Page 65 of The Girl and the Cobra

I blink, and suddenly I’m thrown back in time.

How long has it been? Feels like hours. Hours spent here, huddling in the computer lab with the other kids in my class. We thought it was a joke until we heard the first few shots. Then we heard more, and time itself ceased to matter.

The only thing I could focus on was my breathing, how loud it sounded. How, even now, I couldn’t make myself be quiet. You never knew how loudly you breathe until you’re thrust into a moment when even the slightest noise could mean life or death.

In this case, death is more apropos.

An eternity passes, and for a while, hope surges around us. Maybe the police got here. Maybe something stopped the shooter. Maybe we’ll all make it out of here alive—but those are just silly, childish dreams, dreams that have no place in a hell like this.

Other kids are messaging their parents, their friends, telling them they love them, relaying what’s happening. I know I should do the same, but I can’t. I’m frozen, too terrified to move. All I can do is clutch my phone and sit there with my knees pulled into my chest and wish this was just some horrible dream.

What I don’t know then is that sometimes life can be a thousand times worse than any dream you can conjure up.

My phone lights up, and my eyes fall to the screen. Jordan messaged me, asking if I was safe, and even though I don’t feel like moving, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as I respond to him and tell him that, yes, I am safe.

His next message comes instantly:Where are you?

I don’t even think about it. I tell him.The computer lab.I try to think of which class Jordan is in now, but I can’t. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and I just can’t think straight, not at a time like this.

I wait for another message from him, but I don’t get any. It turns into radio silence, and my heart beats faster now for a different reason. What if the shooter found Jordan’s class? Whatif he’s trying to break in? I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Jordan. My brother is my life.

The minutes feel like hours. I can’t pay attention to anything. The silence is deafening, and it seems like it’ll stretch on and on, never breaking—but I think we’d all gladly take the silence over the loud sounds of gunshots.

But then something unthinkable happens. The doors to the library around the corner start to shake, as if someone’s trying to get inside. Other students gasp and huddle together, and the teacher tries to silence them.

Bam, bam, bam. Not gunshots, but the sound of someone kicking an old, wooden door. The sound echoes in the space, chilling me to my core.

It’s not long before the shooter gets in. This school is old, everything’s a bit rickety. The doors fly open with a loud bang. It feels like my heart is going to pop out of my chest, the pressure inside unimaginable. I can’t seem to catch my breath; I’m too terrified to send my brother or my parents a goodbye.

The computer lab is off to the side of the library section, where all the books are, so it takes a few moments for us to see the shooter as he rounds the corner, carrying a big gun.

The last face I expect to see is my brother’s, but that’s exactly who it is.The shooter is Jordan.The words don’t sound quite right in my head, and I manage to speak even though my voice is broken: “Jordan?”

And then my brother, my best friend, the only person in the world who knows about all the crap I go through on a daily basis, grins at me and raises that gun, pointing it at the students behind me.

At Robbie in the corner with his friends—my number one.

Jordan pulls the trigger, and the sound reverberates through my core, a million times worse than nails on a chalkboard. The bang, the terrified gasps that come after as the bullets surelyfinds their mark; I can’t turn around. I can’t look, but judging by the smug expression on Jordan’s face, he got him.

“That one’s for you, sis—” Before Jordan can say a single word more, another loud bang rings out, but this one isn’t from Jordan’s gun.

This one is from a different gun, and it finds its home instantly in the center of Jordan’s head. Blood and brain splatter as a hole appears on his forehead, blood oozing from the wound as he drops his assault weapon.

What chills me the most is the smile Jordan continues to wear, even as his corpse falls to the ground, deader than dead.

That day is a day I will never forget. It has haunted me and my dreams more often than it hasn’t. What Jordan did, the lives he took, the way he smiled, so sinister and gleeful as if he really was doing it for me; it’s the stuff of nightmares.

I made the list with him. I told him we were in the computer lab. He even said it was for me. So, as much as Dr. Wolf and my dad might want to blame my feelings on survivor’s guilt, they’re wrong. It really is just plain guilt. If I wouldn’t have played along, all those people might still be alive.

It’s a thought that rings in my head over and over as I stare at Robert Hayes, the father of the boy who tormented me for years.

The recognition must flicker across my face, because the man says, “How about my son? Do you remember him?” The question is laced with hate and desperation, the makings of a dangerous man.

Remember? Does he think I forgot? It’s asinine enough I want to laugh, but my throat is so tight it’s damn near closed up. Besides, this isn’t a situation to laugh about.

My voice is quiet when I whisper, “I do.”

Robert Hayes smirks, an ugly expression, and a bitter chuckle escapes him. “You sure as hell didn’t look like it in that damn coffee shop. You looked like you forgot what your sick brother did to my boy. Smiling and laughing with that girl—what gives you the right to still be here while my boy is gone? It isn’t fair!”

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