How To Save A Life

Chapter Twenty-Three

Matt and I were in my room, going over and rearranging some shooting plans. I sat at my desk, working on the planning in a notebook while Matt laid on my bed, reading one of my weapon books from my shelf. I was trying to figure out how I would place the bombs in the library without making anyone suspicious as to why Matt and I were carrying two bags to the same location. I put my pen down when I finally realized what to do.

"I got it!" I said making Matt look up from the book and over at me.

"You got what?" Matt asked.

"I may have figured out how we'll place the bombs in the library. The library opens to students at 7:20 and students start showing up about ten minutes later. Maybe if we go in there with them and act like we're there to study, we could pull it off. We will stand up at separate times and pretend that we are leaving our things to go to the bathroom or something. Hopefully, no one decides to check the bags. You understand all that?"

Matt nodded and closed the book, placing it beside him. "I get it. Just act like we belong in the setting?"

I snapped my fingers. "Exactly." I clapped my hands and turned back to the plans. "I can't wait. This is so exciting."

Matt sat up and grabbed the unloaded gun he had lying beside him. He was using it as he read the book on how to assemble a gun. "How should I shoot myself? Temple?" He asked and pointed the gun at the side of his head. "Or roof?" He pretended to pointed the gun in his mouth.

I picked up my notebook with the plans in it and spun in my chair to fully face Matt. "Shooting in the roof of your mouth is an instant death. That's what I'll be doing."

He nodded and placed the gun on the bed. "Then roof it is." He was silent for a moment. "That poem for class, what's yours about?"

"Death and life," I said in a calm tone. "It's about me drowning."

"Wow," He whistled. "That's pretty dark."

"The assignment was to write a poem with a real story behind it. What is more real about my life than death?" I stopped for a moment and spun in circles with my chair. "What's yours about?"

"My dog."

I tried to hide my laugh. "What grade are you in? Kindergarten?"

"I'm trying to hide my pain unlike you."

I clapped my hands and stopped spinning to look at him. "Have you had any thoughts about what the shooting would look like and where we'll decide to kill ourselves?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. I can especially see those jocks lying dead on the ground."

I chuckled. "Kingston High School will be non-existent when we're done there." I grabbed a pipe bomb that was lying on my desk and started flipping it in my hand. "God, I can't wait."

***

The class waited patiently in their desks while our teacher, Ms. Davis was taking attendance before class. Our poems were due today and she was making us read them to the class which I wasn't looking forward to. This is judgement waiting to happen.

"Okay," Ms. Davis said and stood up from her desk, standing in front of us all. "We'll be going in alphabetical order. Starting with Mikayla Andrews.

The class turned to where Mikayla was sitting and we all watched as she proudly walked up to the front of the room.

"When you're ready, Mikayla," Ms. Davis said and took a seat at her desk.

The class focused on Mikayla as she started reading: