Bang (15 page)

knees, crawling around desks and chairs and broken equipment, trying to get to the guy’s gun, while I refocus on the girl with the gun to Ben’s forehead as she screams in his

face, and for the first time I feel like we have failed. I am

helpless to save him. I know he’s about to die, and there’s

nothing I can do. “No,” I whisper, and I can’t even hear

the word come out because of the screaming. But Ben is

silent, stiff, gun jabbed between his eyes, facing the girl

and barely flinching. Something about his bravery gives

me the weirdest sense of courage. I grab the edge of a table

and stagger to my feet once more.
Then the door bursts open. It hits the wall hard, the

glass window shattering and sprinkling shards everywhere.

The girl turns her head at the noise, and Ben—the new,

desperate leader Ben—slams his fist into her gut and she

doubles over. Her gun goes off. And just as Sawyer staggers over to grab the blond guy’s gun, I fling myself at the girl and start flailing my arms and legs, feeling like I’ve got

no plan but nothing to lose. I kick the crap out of her arm

that holds the gun, and I whack the shit out of her face

with my cast, once, twice, three times, until she drops, and

I kneel on her fucking head as she screams.
With a ragged breath, I look up at the door, suspecting

it was the police who broke the door, but all I see is my

brother’s startled face, his body leaning against the wall.
“Trey! Thank God!” I shout. And then I watch him

sink to the floor, leaving a streak of red on the wall behind

him.

“Trey!” I scream again, but I can’t let up on the

girl. I move my free leg around and step hard on her arm

as she screams out in pain, screaming her hatred, calling

me a sick fag, calling me an abomination, telling me I

belong in hell. Telling me God hates me. Ben comes running to kick the gun away from the girl, and finally, finally, the police come.

It takes them a few minutes to sort out the good guys

from the bad, especially with the girl screaming at us. As

soon as they’ve got her, I crawl over a slippery floor to

Trey, where another cop is trying to talk to him, telling

him to stay awake, telling him help is on the way.

“Back off,” the cop says, holding his arm out to push

me back. “Give him some room.”

“He’s my brother,” I cry, my voice ragged, and the guy

lets me near him again. “Is he breathing?” Blood spurts

out from somewhere around his shoulder.

“Yes. What’s his name?”
“Trey. Trey Demarco.”
Within seconds the paramedics are there, assessing all

the injured, and I follow their gazes around the room, suddenly remembering Sawyer again in all of this. Two of the paramedics run to a girl who is lying against the back wall,

eyes glazed, holding her side as blood spills from between her

fingers, and I don’t want to see that, but I can’t look away.

On the other side of the room, the blond shooter gets

shoved to the floor and handcuffed, and the girl shooter

still hollers hate speech as she’s being held by two cops.

And then there’s Ben Galang, glasses knocked off, face

bleeding. Ben Galang, who almost surely should be dead,

reaching out and helping Sawyer to his feet.

There’s one more guy near the door who cries out,

trying to scrape himself along the floor, his foot bleeding

profusely.

That’s it. That’s all. Everybody else made it out.

I look at Sawyer as the paramedics take the girl with

the stomach wound away first, and then they load Trey

onto a stretcher. Sawyer stares back at me, his face as

stricken as mine feels. I turn to the paramedics. “He’s my

brother. Can I go with you?”
The paramedic looks at the cop, who nods. “Just her.”

“What hospital?” I ask.
“Down the street—to the UC ER. Let’s go.” They

hoist him up until the wheels click into place.
I check to make sure Sawyer hears it, and he nods. And

then, with tears in his eyes, he mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Later, after Trey has been wheeled into the ER, a doctor

checks me over. He gets an intern to cut my blood-soaked

cast off, and we decide there’s no reason to put a new one

on since I was getting it off later in the week anyway.

While I’m sitting there, the cops arrive to interview

me and the others who have trickled in. I tell them what

happened, my voice getting shaky all over again. “We

were sitting in chairs,” I begin, “and Ben was leading the

meeting. The girl and blond guy got up and pulled guns

out. My friend Sawyer and I both reacted—the shooters

were right in front of us so we saw them. The girl was

yelling hate speech against the LGBT students. I dove

for the girl’s legs to knock her off her feet. Her gun went

off a bunch of times . . . I’m not sure how many. I saw

that Sawyer had the other guy on the floor.” I tell them

how the girl got away from me and held the gun to Ben’s

head, and then how my brother burst in and broke the

glass in the door, and how that distracted the girl and Ben

punched her and she shot Trey instead.

And when they ask me how I knew to react so quickly,

I just look at them. “I don’t know,” I say. The cops seem

satisfied, and they’re gone before my parents arrive.

My parents.
Yeah.

Five things I don’t want to talk about:
1. Why the heck Trey and I were getting shot at
when our little sister was missing
2. Why we were clear on the other side of the city
when we were supposed to be grounded
3. How on earth their good son could be with them
one hour and shot in the arm the next
4. Why we want to give them so much grief, because
first the crash and then Rowan and now this
5. How that Angotti boy fits into all of this mess

And all I can think to say in response is “At least I

didn’t wreck the balls.”
They are not amused. But thankfully they have a lot of

other stuff on their minds.

And after the docs get a good look at Trey and fix him up,

they tell us we are very lucky, because the bullet passed

through the muscle of his arm and didn’t hit any bones

and barely nicked an artery. And while there may be some

nerve damage, he should regain full use after a few months.

They’re going to keep him here for a couple of days.

Once I get to see that Trey’s all right, I wonder where

Sawyer is. I leave Mom and Dad in Trey’s room and venture out to the waiting room. And there, either stupid or stoic, is the boy I love. The blood on his face is wiped

clean, and he has a couple of stitches on his forehead.

Sitting next to him are two guys. One I don’t recognize,

and the other is leaning forward with his face in his hands,

and I don’t realize who he is until he looks up. It’s Ben.

Sawyer stands up fast when he sees me. He looks me

all over. “You okay?”
I nod. I have some bruises, a few cuts, but that’s it.

“You?”
“Fine. How’s Trey?”
“Trey’s okay,” I say, and it’s clear by the look on

Sawyer’s face that he hadn’t heard anything yet. “I’m sorry,

I thought they’d tell you.”
“No.”
“Have you heard anything about the others?”
“They’re alive,” Sawyer says.
Ben glances at Sawyer with a puzzled look. “How do

you know?”
“I mean, I guess I don’t know,” Sawyer says, giving me

a look that says he really does. Because the vision changed,

I’m sure, like mine did, right there at the end. “But they

were alive when the paramedics took them. So I hope . . .”
Ben stands up and comes over to us. “Hey,” he says to

me. “I don’t know if you remember. I’m Ben Galang—”
“Freshman,” I say. “Just voted in as next year’s secretary.” I smile. “Your first charity event ever.”
Ben’s face crumbles, and I feel terrible. Because he

doesn’t know everybody lives. He doesn’t know how bad

it could have been.
“Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m stupid. I’m just a stupid

non-college student who is, um, stupid.”
He holds back his emotion, and then he says, “You

guys saved our lives.”
And you know what’s funny in a not-funny way? I

almost forgot that part, because I got so wrapped up in the

clues that none of the tragedy seems real. And I hate that

about me. Sawyer shrugs and says, “We just had the clearest view of what was happening.” He looks at me. “Gotta stay on your toes when you run with danger girl’s crowd.”
I squelch a smile. “You guys want to check on the others? I should get back to my family. See if I can get my parents to stop freaking out.”
Sawyer gives me a sympathetic smile, and then we

hold each other for a long minute, unable to talk about it

all right now, but both of us saying everything we can with

a kiss to a forehead and one to the lips.
When his arms stiffen, I turn around, and he lets me

go. My mother is there in the doorway. She shakes her

head and opens her mouth to speak, and then shakes her

head again, like she can’t believe my gall. And then she

closes her eyes and sighs heavily. “Hello, Sawyer,” she says.
“Hi, Mrs. Demarco.”
“You’re not too badly hurt?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Your parents . . .” She looks around.
“They’re not here.”
She nods, unable to hide her relief. “Well.”
“We were just leaving,” Sawyer says. He looks at Ben

and the other guy, who now rests his hand on Ben’s shoulder, and I wonder if he’s Ben’s boyfriend.
“I’d like to thank your son,” Ben says. “He saved my

life. He . . .” Ben stops talking.
“Now’s not a good time,” my mom says. “Tomorrow,

when Antonio isn’t here. That would be better.”
Ben nods. “I’ll come by. Thank you.”
My mother smiles grimly. “I’m glad you’re all okay.”
Sawyer and the others file out of the waiting room and

go down the hallway to the elevator. I look at my mother,

waiting for her to yell at me some more.
And all she says is “Your father told me you know

about his affair.”
It takes me a second to change gears. “Yeah,” I say. “I

do. I told him that.”
Her face is pained. “Do the others know? Trey and

Rowan?”
“No.”
She looks away. And then she says, “Do you know

where in New York Rowan is?” Her voice is broken and

weak for the first time, and I realize she’s trying to hide her

tears from me. “That’s all she’ll tell me.”
“Yes. She’s safe, Mom.”
She puts her hand to her eyes like a shield, a brim for

the tears, and she breaks down, unable to hold in her sobs.

And I stand there, scared, in shock, watching her cry for

the first time, and I don’t know what to do because we’re

not exactly a hugging family, and I don’t think she probably wants me to. So I watch her, dumb, cold, as she sobs into her hand. And I hate that. I hate myself for not hugging her. I hate that the Demarcos can yell like crazy but that’s the only emotion in our tiny repertoire of feelings

that we’re allowed to express.

Mom drives, and we ride in silence once Dad gets the clue

that I’m not speaking to him no matter what he says to

bait me. When we get home, I go straight to my room,

the only Demarco kid left, and I have no phone. No way

of talking to Trey or Rowan without my dad eavesdropping. No way of calling Sawyer without Dad checking the numbers, because he’s so controlling and paranoid. So all I

can do is lie on my bed in the dark, alone, and stare at the

flashing light that pulses on my wall, thinking about the

horrible event that happened today, and wondering why

I’m so fucking cold inside.

In the morning I grab my savings money, leave

a note for my parents telling them I’ll be with Trey all day

at the hospital, and head down the stairs. The sky is still

cloudy, but it’s not raining. I debate taking the delivery car,

but that’ll just piss my parents off more, so I’ll take the

bus. I descend the steps and go outside.

“Hey,” says a voice.

I whirl around, and there’s Sawyer standing next to

the back door. “You scared me,” I say. “Guess I’m a little

gun-shy.”

He cringes. “Too soon.”
I nod. I don’t know what my problem is—I feel like

I just finished playing a video game or something, like

everything that happened yesterday wasn’t real. And I

don’t know what’s wrong with me.

We walk to his car and get in. “Are your visions gone?”

“Completely. It’s insane.”
I laugh, and he frowns again. “It’s not funny.”

“I know.” On the seat is the newspaper, and on the

front page is a picture that looks familiar. I pick it up and

open the fold, and stare at the students in the quad outside

the door to Goodspeed Hall. In the foreground paramedics are loading somebody into an ambulance, and students’

faces are in agony. And then I read about it. The whole

story, plus some quotes from witnesses. “Two students—I

don’t know their names—they, like, tackled the shooters

and screamed for us all to run . . . and we did. We left them

there and we just ran.”

I read that there were two other injured students who

managed to make it out and down the elevator, and they

directed the police to the right place. And I read about a

guy who said, “some girl ran by me and shoved a note in

my hand that said call 911, so I did. I didn’t know her. I’d

never seen her before.”

I look up and realize we’re still sitting in the parking

lot, and I can’t read any more because tears are streaming

down my face. And I look at Sawyer and he’s crying too,

and he reaches over to me and he holds me and we cry

together for a very long time. And it’s real now. Suddenly

it’s really freaking crazy real.
That
happened. And we were

sitting right in the middle of it. And Trey could have died.

“You’re sure you’re not seeing any more visions?” I ask

after I’ve wiped my eyes and we’re on the road, heading

for the hospital.

“I’m sure. It’s gone.”

“Thank God. It’s really over.” But the relief I want to

feel isn’t coming.
He glances at me. “How did you decide to come

back?”
I’m not sure what he’s asking at first, but then I realize

what he means. “The girl with the gun—she got off the

bus I was going to get on, so I followed her. When did you

figure it out?”
“I ran into Ben in the quad as he was changing the

location. He recognized me from the day before and

asked where I lived. I told him I was still in high school

and checking out the campus for the weekend, thinking

about going there for college. I told him I thought what

he was doing was cool. He latched onto that and sort of

dragged me with him, but then I realized we were headed

for a music classroom. That’s when everything came

together. I tried calling you but you didn’t pick up. . . .

I figured you were on the bus asleep or something.” He

glances over his shoulder as we merge. “I’m sorry about

your phone. I never thought about you having it long

enough to run out of minutes. I guess I figured your parents would get you a new phone when you started doing deliveries again.”
“They made me take Rowan’s on the few times I did

deliveries.” I pause. “It’s my fault. I should have been keeping track of the minutes.” That was a dumb mistake, and I cringe to think about how it could have wrecked everything. “I almost freaked when I saw you sitting in that classroom. Wasn’t that strange to finally be there—to see

it?” I ask, remembering how it was when all of my crash

vision stuff fell into place.
“It was spooky and horrible.” He adjusts his hands on

the wheel and I notice his knuckles are all scraped up.
I think about all the things that could have happened.

“One of the reasons I feel so weirdly detached from this is

that I wasn’t seeing it like I was last time. I mean, this time

I was focused on the clues and figuring them out. I wasn’t

seeing body bags or dead students. I knew I had to trust

you and do whatever you said. And that was really hard at

first, but in the end, especially in those last seconds, I knew

that was the only way to go. You were, like, navigating, and

all I could do was listen and follow.” I glance over at him.

“And you did it.”
Sawyer sighs and puts his elbow up next to the window. He scratches his head and smooths his finger over his stitches. “No, I didn’t, Jules. That’s the problem. I didn’t

stop them. They still managed to hurt people. They still

managed to get attention for their hateful shit.”
I shift in my seat to look at him. “Sawyer, you don’t even

know what you’re saying. You saved almost a dozen lives!

You’re one guy, and you stopped this tragedy from being

major. I wish I could’ve stopped that truck before we hit

your building, or stopped it down the street before the guy

had the heart attack, and saved him. But we can’t do everything—the vision isn’t a total fix; it’s a chance to change a bad thing to something less bad. But there’s no guarantee

that everybody turns out fine. Come on, Sawyer,” I say, my

voice softening. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. The vision’s

gone. You did what you were supposed to do. Maybe . . .

maybe those people needed to go through that experience

in order to become the people they’re going to be, you

know? Maybe that experience triggers something inside of

them that will help them become great.”
“And maybe it’ll make them dependent on prescription drugs, or want to kill themselves.” His voice is bitter.
My mouth falls open. “Are you serious right now? You

think the vision gods, or whoever, gave us these chances

so we can end up watching the people we save turn into

drug addicts?”
“How the hell should
I
know?” he yells. “How the hell

do
you
know? Are you just rationalizing it to make yourself

feel better about almost getting killed?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing!” I shout back at him.

“I’m just trying to live my life and get through it, okay?

So what if I’m rationalizing. So what? At least I’m dealing

with this freak thing!”
“Just because it’s over doesn’t mean I’m ready to deal

with it!”
We’re both quiet for a long time. And then Sawyer

asks in a softer voice, “When we’re acting on a vision, do

you ever wonder if we’re invincible?”
And it’s so almost funny in a superhero cartoon sort of

way. But really, it’s not funny at all. Because I’ve thought

it too.