14. Finn
FOURTEEN
Finn
It had been a long day, one of those never-ending Friday afternoons where the minutes dragged, and the air in the classroom felt stale and heavy.
What had happened with Walker had thrown me for a loop.
I’d tried to get ahold of him, but his message about meeting after school made me worry and fret and get excited all at the same time.
Maybe that was why the kids were restless.
Or maybe they were eager for the weekend, and honestly, so was I.
Jamie sat quietly at his table, drawing, head bent low over the paper.
His fingers clutched the crayon tight. I’d spent all week watching him closely, catching how he’d flinch if someone walked too close or how he stared off into space for far too long.
He was having counseling, his mom too, his dad not part of their lives.
I’d been kept in the loop, but I hated it all. Poor kid.
When the last bell rang, I let out a sigh of relief. Most of the kids burst from the room, laughing and shouting while they bolted for their parents as they collected them. Being this is grade one, the parents came to the side door, but it was evident that no one came for Jamie.
“Hey, buddy,” I said softly. “Your mom should be here soon.”
He didn’t look up. He just added a streak of black over what I realized was a drawing of his house. The windows were dark this time, and the sky above it was all scribbles. A cold knot twisted in my stomach.
“She’s late,” Jamie mumbled.
“I’m sure she’s caught in traffic,” I said, more to reassure myself than him. “Why don’t you come help me tidy up while we wait?”
Jamie nodded reluctantly, setting his drawing aside. As he helped gather stray pencils and stack chairs, I stepped into the hallway to call his mom. Straight to voicemail. Twice. After the second time, I left a message, reminding her that school let out twenty minutes ago.
I glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. Twenty minutes past dismissal, and there was still no sign of Jamie’s mom. Not even a call or message, and the growing silence in the hallway only heightened my anxiety.
“Do you think she forgot me?” he whispered, his voice thin and brittle.
I knelt to Jamie’s level, touching his back gently. “No way, buddy. Your mom wouldn’t forget you. You’re way too important.”
Jamie finally lifted his head, wide-eyed and worried. “Then, why isn’t she here?”
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, forcing a reassuring smile. “Maybe she’s just running late?”
He nodded slowly, setting his crayon down. I handed him a small pile of books. “Can you put these back on the shelf for me?”
Jamie took them quietly, moving toward the shelves by the window. I stepped just outside the classroom door into the empty hall, taking a deep breath as I redialed Jamie’s mother. It clicked to voicemail once more. I left another calm but firm message.
“Hi, it’s Mr. Carter again. Jamie’s here with me, and we were expecting you at dismissal. Please call back or come by as soon as you get this message. Jamie’s doing just fine. We’re just waiting for you.”
None of this felt right. The last time she hadn’t made it to the school, his aunt came instead. Okay, this is stupid, I muttered to myself as anxiety over why she was late coiled in my stomach. Turning back into the classroom, I plastered on a reassuring smile, hoping I could fake it with Jamie.
I pulled a chair down from the stack and decided to distract him with a simple coloring project, something safe and quiet that might keep his mind from spiraling.
The scratch of the crayons on paper had just begun when a sudden crash echoed down the empty hallway.
It was sharp, violent, like glass shattering.
Jamie’s head snapped up, eyes wide and terrified. “What was that?” he whispered, his voice trembling as he stood up.
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 the safe 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.
Something caught my eye over the man’s shoulder at the classroom door. Was it the cops? Fuck. No. Wait!
Walker!
What was Walker doing here?!
He appeared in the doorway, barely visible as he peered around the corner, his hand rising quickly, sharply signaling “shhh” with his fingers.
My breath caught, and fear spiked so fiercely that I nearly shouted.
My mind raced. If Jamie’s dad saw him, things could turn deadly.
My heart continued to hammer in my chest, panic clawing at the edges of my thoughts.
Get out, Walker. Go get help, please, I silently begged him.
Walker wasn’t trained in how to deal with a shooter in a school. I had to de-escalate.
“How about we talk, Mr. Evans. We don’t want to scare Jamie?—”
“Fuck you!” Jamie’s dad yelled.
Walker was out of sight. Thank fuck. Relief threatened to buckle my knees.
Then, as casually as anything, Walker strode back into the classroom as if he owned the place. “Hi, Finn,” he announced brightly, voice firm but almost lazy. Jamie’s dad whirled to face the new arrival.
As he stepped forward, Walker’s eyes widened in mock surprise, hands raised high in fake surrender. “Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?” he said, voice shaky and uncertain, bending a little to make himself seem smaller.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jamie’s dad barked, swinging the gun toward Walker.
“Me? No one,” Walker stammered, stepping closer carefully. He shifted slightly, angling his body until I realized what he was doing—putting himself directly between me and the gun.