Just How Things Go

Eyes looking

Heads turning

Mouths whispering

People pitying

Pitying friends

Pitying teachers

Pitying relatives

Pitying self

Self hating

Self crying

Self lying

Self silent

Silent friends

Silent teachers

Silent relatives

Silent God

Hope Alone

Chapter Two

I sit in first hour AP English after turning in the essay I wrote last night. I had Carl drive my car to school today so I could doze the extra few minutes in the passenger seat. We get to write timed essays today, oh boy. I just want to sleep on my desk. The last time I checked my clock last night was at 2:00 a.m. Another sleepless night filled with annoying thoughts to keep me awake. By the time 3rd period rolls around I am more awake. I leave with the rest of the flood of students at the bell for lunch.

As I head to the cafeteria, my best friend Emily waves at me from down the main hall. I catch up to her and we walk to our normal table by the windows facing the scenic school parking lot. Lila’s pink faux leather purse is already there, saving her seat while she waits in the lunch line. We both leave a black spiral notebook on our chairs and get in line as well. As we wait to check out I notice the lunch lady hasn’t smiled once, just makes change with a brooding silence.

“So why was six afraid of seven?” I ask as I hand her my cash. Emily pokes me in the side and gives me a wide eyed what are you doing look. The lunch lady looks at me, with eyebrows raised and lips pursed, as if to say I’ve had enough of this crap.

“Because 7, 8, 9,” she says dryly.

“Nope, because seven has cold. Dead. Eyes,” I say.

She pauses then laughs a little as she hands me back my change. “Have a good day!” I shout as we walk away.

“You’re weird,” Emily says behind me. I shrug and smile.

After we all get our food, a lovely arrangement of Pop tarts, chicken nuggets, and mashed potatoes, we sit down in the noisy cafeteria. Seniors only have two more weeks before we get out, and the sun is shining through the thick white clouds that come in short patches. The beautiful day and excitement of summer is a bad combination for order, and the noise in the cafeteria continues to rise.

“Did you see the meteor shower last night?” Emily asks us.

“Uh, no?” I say.

“Geesh, Zoe. You really ought to start watching the news. They say it was the farthest spread meteor shower in the last thousand years. It covered all of North America and Europe. It was pretty cool. My dad set up a telescope last night and everything,” Lila says.

“Oh, dang. I wish I had known. You two don’t text me anything,” I frown.

“So get this,” Lila starts, speaking louder than normal to be heard. “I had to miss a doctor's appointment this morning because the dang school wouldn’t let me leave.” Her long, brown, curly hair shakes with emphasis at her anger. Her hazel eyes look at us for sympathy.

“Why?” Both Emily and I say at the same time sensing we have no choice but to inquire.

“They said there was a tornado warning out this morning, and no one was allowed to leave the building. Well, whoop-de-doo. There was a little rain this morning and now I’ve missed physical therapy for my foot. They are going to have to answer to my mom when she finds out why I missed it,” she goes back to her lunch, dipping nuggets in the mashed potatoes and gravy.

“Yeah, your mom sure is one scary lady. What with her big boobs she could just turn too fast and knock the principal out cold with her knockers,” I smile sarcastically. Then we all burst out laughing, even Lila after a short glare from beneath her heavily mascaraed lashes.

My sides hurt from laughing so hard, as good friends go when the laughing ceases all it takes is one look and we are back at it again. We finally calm down, and I say, “It is weird though. I didn’t know there was a tornado warning this morning. I mean it was raining for a little bit, but isn’t the sky supposed to turn yellow or something? Maybe some sirens?”

“Meh, I don’t know,” said Emily. Her blonde highlighted hair drops down into her mashed potatoes as she bends to take a bite from her plastic spoon.

“Um, Em? Look at your hair,” I say.

Lila and I laugh as Emily sticks the end of a straight lock in her mouth to suck off the gravy. I glance up at the clock and see we only have five minutes before the bell rings. I shovel the last of my mashed potatoes in my mouth and slip my strawberry Pop Tart into my backpack to snack on during fifth hour. The bell rings and we all stand to throw our trays away and join the masses back to our different classes. I wave goodbye to Emily and Lila as I see Brian walking down the hall for his lunch period. We stop and chat everyday here in front of the cafeteria. It is the only time we see each other during school this semester.

“Hey, babe,” Brian smiles at me and kisses me on the forehead. “Going to skip class and come to lunch with me?”

I sigh and smile, “No matter how many times you ask, the answer is no, Brian.”

“Fine,” he hugs me, and I can feel the muscles under his blue hoodie. “What’s on the menu today?”

“Chicken nuggets!” I say a little too excitedly.

“I will take it, that's a good thing.”

“Yes,” I widen my eyes. That meal probably is the best the school has to offer. The crowd in the hall is thinning out, “Still coming over later? I really want to show you my new machete. It doesn’t have the serrated side like Carl’s, but it’s longer. Going to take it camping up north after we graduate.”

“Yeah, I’m coming over. I see Tom though, I’ll talk to you later,” and he kisses me one more time on the cheek before catching up to Tom. They have become friends since I introduced them last year when I found out they shared English together.

My classes seem to drag on today. The day is getting hotter and our school doesn’t have air conditioning. The clouds in the sky earlier have completely burned off, leaving endless blue outside the square windows. I just want to go home.

The final bell rings in my seventh period, and we all pack up our things and head into the chaos that is the hallways, but it’s a different chaos than normal. There are advisors, counselors, the vice principal, and I’m pretty sure I even see the principal at the far end of the hall. They are blocking the exits to the buses and student parking lot. Then the loud speaker comes on with a loud pop.

“Attention Virtue High School,” a woman’s voice says and the ruckus ceases, not even the crinkling of homework being stuffed into the bottom of backpacks. “This is a Code Black. No one is to leave the building until further notice. Please return to your last period for a head count.” There is a click of the speaker to signal that it is off. Then all hell breaks loose. I can see one of the counselors closest to me, whose name I don’t know, trying to explain things to a group that has already gathered around her, demanding answers.

“I’m only going to explain this one more time,” her face is pale like she is going to faint, but her voice is stressed and firm. “A Code Black simply means there is suspicious activity going on around the school property.”

“Was it a bomb threat?” comes a girl's voice through the crowd.

“We don’t know yet. The principal just received a tip, and the situation is under investigation. Now please go back to your last period or I will have to send you to the office,” she says as she puts her hands up to her temples and begins to rub as if to get rid of a headache. She turns on her shiny black heels, and her pinstripe suit walks down the hall away from us to the next crowd of misbehaving students still trying to get into their lockers to go home.

There is a massive shift of students back into the classrooms when the vice principal, Mr. Tanks, begins storming down the halls, yelling at students to move. He is a big guy with one of those booming voices you do not want to ignore. I find myself back in my 7th hour seat in Mrs. Duvall’s cooking classroom. I am stuck in the only hour where I am friends with no one. The guy to my left sits down and immediately lays his head down to sleep, pulling his orange hood over his oily red hair, but I am pretty sure he is picking his nose with his head bent as a cover. He strikes me as the gross type.

A group of sophomore girls are in the cluster of chairs they have pulled together behind my desk. They begin gossiping about the same sophomore guys that are “so hot” as before the final bell rang. I sigh; at least I still have some of the chocolate chip cookies I baked earlier. If I eat them slowly enough I just may evade total boredom for half an hour. I wish my parents weren’t back in the Stone Age. Only Carl and I have cell phones. I am sure Mom will begin to freak out when we don’t come home on time. I don’t want her to deal with extra stress, and a quick text would be so easy right now.

As I finish my first of a dozen cookies in my bag, I hear my phone buzzing in my purse. Technically it’s not school hours so I take it out to look at the text. Mrs. Duvall sees me and turns her head away. Good. Because if she was going to fight me on it I was going to turn the my parents are terribly worried about me speech on. Slightly disappointed at the missed opportunity to confront a teacher my senior year, I read my message.

From: Brian <3

Hey, do you know what’s going on? I hope this doesn’t stop us from hanging out later.

I reply,

To: Brian <3

Not a clue, Babe. I heard someone say a bomb threat, but I don’t see any cops, so idk. Also, I may end up eating all these cookies I baked. So you may be SOL.:P

From: Brian <3

Damn ☹ I guess I’ll love you anyways.

I smile as I read this last text message. Brian and I were fighting last week, but things seem to be getting better. Our plans to hang out tonight were his idea. I suppose coming over is his way of saying sorry for ignoring me for the past month, like he couldn’t possibly lose me. For weeks I felt like just an object in the room. He would study or play a video game, and I would sit there bored, ignored. When I stopped showing up at his house he finally became concerned. I told him he never took me out or complimented me. His exact words were, “You should just know I think you’re attractive, stop asking.” I had then proceeded to smack him, which was probably uncalled for, but in my defense was not as hard as it should have been given my heated passion at the time. He had thought I wanted the silence to study. I had thought he didn’t care. He had thought I was satisfied. He was wrong. I hide at home a lot anymore. When relatives visit they talk to my mom about my mom, which I expect and would be mad if they didn’t, but when I see Brian that is the one person I need attention from. I will not fade into the background.

There’s loud banging coming from out in the hallway. I look up from my phone. I can make out the sounds of an argument between what sounds like the principal and a ticked off father.

“They are my kids.”

“If we let them leave then everyone will leave, and it’s not safe,” says Mr. Palpate.

“Oh yeah? My house and my guns are safe; this run down school is not. Do they even know what’s going on? When I called my son he had no clue what I was talking about.”

“It would cause panic,” Mr. Palpate replied.

“Panic? You’re worried about panic?” The voice is near hysterics. The eyes of the students in my classroom are now wide and looking from face to face for an answer. “I’ll give you panic,” and the parent yells, no words just begins a near animalistic howl.

“Please stop!” cries our principal. I imagine him putting his hands to his ears, “I’ll get John and Julia.”

The yelling ceases, and murmurs too low to hear are exchanged. Even Mrs. Duvall looks confused, and I can see she is as close to the door as possible, listening. She turns to us and gives us the no nonsense stare that only teachers can give. Then she pushes up her copper wire frame glasses, opens the door and walks out, closing it behind her so rapidly we cannot see out into the hall, and the door nearly catches her pale pink jacket on the tail.

There are more mumbles exchanged behind the wooden door. Then she reenters the room sliding in through the door and closing it quickly behind her. She looks tenser than when she left; her cheeks have lost all color, and her arms are held straight down at her sides, complimenting the straight lines of her gray pencil skirt.

“Mr. Palpate would like all cell phones to be collected. Please pass them forward,” she puts one stiff arm out and ushers with her hand, “I know all of you have one.”

There is a sudden outburst in the room. Whats and whys are thrown around. One girl even starts to cry either at the idea of losing her phone or just panic I’m not sure. She seems the shallow type that would burst into hysterics over a phone; however, that is just an assumption based on her Hollister name brand clothing, perfect hair and nails, and fact that her last excuse in class for not turning in an assignment was her family took a surprise trip to Spain, and of course, my bad habit of judging people prematurely. I begin to get out of my seat, contemplating on smacking that girl in the face when Mrs. Duvall crosses the room and turns off the lights. Suddenly the class is silent, and I sit down immediately. I have no idea why this elementary school trick works.

“We are collecting phones because we are not sure if the bomber has a student on the inside they are communicating with. Please calm down,” then she adds more quietly, “You’re giving me a headache.”

The class is tense. So it is a bomb threat! I pass up my phone with the rest and they pile up on Mrs. Duvall’s desk.

The hours grow longer and longer as the sky grows darker and darker. We sit in silence for a good half an hour. Mrs. Duvall attempts to teach tomorrow's lesson, but after twenty minutes she realizes no one is listening about the food safety of preparing fish. There are no side conversations. The people around me are sleeping, writing in notebooks, wringing their hands nervously, or watching other people like me. Occasionally a phone vibrates in the pile and it sends a few phones skittering down, but after a couple hours the phones cease going off altogether. The room remains silent well into sunset, most students have dozed into sleep now; others shift constantly in their seats. Where are the cops? The firemen? Perhaps we just can’t see them and they are patrolling the halls? My mind is wandering in a million directions. Where is the media? Bomb squads? Isn’t a high school lockdown worthy of attention? There is a sharp pain in my palm. I release my own death grip on my hands, taking my nails out of the flesh. I can’t keep them still. I sit there picking at my nails, moving my fingers, rubbing my palms together, anything to keep them moving.

Out of the silence there is a click, the loudspeaker is on: “Attention Virtue High School. Due to the Code Black being unresolved, we will all be staying in the building through the night. Parents have been called and understand the nature of the issue. Please remain calm, as we have the situation under control.” Click, and the speaker turns off.

Something inside my head tells me that wasn’t the principal’s voice, but it did sound close. As though someone were trying to imitate him.

“I’ve never heard of an overnight bomb threat,” says a skinny, acne-ridden boy in the back of the class. “Besides, where are the forces? Shouldn’t there be a bomb squad or something? And shouldn’t we all be in one place like, I don’t know, the gym?” The boy holds a superior look on his face, like he is the only one in the school to have figured this out. I think he is a sophomore.

Mrs. Duvall looks speechless. I’m almost positive she has very little more knowledge than we have.

“Well, there must be extenuating circumstances. I’m unsure as to the exact reasons, but I assure you that come morning we will have a plan of action.”

“We should have a plan of action now,” says the boy. A few other students join in with “Yeah!”

“That’s enough!” cries Mrs. Duvall. She walks over to the lights and switches them off for the second time today; “We are here for the night so you might as well just deal with it. Goodnight.”

The kids who were woken up by the loudspeaker go back to sleep now. Some people take out books to read or homework to do until the sun is completely down. I dump out my book bag and purse to reorganize it. I throw away all the old papers and push my dirty gym clothes to the bottom and my folders on top. I count the fifteen dollars in my wallet three times and put all the bills the same way. I set my clean purse on my desk as a wall and take my pocket knife out of my jeans. Behind the cover, out of Mrs. Duvall’s eyes, I pick the dirt out from under my nails.

The moon is now in the sky. The side of the room with windows looks eerie as the shadows grow longer and longer against the bookshelves and plant vines. I think I hear a gunshot in the distance, but then again my imagination may be affecting my hearing. I lay my head down on my arms and try to block out any thoughts. No Mom, no school, no noises in the dark, nothing.