Page 127 of Not Your Ordinary Shifter

Between the Frames

G.R. LOREWEAVER

Chapter

One

Hold it steady.

Take a deep breath.

Wait for it.

And snap.

There it was. The shot I was waiting for. I have been in this position for weeks now just waiting for these two alligators to complete their mating dance, and the wait was not for nothing. I don’t even have to review the preview on the back of my camera to knowthatis the one I’ve been waiting for.

My finger twitches as I continue to watch the alligators rolling around.

Well, maybe having a few more shots couldn’t hurt of course.

Bringing the camera back up, I aim and?—

BOOM

If it weren’t for both chest straps holding my camera, I would have just flung it right into the river. That fucking sound was most certainly not my shutter.

BOOM

My heart races and in an instant I am transported back in time…

My friends and teachers are screaming, scrambling, trying to find safety, but I’m frozen in place. I never thought at thirteen I would piss my pants—literally—in front of my entire class, but here I am.

Soaked.

Trembling.

Bleeding.

Mr. Franer’s vacant eyes stare into my soul from his prone position on top of me. He took a hit to the back almost as soon as he threw himself over me as a shield. Soon the chill from my urine-soaked jeans will be replaced by the warm blood that is already beginning to seep down between our bodies. I know I’ve been hit too, but my brain hasn’t caught up to the pain yet, and my left leg doesn’t feel right.

Boot steps come close and I have enough sense to close my eyes. Hopefully, the shooter will think I’m dead too. How cowardly is that shit?

The stomping boots come close to my head, but I don’t flinch. I hear my screaming before the gun goes off again. This time, right next to me.

I had already seen the shooter's face, but couldn’t place him. He seemed too old to be a student, but not quite old enough to be a teacher. Besides, I was a good girl. I made friends with most of the teachers at Montgomery Middle School, so I knew he hadn’t been a teacher here for the last three years at least.

Another bang from the gun, before the boots begin moving quickly away from the classroom I’ve found myself trapped in.

Stupidly, I manage to force one of my eyes open. I’m rewarded with a close-up view of my first crush, Billy, and the brains that were ejected from his head by the projectile bullet, that have sprayed across the wall.

I still can’t manage to move. Partly from Mr. Franer’s body pinning me down and partly from the soul-consuming fear that has my heart in a vise. And so I lay there.

For twenty-three minutes, I just lay there. Waiting for help or for the gunman to come back and finish me off. I try not to think about the fight Mom and I had this morning about breakfast. I should have just eaten the burned waffles. She did try. But I don’t want my ungratefulness to be the last thing she has to remember me by, so I really hope I do get out of this whole thing alive.

Next time, I promise to just eat the fucking breakfast and not stomp away when she tries to hug me in front of my friends.

If I survive.

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