BROKEN 

tw: school shooting

PROLOUGE 

9:11 am 

I looked at the clock. There had been no sounds for almost two minutes.

“Okay, okay, okay” I whispered to myself, heart pounding in my chest. “What do I do now?”

I looked at the twenty-three faces looking back at me, waiting for me to do something. Waiting for me to save them. I felt sick.

The pre-recorded message started again:

“ATTENTION. THE SCHOOL IS IN LOCK-DOWN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. STAY IN YOUR CLASSROOMS. LOCK YOUR DOORS. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” 

We sat on the floor of the darkened classroom, waiting — waiting to be saved, or waiting to die. We didn’t know which. 

The classroom doorknob jiggled ... 

6:59 am 

I opened my right eye, and looked at my alarm clock. One minute early, I thought. Maybe I could go back to sleep for the next sixty seconds, before my alarm went off. Instead, I turned off my alarm so that it wouldn’t wake my husband, Barry, who was sleeping soundly beside me. He had been a police officer, and had retired last October — ergo, the sleeping in. I only had to work until the end of June, and then I would be retiring and joining him in his life of relaxation and recreation. I sighed. Three more months.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my job. I did. It was the greatest job in the world. I loved teaching high school. It was everything else that made teaching less than appealing — helicopter parents, sycophant principals, the school board. I thought about the next couple of months, and realized that, yup, it was time to retire. And, it was also time to get moving, or I’d be late for school. 

7:38 am 

Adam waited until he heard his mom leave the house for work. He went to his closet, and pulled out his gym bag. It was heavier than it should have been. He placed it on the bed, unzipped it, and looked inside. Everything that he needed was in the bag. Now, he just had to screw up his courage, and do what he had to do. 

8:16 am 

I arrived at school and headed to my classroom. I thought about my period one, Grade 11 Social Science class, as I got ready for class. They were, for the most part, a great bunch of kids. There were a few attendance issues, and a couple of students with attitude. But, all in all, a great class. 

I was thinking about today’s lesson, when Jemma Sanders came into the classroom, and dropped her books on her desk. 

“You’re early,” I said to her, smiling. 

“Yeah. My mom dropped me off.” Jemma was one of my attendance kids. She was very smart, but didn’t feel that she needed to actually attend class to understand what was going on. I could almost agree with her. She was that clever. 

I had a sneaking suspicion that her mom had dropped her off this morning to ensure that she actually made it to school — she was never this early. 

“Do you have your assignment that was due last week?” 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished.” 

“I’m handing it back today, so I need you to finish it before class starts. You can work here if you want.” 

Before she could answer me, her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID and rolled her eyes. Reluctantly she answered the phone. 

“What?” 

I could hear the buzzing of the other person’s voice through the phone’s handset. 

“Yes. I am.” More buzzing. “I AM SO ... Fine, I’m putting the phone on speaker, and you can speak to Mrs. Blankenship” 

Jemma switched her phone to speaker, and handed it to me. 

“Hello. This is Tess Blankenship.”

“This is Marj Saunders, Jemma’s mother. I’m just checking to make sure that she’s at school today.” 

“She is. As a matter of fact, she was just finishing up an assignment that’s due today.” Jemma gave me stink eye, which I ignored.

“Good to know. If she doesn’t come to class, for any reason, can you call me on my cell, please. The school ... “ 

“MOM!” 

“ ... has my number.”

“I will do that.”

“Thank you.”

I handed the phone back to Jemma, who took it off speaker, and started telling her mother how much everything she said sucked. I took the opportunity to head to my department office to get myself a cup of tea before morning classes started. 

8:24 am 

Jemma sat in the classroom, working on her assignment. Her phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was from her best friend, Lydia. 

Lydia: Where are you? 

Jemma: Mrs. B’s class, finishing my assignment. 

Mom drove me to school early to make sure I went. 

Lydia: :( 

Something’s going on. I'm not coming to class. 

Jemma: What's happening? 

Lydia: Don’t know.

Something’s to do with the Senior Boys’ Basketball team. 

Jemma: With Adam St. Jean? 

Lydia: Yeah. 

Shit online about jumping him and beating him bad. 

Jemma: When?

Lydia: At lunch.

Jemma: Assholes. 

Lydia: Yeah. 

They think he squealed and now he’s gonna pay. 

Jemma: He didn’t squeal!

Lydia: I know. 

Sounds like some scary shit’s gonna happen. I’m going home.

Come with? 

Jemma: Can’t. 

The Momster told Mrs. B to call her if I wasn't in class.

Lydia: :( 

K. Later. 

 Jemma: Later. 

Jemma was worried about Adam. What they were going to do to him wasn’t right. She picked up her phone and texted him. 

Jemma: They’re after you. 

Adam: I saw it online. 

Jemma: They’re going to jump you at lunch. 

It’s gonna be bad. Worse than the hazing.

Jemma waited for Adam’s response. 

Adam: Don’t go to school today.

There were no more texts from Adam. 

8:58 am 

The last stragglers wandered into class right before the bell. Jemma came up to my desk and handed me her assignment. She looked worried, a look that wasn’t usually found on her face. Jemma was usually self-assured and confident. 

“Thanks Jemma,” I said, taking her paper. “Is everything okay?” 

She looked at me, and blinked, fear pulling the skin tight across her forehead and mouth. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, let’s go out into the hall.” I walked with her out into the hall.

“What’s up?”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘wrong’?”

“I think something’s gonna happen today at school.”

“Can you tell me what you think is going to happen?”

She looked at me, eyes wide with fear. “It’s about Adam St. Jean.”

My mind flashed back to earlier this month. Adam had been found unconscious in the boys’ change room, and had been rushed to the hospital. Initially, he claimed that he had slipped and whacked his head on the floor, knocking himself out. 

Then the video was uploaded, showing Adam being beaten and sexually assaulted. The police were called. Adam denied that anything had happened. He said it wasn’t him. He said that he didn’t know anything about what was in the video. And he stuck to his story.

But the video showed enough of the faces of the players who had assaulted Adam, and they were brought in for questioning, and the police investigated. The students responsible for assaulting Adam were arrested. Currently, they were out on bail.

But at our school, nothing happened. The players involved in the assault were still in class, the senior boys’ basketball team continued to play games. At an emergency staff meeting our feckless principal claimed that it was unfair to penalize the team — the investigation was still active, there had been no trial, and no one had been found guilty. The team coach, John Pinzer, had the audacity to suggest that it was really just boys being boys, and we should support our team. 

I was outraged. It was 2021 — how could this mindset be tolerated? Who was supporting Adam St. Jean? 

Adam had spent four days in the hospital, but his physical injuries weren’t the worst of it. His life become a living hell. The Internet trolls had come out in force, telling him that he should die, calling him a faggot, telling him he got what he deserved. They blamed him for trying to ruin the team. They said he was a bitch for ratting his teammates out to the cops. 

It had been brutal. There had been death threats. His locker had been vandalized — a dead rat was found nailed to the front of it. He had changed schools, but the cyber bullying had continued, and got so bad that his parents were considering moving away. My heart ached for Adam and the injustice of what had happened to him. 

“Is he okay?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. Someone told me that the guys who attacked him were going to find him today and hurt him really bad. I texted Adam and told him what I heard, to warn him.”

She looked at me, and started to cry. “He told me not to go to school today.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I tried to text him back, but he wouldn’t respond. I’m really, really scared.” 

I couldn’t tell her that I was scared as well. I was afraid for Adam, and I was afraid of what he might do, having been pushed to the edge. 

“Jemma, we have to call the police.” 

Her eyes widened. “NO! No, we can’t. I don’t want Adam to get in trouble.” 

“Jemma, you don’t want him to hurt anyone, do you? And I know you don’t want him to get hurt either, right?” She shook her head, tears still streaming down her face. “We need to call the police so that they can find Adam, and make sure that he’s okay.” I looked at Jemma. “Trust me, Jemma, I want to help Adam.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“Okay.”

I gave her a wan smile. “Thank you. Let’s go to the office, and ....”

Suddenly, the PA system boomed: 

“ATTENTION. THE SCHOOL IS IN LOCK-DOWN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. STAY IN YOUR CLASSROOMS. LOCK YOUR DOORS. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” 

“Oh my God.” It was happening.

I turned, grabbing Jenna by the arm, and darted back into the classroom. Trying to be calm, I said to the class, “Okay everyone, we’re in lockdown. You know what to do. Turn off your phones, or put them on silent. Everyone behind the front desk, sitting on the floor. 

I looked at my class, their fear palpable, radiating at me. They were terrified. I was terrified.

“Please, no talking.” I locked the door, covered the window in the door, and turned off the lights. We sat and waited. 

9:03 am 

I phoned the police from the back of the my classroom. I told them what I knew about Adam St. Jean, and the threat that had been made towards him. I also told them what he had said to Jemma about not coming to school today. They told me to stay calm.

9:04 am 

Jemma took her phone out of her pocket, and texted her Mom. 

Jemma: I’m so scared. 

Marj: What's the matter?

Jemma: We’re in lockdown.

Marj: What's going on? 

Jemma: I think Adam is at the school.

I think he’s going to shoot people.

Marj: Oh my God. Jemma. 

Jemma: It's all my fault. 

I told him that the guys who hurt him were going to jump him today at lunch. 

Marj: It’s not your fault.

You were trying to protect him. He's your friend. 

Jemma: I don’t want to die. 

Marj: Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’ll be okay. Stay strong.

Jemma: I love you guys. 

9:06 am 

We heard shots down the hall. Whatever control the kids had, disappeared. There were screams, and sobbing. 

“Guys, you have to be really quiet. Please.” I whispered urgently.

“Were those gunshots?” Jake, one of the boys, asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I looked around the group huddled on the floor. “Please be quiet. This is the real thing. We have to be quiet.”

A few phones started dinging — texts. Probably from worried parents and friends.

“Text your families and let them know this is happening. But please put your phones on silent. We have to be as quiet as possible.” 

I looked at my class. They were scared, really scared. I thought of my family.

With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket, and texted my family through group chat — Barry my husband, Will and Katie, our twins.

Tess: Our school is in lockdown.

I’m in my classroom with my students.

Barry: Is there an active shooter in the school right now? 

Tess: Yes. And I'm scared. I don't know what to do.

Barry: Look for something to defend yourself with.

Don't be a target. 

Tess: K. 

Will: MOM! WTF! What's going on? Tell me you're lying. 

Tess: I can’t do that sweetie. It’s for reals. 

Katie: I love you, Mom. Be careful!  

Tess: I will. I've got to go. 

Katie: MOM! IT’S GONNA BE OKAY! 

Tess: I just want to tell you that I love you all.

You’re the best family EVER. xoxo 

I closed my phone, and wiped my eyes. I got up and looked around the classroom. What could we use to defend ourselves? We made our classrooms child- and teenager-proof. There was nothing here. 

Suddenly, more shots, closer.

“They’re coming” said Farrah, one of the students.

I looked at her. “Who is coming?”

“Help. I hear the sirens.”

She was right. I could hear sirens getting louder, closer to the school. Would they get here in time?

I looked around the room once again. I spotted a small, round rock that I used for a paperweight on my desk. I picked it up. I turned to the class. “I need a sock.” 

9:11 am 

The classroom doorknob jiggled ... then it jiggled again. 

“Sock! I need a sock! Right now!” I whispered urgently.

Beau, one of the quieter kids in the class, slipped off his shoe, and took off his sock. It was an ankle sock. 

“I need something longer. PLEASE! NOW!” I hissed.

Leah, my Goth student, untied her Doc Marten, and pulled off her sock. It caught me by surprise. Here was the toughest looking girl in the class, and she had on pink unicorn knee socks under her ripped, black, chained, safety-pinned, don’t-give-a-shit, clothes. 

She looked at me. “Whatever,” was all she said when she handed my the sock, and put on her boot again. I thanked her. 

“Everyone, get behind the desk, and stay there until I say otherwise.” I ran to the back of the room, and grabbed the rock from off of my desk. I put it in the sock, and went to stand in the little alcove beside the window at the back of the room. I would be invisible to anyone who came into the room unless they turned around. 

A deafening shot sounded right outside the door, and the glass window exploded. There were screams from the front of the room. A hand snaked through, grabbed the door knob, and turned. The door opened, and Adam St. Jean stepped into the classroom, his back to me. The room went deathly quiet, every eye riveted on him. Almost as one, my students skittered farther away from him. 

He was carrying a long barrelled gun at his side. He faced the front of the classroom, and started to raise his gun.

Suddenly, Jemma jumped up, and screamed, “Don’t hurt him!” 

Adam froze as he recognized Jemma. He looked at her, confused. His moment of hesitation allowed me the opportunity to to act. 

“Forgive me,” I said out loud, as I swung the rock at the side of Adam’s head. He stopped dead in his tracks, his hands dropped to his sides, and after an agonizing few seconds, he fell forward, on the floor. The gun clattered from his hand. 

“Holy shit Mrs. Blankenship!” asked Leah, incredulously. “Did you kill him?” 

“I don’t know,” I replied.

EPILOGUE 

Adam wasn’t dead. But three others were — all part of the gang that had attacked him in the locker room. 

Police found a note that Adam had left in his bedroom saying he attacked the school to get the guys before they got him, and that he wanted to die — suicide by cop. It was a terrifying end to a sad story. 

Adam St. Jean was broken.