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It was the final period of the day on a Friday, and I had my back to the room when I heard it. I had a whiteboard pen in my hand and was in the middle of writing out an equation on the board when the alarm sounded and my hand froze. Not the fire alarm. The other alarm, the one I had dreaded hearing from the day I first signed the employment papers at Grover Cleveland Middle. The alarm that signalled a hard lockdown.
Having my back to the class in that moment gave me the split second I needed to rearrange my face so that it wouldn’t show the absolute terror I was now feeling and would instead hopefully portray the calm professionalism I had spent hours training myself to exude. As I turned around, I faced 26 mirrors of my own fear. 26 young faces that just a few seconds ago had included various expressions, including confusion, amusement, and boredom, all now sharing the exact same one. Terror.
”Ok everyone, just like we practised," I said, speaking loudly to be heard over the alarm and relieved that my voice didn’t betray me.
I moved to the door as my class sprang to action and did the thing that scared me the most; I opened it a fraction and looked out into the hallway. It was step one of our school’s lockdown plan; all staff were to check outside and usher any students out in the hallway into our rooms. The alarm had stopped by now, and the hallway was blessedly empty; all I saw was another teacher around 30 ft down from me doing the same thing. Our eyes met for a brief second, and we shared more in one glance than everything we’d ever spoken aloud to one another so far in months of working together. I quickly reclosed the door and stepped back to survey the room.
The kids were moving like a well-oiled machine, everybody performing the actions I’d assigned them. That we’d run through in dozens of drills.
The four seats closest to the windows were assigned to the most athletic kids in each class; their jobs were to climb up and secure any open windows (thank god it was winter so everything was already locked) and then close the blinds as quickly as possible. They already had the blinds closed, plunging us into shadows. I felt grateful for that, less like a sitting duck.
The seat closest to the door was always assigned to a tall kid; in this particular class that was Dylan. I remembered sitting with him at the start of the year and checking he was happy with his assigned job, grabbing a metal sleeve and sliding it onto the hinge at the top of the door, then turning off the lights if they were on. He’d been so proud to be asked, and as I spotted him now, he’d already grabbed the little device and was moving behind me to secure it.
I hurried over to my desk where three of my strongest students – seated right at the front – were already waiting. I grabbed the final corner, and the four of us lifted the desk, carried it across the room, and wedged it up behind the classroom door, making sure to trap the handle upwards so it couldn’t budge.
Turning back to the room, the kids were already beginning to pack themselves into the agreed corner, the one with the fewest lines of sight from the windows, and build our barricade. I had taught every class of mine about the testudo formation, a type of shield wall used by Roman soldiers and something we could make a version of from the desks if we tipped them on their ends. Realistically, I knew that the cheap plywood would do nothing against a storm of bullets, but anything I could put between the kids and a gunman was an extra layer of defence, even if only in our heads.
I stepped into the corner with the kids and pulled two boxes from a shelf in the alcove before it was blocked off, laying both on the floor by my feet. One was clearly labelled 'First Aid Kit', while the other was unmarked. Then I helped drag the last of the desks into position, enclosing myself inside the barricade with the huddled group of kids. I turned and did the fastest headcount I’d ever performed: everyone was here, and I’d never been so grateful to have not issued a hall pass during a lesson. I carefully dropped myself to the floor with them.
”Are everyone’s cell phones and watches turned off?” I asked quietly, pulling my own device from my pocket and hurriedly turning it completely off. I saw a few kids frantically doing the same. Then I opened the unmarked box. Inside were 30 solid metal ball bearings, big ones, each around the size of a ping pong ball. I passed them out silently until each kid had one. I’d bought them for two reasons. First, they felt nice to hold and could act as a soothing fidget item whilst being completely silent. Even the planet-design hacky sacks I kept in a basket by my desk were too loud right now. Second, if it came to it and a gunman got into the room, they could be used as last-ditch weapons. 26 kids and one failed academic with metal balls vs a maniac with an AK-47. It was laughable, a Hail Mary if ever there was one, but I had to at least give them something to try and fight back with.
Getting us into position had taken less than 90 seconds, but now came the hard part. Waiting. A few of the kids had already started sniffling, and I couldn’t blame them; I really wanted to cry too but couldn’t let myself. I had to stay calm to help keep them calm. I looked over and put my finger to my lips but tried to smile to show I understood.
Bang.
I flinched and my heart leapt into my mouth. That was a gunshot. Shit. This was real. Any attempt at keeping my expression under control had been lost in an instant.
Bang.
Another one. Was it closer than the last? I couldn’t tell. Several of the kids were crying now, their bodies wracked with silent tears. I realised I was shaking violently too.
Bang.
Definitely closer than the last one. I instinctively pushed myself back further away from the barricade and toward the group, clutching my own metal ball in my hand and desperately trying to control my own fear. We all huddled together, silently trembling as one. The separation between teacher and student was lost; we were all just scared humans praying we’d live through this.
One of the kids, Amy, was starting to hyperventilate. I reached out and took her hand, making sure I was looking straight into her eyes.
”Look at me, deep breaths,” I whispered as quietly as possible, forcing myself to take slow and steady breaths with her until she had her breathing back under control. I felt a lot of the kids joining in with us, and together, we all worked to keep one another steady. The kids were all trying to quietly console one another, and I couldn’t help but feel immensely proud of them. At one point I felt a hand on my forearm. I looked up and met the eyes of Sasha, one of my most mature kids, a young carer since the age of 8. She squeezed my arm for a second in a comforting gesture, and I had never felt so grateful to anyone. I was so, so scared, but I had to hold it together for them.
The minutes dragged onwards interminably as we all sat there huddled together on the floor. At one point, one of the boys started quietly crying.
“I wet myself,” he whimpered apologetically.
”Don’t worry about it,” I whispered back, hoping beyond hope that some wet clothes would be the worst part of this afternoon. If this lasted much longer, I might be joining him. My legs were cramping awfully and I felt sick, but all we could do was wait in silence and pray to whatever powers we believed in.
***
Over an hour had passed since that third gunshot when I heard footsteps outside the door. I tensed up and felt the rest of the kids do the same.
Three knocks sounded and we all flinched.
“Mr Grace?” I heard the voice of Ms White, the school principal, from outside the door. “The lockdown is over. Sierra, Alpha, Foxtrot, Echo.”
I felt myself sag in relief. That was the all-clear, a verbal code that had been drilled into me at every meeting with her since I started working here but that was never to be written down anywhere. A code that let me know she wasn’t out there being coerced into persuading me to open the door.
I slowly got to my feet; my legs were numb and aching.
“Wait here,” I reminded the kids quietly.
I carefully made a gap between two of the upturned desks and slipped out, then pushed them back together. I had no reason to suspect anything was amiss now, but I had to be the first one out. If anything happened, it would happen to me and not to them.
I dragged my desk away from the door awkwardly, pulled the sleeve from the hinge, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Ms White was standing there looking ashen with two armed police officers beside her.
”Are you ok?” She asked.
"Yes", I said, sighing in relief. “My whole class is accounted for and safe. No injuries.”
"Oh, thank God,” she replied, putting a hand on my shoulder for a moment. “You’re the final room we’ve checked.”
I led her and the cops into my classroom.
”OK everyone, it’s all clear now,” I said, walking over to help create a gap in the desk shield wall. The kids all crawled out looking visibly shaken. I gathered them together in a group, mentally repeating my head count twice just to be sure.
“We’re going to make our way down to the gymnasium now, OK?” Ms White said kindly. I watched my kids form into a line without my needing to instruct them, and I led them out of the room and down the hallway with Ms White taking up the rear. A cop at the front and back of the line with us.
The gymnasium was abuzz with students, teachers, police, and paramedics when we got there. Everyone was hugging, older kids pulling younger siblings to them in displays of affection rarely witnessed in the usually cutthroat world of middle school. I moved myself to the side and watched, and after a few minutes, Ms White came and stood beside me.
”Is anybody hurt?” I asked.
She looked stricken.
“Cheryl was shot in the shoulder, but the paramedics think she’ll be fine. The cops got here fast; he never made it into any of the classrooms.”
I paled; Cheryl was the school receptionist. I liked her; she always laughed at my terrible jokes.
”Is the shooter dead?”
She looked at me and nodded. I thought I might throw up but somehow held myself together.
A little while later, a senior-looking policeman came over to us.
”We’ve secured the area and have no reason to suspect there’s a second shooter, so we can start letting these kids go home,” he told her. “We’ve got all the parents corralled at the far side of the parking lot for now.”
”Good, keep them there. I’ll have the staff bring the kids out one class at a time to try and avoid chaos.”
She walked away, and I moved to gather my own class together. We stood together awaiting our turn to be called. We were the last group, and when I heard my name called, I led my kids out to the parking lot.
It had gone dark outside, and the sky was lit up in flickering reds and blues from all the emergency vehicles surrounding us. Together, Ms White and I released each of my kids one by one to their frantic parents and guardians. I watched tearful reunion after tearful reunion as the kids and parents ran to one another across the tarmac, collapsing together in gratitude. A few families were praying together; most were just hugging like they’d never let go again. I wrapped my arms around myself.
Finally, the last of my students was released to his mother. Ms White headed back inside after a brief word of thanks my way, and I stood at the side of the lot watching it quickly empty. As soon as the last of my kids was out of sight, the dam broke and I started sobbing. I turned away and threw up in one of the flower beds that lined the walkway from the parking lot to the main entrance. I was shaking. I’d watched all those kids run to comforting arms, but my parents were both long dead; they wouldn’t be waiting for me at the edge of the lot, ready for me to collapse into their arms. I had no partner waiting for me at home. I would have to face this alone.
I sat down on the hard, cold floor and let the tears wash over me. I wasn’t sure how I’d cope with coming back here on Monday morning.
”Ryland?!” A woman’s voice called out somewhat hysterically from the edge of the parking lot. My head snapped up and I looked around for the source. I saw a figure making their way toward me, and I scrambled to my feet.
“Ryland!” She called again, and we made eye contact. I almost choked.
”Marissa?”
My best friend was there, mascara running in trails down her cheeks. I ran to her and threw myself into her arms. She wrapped herself around me and held me so tight it almost hurt. I didn’t care. I was sobbing inconsolably, but she was here. My best friend was here for me.
I wouldn’t have to face tonight alone after all.