My gut clenched. He was always so damn scared, so quick to assume the worst, and I wanted to shield him from everything. I pulled him into a hug, pressing my cheek to his hair. “Probably just the janitor,” I said, trying for casual reassurance even though my pulse was hammering hard in my throat.
Still, I couldn’t shake the sound. It hadn’t been a mop bucket or a door closing. It had been brittle, final, dangerous.
I edged toward the classroom door and cracked it open, peering out into the dim corridor. The silence on the other side was too heavy, too complete. Unease prickled at my skin. Quickly, I shut the door and turned back to Jamie?—
Only for it to slam open with such force, the gust shoved me off balance, stumbling me sideways. It ferociously banged against the wall.
Jamie yelped and scrambled back, then froze like a deer in headlights, his wide eyes locked on the doorway.
“Dad?”
I immediately got my footing and positioned myself protectively between him and the door where his dad leaned, bloodshot eyes and a gun in his hand.
I pressed the emergency button on my phone.
Staring down Jamie’s dad, my voice was steady but urgent, and I took a chance and shouted, “Gladwell Elementary. Shooter present.” Honestly, I don’t know if it went to 911 since I couldn’t see the screen or hear if an operator picked up.
“Drop the fucking phone!” Jamie’s father yelled, waving his gun. I did as he demanded, placing it on a table, face down, hopefully still connected to the operator.
He stepped further into the classroom, his movements erratic, his breathing heavy. “Jamie, we’re leaving now.”
“Jamie, go to the emergency cupboard,” I said, keeping my voice quiet but firm, my hand resting on his shoulder to guide him backward. His eyes were wide, darting toward the door, but I held his gaze. “Remember the lockdown drills we practiced?”
He swallowed hard, nodding just a little.
“Come here, Jamie!” his dad yelled. So fucking loud.
“You go inside, shut the door, and lock it. Then, you hide behind the big metal shelf where nobody can see you. No talking, no moving, like we practiced,” I calmly explained to Jamie, knowing how scared he was.
“I don’t wanna!” Jamie cried.
“Jamie! You get your ass over here now.” His dad tried to get past me, and I blocked him as best I could.
“You’re the best hider, Jamie, remember? Go.”
Always standing between him and his dad, I nudged him back toward the cupboard we always used for drills, the one the teachers had called thesafe place.
My heart hammered in my chest, memories of countless active shooter drills racing through my mind. The drills were weekly, the fear constant, but I had never expected it to happen—not here, not now. This was a class of babies, and they were my kids, my responsibility.
“Don’t you move, son!” Jamie’s dad yelled, but Jamie yelped and scampered toward the cupboard, and I waited for the lock to click.
“You’re not taking my son,” Jamie’s dad slurred, the gun shaking in his unsteady hand. “You think you can play hero? He’s coming home with me.”
I stepped back slowly, keeping Jamie’s Dad’s focus on me instead of his son, buying time until someone,anyone, could help. “Let’s just stay calm. You don’t have to do this. Jamie needs you safe, not like this.”
“Shut up!” he yelled, the gun raised slightly. “Don’t tell me what my son needs!”
I backed up another step, sideways, away from the cupboard. If bullets flew, I didn’t want them to pierce through the walls even as reinforced as they were. Every instinct screamed to protect Jamie at all costs.
My mind raced. If the call had connected, then what would the response time be? Would any cops even come in here to help me when Jamie’s dad was armed? I’m supposed to be brave. I’m supposed to be the calm one, the one in control, but my hands trembled, and my heart pounded against my ribs. I’d done all I could to protect Jamie and guide him to safety as we’d practiced, but standing face-to-face with the unpredictable danger of an armed man, the fear was raw and overwhelming. I was terrified, but I couldn’t let it show now. I had to hold on just a little longer.
“Get out of my way,” Jamie’s dad snarled, closing the distance between us. His breath was sour. His pupils were pinpricks.
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” I said.
“I’ll shoot you to get to him,” his dad hissed.
“Cops are on their way,” I lied, my voice shaking, but I refused to back down.
