The Day We Got a Threat
I actually waited to write this until I knew school had passed without incident because I knew there were two ways this story could end: a threat that put the whole school on edge, or a tragedy with a slight forewarning.
It was a flipped schedule because we had an assembly at the end of the day. Nobody really knew what the assembly was for, except that the teachers had a meeting and they needed somewhere to put us. I'd already arranged to leave before the assembly because I had better things to do with my time.
On the bus in the morning was when I heard about the threat, but even then I didn't have all the information. Everyone had a different story and no one really knew what was going on. Someone had called the school saying that they would shoot it up. Someone was showing off their gun at practice last night. There was a drug deal going on in the library and all of them were armed. A million rumors floated around with the speed of a virus, but no one knew what was actually going on. But everyone was collectively terrified of getting shot at school.
There are, I believe, four stages to things like this: 1, figuring out what is happening; 2, jokes; 3, fear; 4, figuring out what to do. It was a rumor, and those are easily distorted. Like I said, nobody knew what was going on. People questioned how seriously they should take it and if they should even be at school. Teachers remained silent on the issue; they knew only as much as the kids did which, was to say, not a lot. There was a undertone of someone repeating, "everything's going to be fiiinnnneeeeee," in a long, condescending drawl, and a guns rights activist biting their tongue.
Then came the jokes. "*Hears shooter, runs into hallway* Take me!." "It's so aesthetically displeasing that this is happening the day before the 19th anniversary of Columbine. Like, one more day." "I hope they say nice things about me. You know, whenever this happens and everyone gets the little description, make mine nice." My class started singing the Mii Plaza song from the Wii.
Then came fear. What if this was serious? What would we do? Everyone went over the procedure for a lockdown: run, hide, fight; in that order. We planned to barricade the door then climb out the windows. This wasn't new knowledge: we'd been learning this since kindergarten. My teacher gave us the class off so we had nothing to occupy ourselves with. At one point, people rushed to the window, claiming that they saw someone. It probably didn't help that I was reading Shooter by Caroline Pignat which was, you guessed it, about a school shooting. The assembly was cancelled. More police showed up. They lined the hallways with bulletproof vests, hands on their holsters.
Next, what was everyone going to do. People called and texted their parents, asking if they could leave. Parents called the school and the students to find out all they could. An email was sent to the parents but not the students, leaving us further in the dark. I must repeat myself: nobody knew what was going on.
I ended up leaving after 4th period (the second in the day). That class was dedicated almost solely to finding a way to get home. Big carpools were organized, as long as you could get your parent to call the office. All absences were excused. People filed out of the classroom one by one.
In order to leave school, one must sign out at the subschool. There is one for each grade, a small office tucked into the locker bay. When I arrived to sign myself out, it was already full to bursting. The phone was ringing off the hook as students tried to get through to the paper. The lady at the desk took students phones to talk to their parents because the school phone was getting too many calls and was made before Alexander Graham Bell was even born. The table was lined with notes with permission to leave. If you could find your name, you could sign yourself out, and you could go. Usually when signing out, you have to put a reason. Towards the beginning of the sheet, there were excuses such as appointment or doctor's. Later, it turned into things like personal or family reasons. After that, reasons such as 'we outta here' and 'ain't gettin' shot today' graced the page. At the bottom, there were no more excuses. Everyone knew why you were leaving.
And I was out. The main entrance was crowded with people waiting for their rides to arrive. I imagined the gunman walking past, shooting whoever was nearby. I no longer had the safety of a classroom, and I couldn't wait to get out of there.
Eventually, the day passed without incident. Everyone was fine and even though at the end of the day, significantly fewer students rode the bus home than did in the morning, it was for a better reason.
Everything was cleared up later in the day. They really were just rumors. But for a morning, it could've been real.
It was a flipped schedule because we had an assembly at the end of the day. Nobody really knew what the assembly was for, except that the teachers had a meeting and they needed somewhere to put us. I'd already arranged to leave before the assembly because I had better things to do with my time.
On the bus in the morning was when I heard about the threat, but even then I didn't have all the information. Everyone had a different story and no one really knew what was going on. Someone had called the school saying that they would shoot it up. Someone was showing off their gun at practice last night. There was a drug deal going on in the library and all of them were armed. A million rumors floated around with the speed of a virus, but no one knew what was actually going on. But everyone was collectively terrified of getting shot at school.
There are, I believe, four stages to things like this: 1, figuring out what is happening; 2, jokes; 3, fear; 4, figuring out what to do. It was a rumor, and those are easily distorted. Like I said, nobody knew what was going on. People questioned how seriously they should take it and if they should even be at school. Teachers remained silent on the issue; they knew only as much as the kids did which, was to say, not a lot. There was a undertone of someone repeating, "everything's going to be fiiinnnneeeeee," in a long, condescending drawl, and a guns rights activist biting their tongue.
Then came the jokes. "*Hears shooter, runs into hallway* Take me!." "It's so aesthetically displeasing that this is happening the day before the 19th anniversary of Columbine. Like, one more day." "I hope they say nice things about me. You know, whenever this happens and everyone gets the little description, make mine nice." My class started singing the Mii Plaza song from the Wii.
Then came fear. What if this was serious? What would we do? Everyone went over the procedure for a lockdown: run, hide, fight; in that order. We planned to barricade the door then climb out the windows. This wasn't new knowledge: we'd been learning this since kindergarten. My teacher gave us the class off so we had nothing to occupy ourselves with. At one point, people rushed to the window, claiming that they saw someone. It probably didn't help that I was reading Shooter by Caroline Pignat which was, you guessed it, about a school shooting. The assembly was cancelled. More police showed up. They lined the hallways with bulletproof vests, hands on their holsters.
Next, what was everyone going to do. People called and texted their parents, asking if they could leave. Parents called the school and the students to find out all they could. An email was sent to the parents but not the students, leaving us further in the dark. I must repeat myself: nobody knew what was going on.
I ended up leaving after 4th period (the second in the day). That class was dedicated almost solely to finding a way to get home. Big carpools were organized, as long as you could get your parent to call the office. All absences were excused. People filed out of the classroom one by one.
In order to leave school, one must sign out at the subschool. There is one for each grade, a small office tucked into the locker bay. When I arrived to sign myself out, it was already full to bursting. The phone was ringing off the hook as students tried to get through to the paper. The lady at the desk took students phones to talk to their parents because the school phone was getting too many calls and was made before Alexander Graham Bell was even born. The table was lined with notes with permission to leave. If you could find your name, you could sign yourself out, and you could go. Usually when signing out, you have to put a reason. Towards the beginning of the sheet, there were excuses such as appointment or doctor's. Later, it turned into things like personal or family reasons. After that, reasons such as 'we outta here' and 'ain't gettin' shot today' graced the page. At the bottom, there were no more excuses. Everyone knew why you were leaving.
And I was out. The main entrance was crowded with people waiting for their rides to arrive. I imagined the gunman walking past, shooting whoever was nearby. I no longer had the safety of a classroom, and I couldn't wait to get out of there.
Eventually, the day passed without incident. Everyone was fine and even though at the end of the day, significantly fewer students rode the bus home than did in the morning, it was for a better reason.
Everything was cleared up later in the day. They really were just rumors. But for a morning, it could've been real.
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