This Is Where It Ends Page 5

  The kid in the row in front of us doesn’t share my hesitations.

  “Mom? No, no, I can’t speak up… Mom, you have to listen to me… There’s someone in the school.” His voice trembles. “No, I mean with a gun. There’s someone with a gun in the school.”

  Tyler with a gun, I mentally correct. Not just someone. Tyler.

  He strides down the aisle, toward the stage, apparently oblivious to the students who plot to stop him. He glances around, noting faces. Everyone keeps their distance, which gives him the upper hand.

  “No, Mom. Mom. It isn’t one of those friends of mine. Did you hear me? We can’t get out. We’re locked inside. CJ is okay. I thought he was going to shoot her. She’s somewhere on the other side of the auditorium.” His voice breaks. I reach out to nudge him to be quiet. He’ll attract attention. He can’t help his CJ if he’s dead. “Mom, I’m so scared.”

  Halfway down the aisle, Tyler fires a bullet into the ceiling. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you people how rude it is to be on the phone when someone is speaking?” He spins on his heel and pans the back of the auditorium. No matter what stands between us, I’m convinced his eyes find mine, like they always do. No matter where I go, no matter how far I run, I can never hide from him.

  A smile tugs at his lips before he resumes his walk.

  The boy in front of me whimpers. His phone slides from his slack hands, down under the seats. The voice on the other side fades.

  • • •

  CLAIRE

  “No.” No, there has to be another explanation why Jonah is lying dead under Ty’s car. His sister borrowed Ty’s car. There was an accident. “Not Ty. It can’t be him.” Please.

  Chris pulled Jonah close to check his vitals signs, but he shakes his head and closes Jonah’s eyes. His gaze is troubled as he reaches out to me, but I back away.

  “Claire…”

  “No, it can’t be. I know Ty.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Chris asks. “All the evidence points to the contrary.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust him. He was never good for you.”

  Ty is a sore point between us. He always has been, and everything inside me rebels—against Chris, against this situation, against my better judgment. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

  Chris steps toward me. “He lied to you.”

  I cannot accept this is Ty’s doing. He believed in me when no one else did. He loved me. He may not always have been true, but he never lied to me.

  “Forget it,” I bite out. We have no time for this right now. Hopefully Coach will have gotten to the emergency phone, but if that isn’t the case, we need to act. “We need to get to the gas station. We need to get help.”

  “We could take Jonah’s car,” Chris suggests.

  I didn’t check to see if the keys were still in the ignition, but the thought of using the car with Jonah lying—with Jonah gone? I can’t.

  I have to get out. Out. Out. Out.

  The sound of my footsteps on the concrete creates a soothing rhythm. And the road stretches out before me.

  One two three four. One two three four. I keep count, like Coach would on the track.

  One two three four.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Chris falls into step behind me. I tense. But with the pace set, my mind is free to wander.

  “You know you don’t have to follow in your sister’s footsteps, right? You could be more—so much more. Opportunity doesn’t know how precious you are. Opportunity doesn’t know a lot of things.” Ty stroked the palm of my hand. With my head against his chest, the words rumbled in my ear. “I won’t let the army steal my girl and force her to be someone she doesn’t want to be. You have dreams you should follow.”

  I gazed up at him. The black circle around his eye, souvenir of yet another fight, showed how little Opportunity cared about his dreams. I knew his scars ran deeper than the bruises. But with me, he felt safe—and I with him.

  We sat in his car just outside the school grounds and stared at the empty road—the same road Chris and I are running down. Opportunity is a sleepy town. Some days, the only traffic these streets see are the cars going back and forth to Opportunity High. Even the gas station is half-deserted and overgrown, with tumbleweeds and all. Matt used to call it a superhero headquarters in disguise.

  Ty once promised to take Matt there after-hours, since Mr. Browne owns both the gas station and the hardware store on Main. Ty planned to tell Matt ghost stories and give him all the candy he could eat. And Matt would’ve loved it. He admired Ty as much as Ty loved hanging out with him.

  But that was before junior prom, before the breakup.

  That day though, Ty still held me. We were oblivious to the future that was waiting for us.

  “What is my dream then?” I asked. Trace and I’d shared the same dream for so long, it seemed almost ludicrous to think of some other fate.

  Ty wrapped his arms tighter around me. “I always thought you should teach. You love being with the underclassmen, and they look up to you.” He leaned forward and kissed the top of my head. “Besides, it’ll keep you closer to me.”

  “Cheeky.” I poked Ty in his ribs. “And what do you dream about? Taking over your father’s store?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know you could go anywhere, be anyone you want.”

  “I know.” He paused. “I want us to build a home together.”

  “Here in Opportunity?”

  “One of the abandoned farms at the outskirts of town. It’ll be quiet there. And protected. Somewhere we’ll both be safe.”

  I smiled sadly, not wanting to deny him his dream. Almost everyone in our class talked about leaving Opportunity, but even though Ty wasn’t happy here, he never did. Sometimes it felt as if he and I walked the same road, but each of us was going in a different direction. “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

  “I have. And one day, I’ll show the world. And they’ll never forget me.”

  Ty, showing the world.

  And now the school is his battleground.

  No.

  My step falters at the thought. Fear reaches out to strangle me as gravity pulls me down.

  Strong hands wrap themselves around my elbow, and Chris hoists me to my feet. I gasp for breath.

  “Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just run.” Chris’s fingers twine through mine.

  I nod, feeling infinitely small. If I had breath left to speak, I would whisper a prayer to anyone who might listen.

  After twenty-odd paces, my breathing steadies, but my pacing slows. My legs burn. After double the distance, I want to pull my hand away, but his hand squeezes mine. I squeeze back. We might not be able to beat this together, but we definitely can’t face it alone.

  • • •

  TOMÁS

  Fareed walks back into the principal’s office to open the windows. I sneak into the hallway and check the area. The long corridors are deserted; the doors to the counselor’s office and the resource office are locked. Off the administrative wing are the doors to the quad, to freedom and safety. The main hallway leads deeper into the building, to the classrooms and the auditorium.

  The shooting has stopped. It’s silent, and that terrifies me.

  We can’t leave.

  The emergency dispatcher’s advice is the only advice we have, but a strange sense of calm comes over me. Unless there’s a second shooter, everyone’s at the other end of the school, which means that for now, we’re free to walk around.

  Fareed walks up behind me. “You’re getting predictable in your old age,” he comments. His natural accent has returned. We don’t have to pretend around each other. “Someone tells you not to do something, figures you want to
do it.”

  “Did you open the window?” I counter.

  “Both of them.”

  I nod.

  “We should open the front doors too,” Fareed says.

  “We can’t leave.”

  Fareed doesn’t immediately reply, and I falter. “Sylvia is in the auditorium. I have to help her. I can’t sit back and wait. Not again.”

  He catches my arm and forces me to look at him. For the scrawniest senior in the history of Opportunity, Far’s surprisingly strong—and surprisingly determined. I’ve never seen this side of him. “If no one else is around, the doors of the auditorium must be locked, and we don’t know if the shooter’s inside or out. If you’re set on going there, we’d better be prepared.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Neil, the janitor,” he says. “We can get screwdrivers and hammers from his office. I believe you’re more comfortable with tools than with paperwork?”

  I put my hand on my chest and feign shock. “You hurt me, my dear fellow. Such mundane activities are far below a man of my standing.”

  In any other situation, Fareed would have rolled his eyes. In any other situation, I would’ve grinned at his indignation. Today, all jokes fall flat, though we keep trying. I stuff my hands in my pockets, tense all over. “Good call.”

  “Yeah.” He copies my gesture and legs it toward the south entrance.

  We stay close to the walls, pausing at every corner. When the next shot sounds, the echo is duller.

  I shiver. “Who would do something like this?”

  Fareed stares at me, his face grim. “Let’s worry about that after we figure out how to deal with this,” he says softly. There is a stoicism about him but also a deep sadness. Has he lost relatives to war? I never thought to ask.

  Another thought strikes me. “Far, when’s the last time you were at one of Trenton’s speeches? If I remember correctly, Neil doesn’t go to those things. He might be able to help us himself.”

  Fareed doesn’t slow his pace. “Yeah, maybe.”

  We turn the last corner.

  The janitor’s office fits snugly between the main entrance and the gym. Through the windows of the double doors, we can see slate skies overhead. It makes me long to be outside, to breathe the air. But the doors have been locked with heavy chains. There’s nowhere we can go.

  The door to the janitor’s office stands ajar.

  • • •

  AUTUMN

  “I liked it here once. Opportunity High. Opportunity. It sounds so hopeful.”

  Ty’s spite makes me feel like throwing up my meager breakfast. This morning, I felt so relieved that he was nowhere to be seen, even though I dreaded going to school alone, especially today of all days. But it was better than facing his unpredictable moods. My only focus has been to get into Juilliard early and get through one last semester before both Sylv and I leave Opportunity behind.

  It feels like I made those plans an eternity ago.

  I pull Sylv to the farthest door. It’s not easy to move through the throng of students. I hesitate, torn between making sure she’s all right and making sure we can run if we need to. There’ll be no escape if we get caught in the crowd.

  I would reach over to push one of Sylv’s long curls out of her eyes, but her hands clamp around mine, and I don’t think she’ll let go anytime soon.

  I don’t want her to let go.

  “I wanted to fit in here.” His voice rises and falls with a singsong cadence. He has the gun in one hand. His other rests on his waistband, where, strapped over his dress shirt and slacks, he carries cartridges of ammunition, perhaps even another gun. “Instead, I lost everything.”

  Dad always used to tell me, He has a hunter’s grace, that boy, and the instincts and speed to match it. Somehow, I don’t think this is what he intended.

  The masses part in front of Ty. With every step he takes, the students around him scatter from the aisle, down the rows of seats, pushing themselves toward the sides of the room—anything to increase the distance between them and Tyler. Together we could be so strong, but the gun has made us individuals.

  “All of you with your perfect lives. Do you know what losing feels like? Do you care?”

  When he reaches the front row, Ty veers away from the aisle and climbs the steps onto the stage. His eyes remain ever watchful, scanning his audience. How many of us have hurt him?

  From the wings, Mr. Jameson and three other teachers creep toward Ty’s side of the stage. Are they going to try to circle him? I suck in a breath. They’re underestimating him. Everyone always does.

  Our English teacher’s hands are stained with Principal Trenton’s blood. And I don’t know what Ty wants, but if they try to stop him, this’ll only get worse.

  Suddenly, Ty shifts his attention to the handful of people onstage. “If you cooperate, some of you might go home today. All you have to do is listen carefully to what I’m saying. No screaming, no running, no phones, and certainly no attempting to disarm me. Today, you’ll all listen.”

  To: Sis

  HELP ME WE’RE TRAPPED

  To: Sis

  Claire I’m so scared. He’s shooting people. What do I do. CLAIRE PLEASE PICK UP

  Chapter Seven

  10:12–10:15 A.M.

  SYLV

  Hometown, family, God, country: that’s the Opportunity creed. It’s preached by the mayor who can trace his lineage back to the Civil War and the elderly farmers, like Abuelo, who linger outside church to discuss the crops and the weather. It’s what makes our community strong, gives us purpose. Even with my ticket out, this is home, and I don’t want to leave.

  The Browne family had been part of Opportunity for generations—but no more. When Mrs. Browne died, Ty raged against everyone who tried to help him. He wouldn’t eat the food anyone brought; he snarled at our sympathy. Still, the town forgave his grief. Until Mr. Browne drowned his sorrows in alcohol and Tyler doused his in hatred. And after a while, Opportunity took the withdrawal and the lashing out personally. The town stopped trying to bring them back into the fold.

  And we lost them.

  Autumn was the only one who didn’t notice, and if she did, she didn’t care. Now her eyes are fixed on Tyler. She’s pale, but her eyes are fierce. She is so much stronger than people expect. She is not afraid. Not anymore. Not like I have been for months now.

  The only time she saw the same Tyler I did was when we spent the first night of summer together and I told her Tyler found out about us at junior prom.

  “Do you think Ty hates us?” she asked.

  “He could never hate you.”

  She plucked aimlessly at a dandelion in the grass. Her face was drawn. “He’s been so angry. He doesn’t seem to care about anything anymore.”

  It was the first time she acknowledged her brother wasn’t as perfect as she made him out to be and the last time we talked about it. When I leaned against her, she winced and turned away from me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She tugged her shirt back in place but not before I saw the bruises that spread across her shoulder.

  “I fell against one of the wooden posts in the shed. My arm’s still sore.”

  “Autumn…”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” She crushed the flower between her fingers and looked straight at me, as if challenging me to object.

  Pity made me bite my tongue. She danced every spare hour, every moment she could get away from Mr. Browne, and she looked pale and wary. Ty was the only family she had left. Right there and then, I didn’t want her to know how much he had changed too.

  “Tyler may be angry at the entire rest of the world, but he could never hate you.”

  Autumn seemed unconvinced. “You don’t know him like I do.”

  It was the truest thing she said that night, as we both lied to each other.


  I push my nails into my palm. Opportunity cast out Tyler—and by association, his whole family—but Autumn never noticed. She relished being alone. She didn’t want to be bound to anyone, and Opportunity severed her ties for her.

  “Get back to your seats. I don’t want anyone sneaking up on me.” Tyler’s voice echoes across the room.

  Autumn squeezes my hand tighter. “Shhh,” she mutters absently, drawing me closer. “Stay here. Don’t let him see you.” Most of the students stay where they are, yet Tyler seems unperturbed.

  Then he turns back toward the stage, and the next bullet buries itself in the leg of one of the approaching teachers. She falls to the stage with a grunt.

  “Get down,” he says. “Get off the stage.”

  Mr. Jameson freezes, but neither he nor the other teachers move.

  Tyler fires another shot—this time at the remaining chorus members on the stage. They shriek. The teachers back away, toward the front row.

  The teachers will be effectively trapped there, but given the choice between life and someone else’s death, I wouldn’t hesitate either.

  “I love how attentive you all are now. Did you ever consider listening to me before?”

  In a corner, Mrs. Noble, the new freshman history teacher, huddles against the wall. She only started teaching this year. I don’t think this is what she had in mind. Her face is blotched; her hair sticks out in all directions.

  The last teacher left onstage, Mr. Jameson stands tall. He must be as terrified as the rest of us, but what strikes me most isn’t the nervous tremor in his hands or the patches of sweat on his shirt. It’s the genuine pain on his face.

  He keeps lifting his hands as if to reach out to Tyler, as he has with every student in each of his classes. He would have listened.

  We all hate to love Opportunity High and love to hate it. We can’t wait to graduate, but we don’t want to leave. This school is special—from the stupid bright-red bricks that make the building look modern and out of place to our school mascot: the Ocelot of Opportunity.