Page 16 of The Girl and the Cobra

This really must be a small town, because how the heck would she know that?

I’m so caught off-guard by her knowing where we live that it takes me a moment to mumble out a “Yeah.”

She practically bounces as she fetches me a clear cup and fills it with water. “How do you like it here so far?”

“Um, it’s nice, I guess. Not what I’m used to. I do miss seeing the sun more often.” I try to joke, but it just sounds lame, so Iend my rambling there. I was weird and quiet before everything went to shit. My quirks just got ten times worse afterward.

The girl doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll get used to it. It’s not so bad.” She pushes my cup and my pastry bag toward me, saying, “Don’t worry about this one. It’s on the house.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “Yep! Newcomer’s special.” The girl gives me a dramatic wink.

“Oh, um, thanks?” It comes out sounding like a question, mostly because it is one. A part of me thinks she’s going to change her mind or that the owner of The Drip will come walking out of the back door and yell at her for giving something away for free. Just to assuage my guilt, I open my wallet and stuff the only cash I have—two whole dollars—into the tip jaw near the register before I grab my stuff and head to an unoccupied corner table.

I sit down and focus on my breathing. In my chest, my heart beats a little faster than it should, but I can handle it. I think. As long as it doesn’t get any worse.

I don’t look at the other people in the coffee shop. I unroll the small brown bag and pull out the pastry, setting it on top. I’m not really hungry, but I should pick at it so I don’t look too weird. No one else in The Drip is paying any attention to me. They’re all immersed in their own lives, chatting with their friends, typing away, or with their nose in a book.

I’m just a faceless, nameless person to these people. Dr. Wolf was right. The thought is comforting to someone like me.

Someone like me. Who am I, exactly? A broken girl who thought she knew her brother… but in reality, Jordan hid his true malice from me just like he did everyone else. I mean, he’d make jokes about certain things, but who doesn’t?

My throat gets dry when I think about him, so I take a small sip of water before tearing off a tiny piece of the pastry and sticking it in my mouth.

The person who was reading must’ve decided it’s time to head home. They get up, pack their book in their bag, and toss out their empty drink before heading to the door. They leave, and the door swings shut behind them. The sound of the door closing is louder than it should be—maybe because the coffee shop is relatively quiet, save for the hushed conversations of the two small groups of people on the opposite side of the open space.

But that slam… it’s enough to take me back to a place I keep finding myself in, a memory I’d rather forget but one that refuses to be ignored.

At first everyone thought it was just a drill. We do those a lot, and they never tell us it’s a drill so we’ll take them seriously. Never mind the fact that those drills give handfuls of students mini panic attacks, but better to have those and know what to do in a life-or-death situation than the opposite.

But then we hear the sound. It’s not close, but the sound is far from faint. It seems to echo in the air, a bang that anyone would recognize even if they’ve never heard it before in their life. The only ingrained response is fear.

Robbie breaks the silence of the computer lab, saying, “Shit.” He quickly gets hushed by our teacher and the librarian.

It’s a waiting game after that. When you sit there, waiting for the unknown to happen, wondering whether you might die, your heart feels like it’s going to explode inside you. Your lungs push against your ribcage like they’re not getting enough air. You feel liminal, like you’re out of time and standing in the middle of crossroads, with no knowledge of where to go.

No one should die like this. No one’s last moments should be so full of terror. But we don’t get to choose how our last moments are. Fate decides them for us, and oftentimes fate is not a kind master.

I don’t know how many shots we hear. In the moment, as time stretches on toward infinity, it feels like thousands. Every second that passes feels like an hour, and every minute is an eternity.Bam, bam, bam.

You never think it’s going to happen to you. You never think death will come for you before your time, especially when you’re young.

It’s not right. None of it is right, but that doesn’t stop the fact that it’s happening.

Someone rattles the main library door, like they’re trying desperately to get in. We’re off to the side, in the adjoined computer lab, but if they get in, all they’ll have to do to see us is walk deep into the library.

And then we’re well and truly fucked.

Some students are texting their parents, their friends, their loved ones, telling them goodbye. Others are so scared I think they’ve left their bodies, like me. I can’t do anything but focus on my breathing and wonder why it sounds so loud—seriously, my breathing sounds as loud as the library door rattling on its hinges.

This is it. We’re all going to die here.

The door eventually gives way, and we collectively hold our breath. We’re sitting ducks, and though this is technically something we’ve practiced since first stepping foot in elementary school, you can’t really prepare for the real thing.

I’m on the outer edge of the group of students huddling in the corner of the computer lab. I’ll be the first to die, and there’s nothing I can do but accept it. The next time I breathe out, it’s a slow and steady exhale of acceptance.

But everything I thought I knew, everything I was expecting… none of it matters the moment the shooter walks around the corner and reveals himself.

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