enough.

I nudge Mason over to give the girls a turn, and he pouts. Emery raises her eyebrows across the room. It’s like she knows when I’m thinking about my mom. The truth is, it happens all the time no matter what’s going on—even when there’s a man with a gun in the room.

“Miss Emery, come look at my score,” Janita says.

Emery walks to the computer. “Awesome, Janita,” she says. “Hey, when you finish this game, you guys come color with the rest of the class.” They groan, and she adds, “There might be enough prizes for everybody.”

She turns to me. “You wanna take a break before I send the next three kids to play?” she asks.

I know her well enough to know something’s up, so I rush Janita and Anna-Caroline a little and send them back to where the others are.

When she sits next to me, I ask her in a low voice, “What the hell were you doing talking to him a little while ago?”

“Just trying to make a connection, calm down,” she says, glancing over to make sure the kids’ chatter will cover us.

“
Not
a good idea. That man is dangerous.”

“Oh, really? Thanks for the tip, Jake. I had no idea.”

She slides something toward me—a smartphone.

Emery leans in to point at something on the computer screen, but she’s switching on the phone with her other hand. I glance down at the “Silent” icon; she’s already turned the sound off.

“It’s too risky to text,” she whispers. “Any way we might use it to get Internet on the computer?”

“I haven’t had a chance, with the kids up here, to see if there’s any wireless capability. If this phone’s set up to act as a mobile Wi-Fi hot spot, we can use it like a modem.” I pull a notepad over the phone to hide it.

“I’m gonna go help the kids color,” she says loud enough for Stutts to hear.

“Sounds good,” I say, stretching like I’m bored.

Stutts watches her sit with the kids, and then shifts his eyes back to the door. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to me.

I search for a mobile hotspot icon. Yes. There it is. I switch it on, activate the Wi-Fi, and check the computer monitor for networks. Crap, please don’t ask me for a password. I don’t have a clue what— Great, the phone tells me how to access the network that pops up by entering the phone number as the password. It even tells me the phone number—nice.

Here we go. I hold my breath.

There it is. Beautiful! I’m online.

Without looking over at Stutts, I adjust the screen toward me very casually so there’s no way he can see it. The keyboard’s hidden behind a pile of books. I pull up Facebook. Chat’s quicker than e-mail.

What time is it? 10:25. Good timing. Cole’s in computer apps this period and he’s usually online. I glance at Stutts; he’s still watching the door.

Facebook log in. Done. I hit the chat bar. Be there, Cole . . .

Success! Cole Garrison is available to chat.

I type:
Cole, you there? I need help.

Cole’s profile pic pops up with:
hey bro where u?

lincoln elementary. listen a crazy man with a gun is holding us hostage.

good one dude

no srsly. can you turn on the news?

no shit man? yr not dickin with me?

for real, i need yr help.

name it jake

can you get mr.chapman? need him to help me talk to the cops here to see what i need to do.

hang on bro

There’s a long pause while I wait for Cole to get our principal. C’mon, Cole, don’t leave me hangin’.

And then he’s back:
mrs d went to turn on tv next door, said shes sending me to the office if im making it up

hurry. not sure how long i can talk.

Stutts eyes me from across the room so I do a little fist pump like I’ve just scored. He turns to watch Emery with the kids.

ok shes back. called office, chap is on the way.

thx cole. i owe u

u ok man?

yes but he shot a security guard.

shit—dude shootin people? who is he?

a soldier home from iraq. really messed up.

This is Mr. Chapman. I’ve got Chief Walker on phone. Is everyone ok there?

we’re ok for now. the guy stutts doesnt know i have internet. i may have to shut down fast.

Are the children ok?

yes emerys got kids sitting on floor in back.

Jake, no one is hurt?

the security guard who got shot. can you tell us if hes ok?

Chief says he’s in surgery. Is the shooter alone? Chief wants to know what he wants.

yes. alone. says he just wants to take his son. hes in this class. patrick.

How many children are still in the room?

18

Can you describe the gun for me? Does he have any other weapons?

a pistol, dont know type. i guess he could have another gun—or a knife, but i havent seen one.

Where is Stutts now?

in chair near door. watching the door.

Is there any other information you can give me?

he said his wife wont let him see his kid. if you could find her and get her on the phone she might help.

Chief says the police are already talking with her.

is there something we should do here?

Don’t be a hero, Jake. Nothing risky. Just try to keep him calm.

gotta go.

Chief says you should assume he will shoot. Don’t underestimate this guy.

k

They want to know if there’s any way you can get him to release the kids?

tried. will try again.

I can feel Stutts watching me, so I close the screen and bring the games back up. Then I stand up and yawn and stretch and walk to the back.

“Good job, Kimberly,” I say, looking over her shoulder.

“Is mine good?” Abbey asks.

“It’s terrific.” I smile. “That is some mighty fine coloring, ladies.”

I glance over at Patrick. He’s very still, watching the others color together. I walk to Mrs. Campbell’s printer, pull a blank sheet of paper from the tray, and hold it up for him to see. He looks puzzled until I lay it on her desk and quickly turn it into a paper airplane. I aim it toward him and his face lights up. When I launch it, we both wait to see where it will land. I must be livin’ right, because damn if that airplane doesn’t sail in a beautiful arc, just like I’d planned it that way, landing right on the table in front of Patrick. He picks it up and grins at me, then looks over at his dad.

Stutts watches us, then turns away a little to take a quick pull from the flask in his pocket. Great, that’ll keep the fun rolling. But maybe he’ll let his guard down and I’ll have a chance to grab the gun.

Simon has slipped to the back of the room and is reaching into Mr. Worley’s cage. He looks guilty when he sees me watching him, but I wink at him. They’re not supposed to mess with Mr. Worley without permission. I think Mrs. Campbell’s worried they’ll pet all the fur off him—like in
The Velveteen Rabbit
. It’s one of their favorite books.

I walk back and pick up Mr. Worley’s cage and move it to the floor, motioning for Simon to sit with me. Nick, Tyler, Lewis, and Alicia come over when they see him take Mr. Worley out.

“Mrs. Campbell said we’re not supposed to—” Alicia starts out.

“I don’t think Mrs. Campbell would mind if we give Mr. Worley a little break from his cage.”

Simon holds the hamster like a baby. He buries his face in Mr. Worley’s fur. Lewis reaches out for the hamster and Simon pulls away.

“Hold on. You can have a turn next,” I tell Lewis.

“He’s scared,” Simon whispers. “Scared he’s gonna die.”

I lean down so I can look him straight in the eye. “You tell Mr. Worley that nobody’s going to die, okay?”

His big eyes study my face. “But Mr. Worley saw that man shoot Mr. Higgins.”

“The security guy? That’s his name—Higgins?”

Simon nods.

“Mr. Higgins is fine. I don’t think he got hit. He just rolled out of the way.”

“Kenji said there was blood in the hall.”

“But Mr. Higgins wasn’t there,” I tell him. “So I think he got up and ran away. You tell Mr. Worley not to worry.”

He thinks about that for a minute, then says, “How many lives do we get?”

“What?”

“How many lives do we get after we die?”

“Listen, buddy. You’ve been playin’ too many video games. That is a pretty deep question, and you’re gonna have to give me some time to think about it. Here, let’s give Lewis a turn.”

Lewis reaches out, and I hand off Mr. Worley gently.

Simon looks at me. “I want to go home.”

“Soon. We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Can Mr. Worley go with me?”

“I don’t see why not, if you bring him back tomorrow.”

“You mean Monday,” Alicia corrects me.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot today’s Friday. Do you know what to feed him?”

“Mrs. Campbell gives him lettuce and carrots,” Nick says.

“I bet when you get home today, your parents’ll be happy to take you to get some lettuce and carrots for Mr. Worley,” I tell Simon. I reach over to mess up his hair and say in a silly voice, “Get him some food, Dude!” Our rhyme game pulls a smile from him.

“I know how you can tell if a hamster is a boy or a girl,” Alicia announces.

Great. A discussion about the birds and the bees would be dead last on the list of things I want to take on right now.

“The boy hamsters have longer tails.”

“Okaaay, that’s very interesting,” I jump in. “Break time’s over, Mr. Worley, back in your cage.” I look up to see Emery trying not to laugh at Alicia’s sex ed information. I shrug. Can that be true? Surely Alicia made that up. If there’s something sexual about hamster tails, I’ve never heard it before.

Mr. Worley starts racing like a madman on his wheel the second I put his cage back on the counter.

“He just runs and runs in circles,” Nick says, shaking his head.

“Yep. I can relate.”

“Ew, look,” Tyler squeals and points. Mr. Worley has paused in his race to huddle in a corner and take care of business. They all giggle as poop comes out and drops into the shavings on the floor of the cage. I can’t really blame Mr. Worley for having the shit scared out of him.