Fold

I rub my stomach as we walk through the cafeteria doors. “Good, because I am starving.” I grimace. “I had to do five whole hours of coffee slave labor by myself this morning.”

He laughs as we look for an empty table in the semi-packed room. “Otherwise known as work?”

I'm about to make my own quip, but we spot a table all the way in the back and head for it.

We exchange a glance when we see some guy wearing a black jacket hunched over at the very end, his back to the wall.

Given his hood is on and he's face down, resting his forehead on his arms, he's clearly sleeping.

I think this guy might be my spirit animal.

“Hey,” I say in his direction, just to be sure he's not bored while waiting on some friends. “Mind if we join you?”

When there's no response, I shrug and sit.

I fight the urge to tease Landon about how that's the standard protocol for those who are sleeping.

Landon places his guitar case down and grabs the seat across from me. “Ready to go up and get food?”

Clearly my friend didn't grasp the part about me being on my feet for five hours. Then again, the dude works like twenty different jobs...in addition to being a double major who's also on the dean's list.

I open my arms wide. “And give up this prime seating? Uh, no. I'll take the grilled chicken and avocado club, though.” I give him a shit-eating grin. “Two of them...and a Dr. Pepper.”

“Got it.” He stands up. “Watch the guitar.”

I start to wave him off because it's not like I'd let someone mosey on over and steal it...but I look up and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

Preston Holden's heading straight for our table, and the hard edges of his structured jawline, combined with the severe look in his eyes tells me he's ready to battle.

I feel the color drain from my face when I realize he must be here to confront me about Becca.

I mean, of course he would. She's the mother of his child...and I'm...

Shit. What exactly am I in this situation?

My stomach heaves when it comes to me.

Crap on a cracker. I'm a homewrecker.

I yank Landon back to his seat. “Don't go.”

“What?” He turns his head. “Why—” His words fall when he sees Preston.

I look at the exit, wondering if I have enough time to run out before he comes over.

My hopes are soon dashed because Preston's standing in front of us a moment later, thanks to his freakishly tall stature and long legs.

“Hey, can we talk?”

I silently hope his question is directed at Landon.

I'm out of luck though because those eyes are solely fixated on me.

“Sorry, can't.” I stand up so briskly it sends my chair sailing. “My class starts in a few.”

When he opens his mouth to object I add, “Breslin will be walking through those doors any minute now and I haven't seen my bestie in almost a month.” I reach for my knapsack. “Bros over hoes and all that.”

I motion for Landon to get up so I can stop rambling like an idiot and leave.

He looks between us, appearing uneasy. “Listen, guys, I don't—”

“You're supposed to be in jail,” Preston yells abruptly, cutting him off.

Sweet Baby Jesus. It's on the tip of my tongue to argue that jail is a little harsh for my transgressions and remind him Becca was mine first, but the guy at the end of our table stands up without warning, latches on to the back of my jacket, and tugs me to him.

“What the fuck? Stop it.”

Not only do I hate being manhandled, I honestly have no idea what's going on or what this guy's problem is.

Preston who was visibly irked turns pale suddenly...and that's when I feel something cold and hard against my temple.

I don't have time to freak out about having a gun pointed at my head though; because in a flash, the guy extends his other arm and opens fire in the dining hall.

There's nothing but bone chilling screams of terror as a huge wave of people rush for the exits.

I've read about school shootings in the paper, I've seen it covered on the news, and I've watched it depicted in school safety films.

But none of those could have ever prepared me for what it's really like.

There's nothing more harrowing than realizing whether you live or become another statistic on a memorial plaque...is up to some psycho with his finger on the trigger.

When I see that neither Landon nor Preston have moved, I open my mouth to tell them to forget about me and get out while they still can, but the guy holding me at gunpoint sneers, “Run and I'll kill her.” And my stomach free falls.

“Kyle, don't do this, man—” Preston starts to say, and I want to ask him how he knows this maniac's name, but then something absolutely horrific happens.

The guy points his gun at the mass of students who are all fighting to make it out alive.

And then he pulls the trigger...multiple times.

It happens so fast, it's almost like I'm in a dream. No, a nightmare.

My ears ring and the already petrified crowd turns violent as they all shove and trample each other to get through the double doors.

I make the mistake of looking down and notice blood pooling from two bodies on the floor.

Oh, God. This can't be happening.

I want to shut my eyes and scream all the pain away like I used to when I was a little girl.

But I can't...because I'm still standing in the eye of the storm.

Everything around me whirls and bile rises up my esophagus when I recognize one of them as Kelly from my economics class.

Tears blur my vision and my knees buckle when I see the purple notebook soaked in blood right beside her.

It no longer matters that I thought she was a

None of that superficial bullshit will ever matter again.

Because she's dead.

I freeze, paralyzed with fear.

And he's going to kill me too.