“Manny. Give me the gun, sweetie. None of us are protecting Brandon.” I looked around at the cowering students, praying Brandon wasn't in the room. Several students lifted their heads, looking for Brandon too, but nobody spoke.
“He's not here, Manny,” Wilson offered, his voice as calm as if he were just giving another lecture. “I'm not protecting him. I'm protecting you, do you understand that? Your sister needs you, and if you shoot Brandon or anyone else, you will go to jail for a very long time.”
“But she's only fourteen! And he sent the pictures to everyone! She thought he liked her. He told her to send him some pictures and then he sent them to everyone! She tried to kill herself, and now I'm going to kill him!” Manny cried, bending down to look underneath the desks, certain we were hiding Brandon.
“And he's going to have to answer for that, Manny,” I soothed, now within an arm's length of him. Wilson reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. He tried to push me around his back but I shrugged out of his grasp, keeping myself between him and Manny. I knew Manny wouldn't shoot me. Manny had resumed pointing the gun toward Wilson, but I now stood in the way.
“There are picture of you too, Blue! Did you know that? Gabby showed me this morning. The whole fr-freaking sch-school has seen y-you!” Manny stuttered, his face a shattered mask.
I reassured myself that it couldn't be true, even as stunned humiliation clogged my throat and spread through my limbs like snake venom. I kept my arm outstretched, hoping Manny would relent and hand me the gun.
“If that's the case, then shouldn't Blue be the one with the gun?” Wilson countered mildly. Manny's eyes shot to Wilson, a shocked look on his face. Then he looked at me, and I wiggled my fingers, indicating he should hand it over. He seemed to consider what Wilson said.
Then Manny laughed. It was just a slight hiccup, but the sound ricocheted around the room like another shot. I wanted to cover my head, but the hiccup became a chortle, and the chortle a full rolling laugh that turned into wracking sobs.
All at once, Manny seemed to lose his conviction, and his arm went slack, the gun hanging loosely from his fingers. He buried his chin in his chest and let the sobs overtake him. Wilson stepped around me and took Manny in his arms, pulling him close as my hands closed around the gun. Manny let me take it without protest, and I retreated gingerly, one step at a time, as I watched Manny sob into Wilson's chest. But once I had the weapon, I didn't know what to do with it. I didn't want to set it down, and I couldn't give it to Wilson. His arms were wrapped around an inconsolable Manny, more to keep him contained, I think, then to offer comfort, though Manny didn't need to know that.
“Do you know how to empty the magazine?” Wilson asked me softly.
I nodded. Jimmy had taught me. I swiftly removed the bullets as Wilson addressed the class, many of whom had started to rise from where they had huddled beneath their desks.
“Students – I need everyone to calmly exit the classroom. Walk, don't run. When you get out into the hallway, don't stop. Exit the school. I'm guessing help is already on its way. Everything is going to be all right. Blue, stay right here with me. You can't go out in the hallway with the gun, and I can't take it from you right now. We'll wait here until reinforcements arrive.”
By reinforcements, I knew Wilson meant the police, but was trying not to alarm Manny who had clearly come undone, and was a quivering mess in his arms.
My classmates scrambled for the door, flinging it wide as they erupted into the hallway beyond. The corridor was silent and empty, as if classes were in session beyond the closed doors. But I knew there were teachers trying to keep their students safe, huddled in terror behind those doors, crying, praying, hoping that they wouldn't hear more gunshots, begging for rescue, calling 911. Maybe everyone had run for the exits when Manny began shooting at the lights. Maybe there was a SWAT team running up the stairs at that very moment. All I knew was that when the police arrived, my little friend would be leaving in handcuffs, and he wouldn't be coming back to high school. Ever again.
“Set the gun and the bullets on my desk, Blue. You don't want to be holding them when the authorities arrive,” Wilson instructed, pulling my attention back to the now-empty classroom and the gun in my hand.