The hangnail stings before I realize I’ve been picking at it. And I keep going.

  There’s nothing else to focus on. My phone was in my bag back at class. So it’s just me, the dusty ceiling tiles, and my thoughts.

  James?

  It couldn’t have been James. But then my mind circles around last night. His urgency that we play his silly game. The sad, defeated look in his eyes when we’d snuck out of the bathroom.

  He knew about this. He was in on it. And he didn’t warn us or try to stop it.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And all I can do is wait. I mean, the police will be here soon, right? Whole school of teens, everyone has a phone. Someone has to have called the cops. But I haven’t heard any sirens.

  How long should I wait? More gunfire echoes, accompanied by more screams. Closing my eyes and covering my ears does nothing. Scrunching into a tight little ball doesn’t pull me away from reality.

  The cops will come soon. They have to.

  But what if they don’t?

  It’s not the first time the thought had struck me. After that question comes the next inevitable concern.

  Is Lucy okay?

  She always keeps her meds in her locker, trying to get an extra break from class. If she doesn’t get them on time...