Page 53 of The Lies Always Told (Baker Oaks #4)

TWENTY-FOUR

RED

Mad World by Pentatonix ; Everybody Hurts by Glee Cast ; Already Gone by Sleeping At Last

Nellie

“CODE RED – LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT. IMMEDIATE THREAT DETECTED.”

My stomach drops. What the fuck? My breath catches in my throat. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

From my spot near the front desk, I see Ms. Laura freeze for a second but then quickly retreat from her desk and walk inside, her walkie-talkie in one hand and her phone in the other.

She reaches for the landline, her fingers shaking as she dials.

She says something, but I can’t hear what.

I just see her lips moving, her eyes tearing up, and her head bobbing up and down as she listens attentively to instructions.

Outside the glass doors of the main office, the hallways empty in seconds.

Teachers pull students into classrooms, doors slamming shut, and the curtains behind them get pulled down.

The panic is there just for a moment before everyone goes into action.

Then there’s me, standing here, not remembering any of my training.

“Nellie, honey, come on,” Ms. Laura whispers, holding my hand and walking me to the teacher lounge next to the principal’s office, where she shoves me inside and closes the door behind us. “Do you have your phone? There was a message sent on Raptor.”

“It’s in my office. What’s going on?” I ask. If I didn’t know I was actually moving my lips and replying to her, I wouldn’t recognize the sad, fragile voice that just came out.

“There’s a threat at Baker High, not here. However, we don’t have a lot of information other than the police are en route there, and considering we’re less than two miles from each other, we had to go on lock down too. Are you okay, though?”

Okay? Who could ever be okay during a lockdown?

We practice drills every month. We did them when I was in school, and we already practiced our first one of the school year this month.

We practice so muscle memory is activated in the case it might actually happen.

We practice so we can tell our brain everything will be fine, and we know exactly what to do.

Well, my brain is not wired that way. It’s totally the opposite.

I froze. What if we had an active assailant at school?

Would I have freaked out and been unable to move?

What if I was responsible for kids? Would they have been safe with me? I froze. I froze.

“Breathe, sweetie. Nobody’s here. It’s not here, I promise.” Not here. Not here. Wait? At the high school?

“What’s going on at the high school?” I ask, searching for an answer in her eyes.

She looks around the room before holding my gaze, and this is the first time I notice there are more people in this room.

They’re all sitting where they’re supposed to, the safest place in every room, the windowless corner, waiting .

“I don’t know,” she replies. I twist the fidget ring Gus gave me until it’s practically digging into my skin. It’s too much. This is too much. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Breathe, Nellie. Breathe. This is just another lockdown. There’s not a threat at our school. This is a precaution, not a threat. Just a precaution. Breathe in and out. In and out. The world is closing in around me. Quick. Quick. Quick.

The door jiggles, but it’s locked, so nobody comes in.

The footsteps outside fade, leaving us back in silence.

I walk to the chair in the back corner, careful not to run into anything in the darkness of the room, and sit down.

I’m going to break protocol, and I don’t care right now.

I slide my finger over the screen on my watch and open my text thread with Cara.

Me:

I’m okay but code red. U?

Sis:

Yellow for us. What’s going on?

Me:

Something at the high school. G2g. We’ll talk later.

Sis:

I love you.

Me:

I love you too.

I bring my knees up and lay my head on them, breathing slowly and evening out my breaths. This day keeps getting worse and worse. First, the headache and the memories from last night, then Cody… Cody . Oh no, holy shit.

“I need Principal Davis here, now,” I tell Ms. Laura.

She hesitates at first, but there must be something behind my eyes that tells her I mean it.

She picks up her walkie-talkie and calls him.

The seconds feel like minutes, and the minutes feel like hours, but eventually, he’s here.

He walks in, masking what I’m sure are nerves with a straight face and relaxed shoulders.

How many of these events do you have to go through to act so unbothered?

How many fires do you have to put out before you’re not afraid of the flames?

“Ms. Thompson, you wanted to see me?”

I get up from the cold spot keeping me safe, or as safe as one can feel in this situation. “I need to report something.”

His eyes open wide, and he nods. He walks me out of the teacher lounge into his office, and I tell him everything.

Even if I think it’s insignificant, I tell him.

Even if I don’t think something’s going on with Cody, I tell him.

That gut feeling means I have to. That fear that he might not be okay means I should.

So, I tell him. The words spill out of me like water from a cracked dam.

Once I start, I can’t stop. My voice shakes, catches on certain words, but I don’t hold anything back.

Every interaction, every word Cody said, I repeat, trying to do it justice in case there’s something here that means something.

Mr. Davis listens, his face still unreadable, but I can see the way his fingers twitch slightly, the way his jaw tightens.

He’s good at this—masking whatever thoughts are running through his head.

I wonder if he’s heard worse. I wonder if this is just another problem on his long list of things to handle today.

Does he think I’m stupid? This is clearly stupid.

The air in the office is heavy, suffocating.

The dim fluorescent light above hums softly, flickering just enough to be distracting.

The walls, lined with bookshelves and framed certificates, seem to shrink, pressing in on me from all sides.

My hands are clammy, gripping the edge of my chair like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

I twist the ring so hard, my finger slips, and my nail digs into my skin.

I freeze. I can’t. I can’t start now, or I won’t be able to stop it.

How can I use any breathing technique not to spiral out of control when the reality is worse than my thoughts right now?

A real code red. A real code red. Not a drill. Not training. Something’s happening.

Principal Davis exhales slowly when I finally stop talking. I’m still drowning in it—the guilt, the fear, the unbearable weight of it all.

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands together on the desk. “Okay,” he says, his voice measured. “I need to call the police.”

I nod, unable to speak. I had a feeling it would come to this. He does as he said, and after saying just some of it, he nods and then hangs up.

“They’re on their way,” he says. His eyes soften, just a little. “I know this isn’t easy. But I need every detail so we can handle this the right way.” I knew it, but somehow, thinking I knew what would happen and what actually happened are two very different things.

“What’s going on at the high school?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me anything. I need to know.

“There’s not much I can say, but I can tell you this. The threat has been identified and handled.”

“What do you mean by handled?” I ask again. What was the threat? What can they tell me?

“I can’t say more. I’m sorry.”

I blink once, twice, and then it feels like, suddenly, there is another man in front of me.

This one wears a navy blue uniform, asking me questions muffled by the loud thumping in my head.

I blink again, and it may sound clearer, but my head is still foggy thinking about it all.

It doesn’t stop me from actually hearing him this time, though.

“I’m going to need you to go over everything one more time, slowly,” the police officer says.

The words sit heavy in the air, but I nod again.

My stomach twists, the feeling of drowning pulling me down further.

There’s no going back now. Whatever happens next is out of my control.

All I can do is tell him everything I know.

A mandatory reporter, that’s what I am, even if I have no clue what’s actually happening.

I can give the details of what I do know.

Were the notes his? The poem? The pieces of paper shredding my heart to pieces because they were conveying so much meaning? Is this what he was referring to? Oh, God. How long has this kid been showing signs, and I missed them all?

Time passes by naturally, as it always does.

Time doesn’t shift, because I’m losing my mind.

Time doesn’t change just because I feel like I might both throw up or pass out at any moment.

Time passes until they’re about to lift the code red and dismiss the students one at a time.

No walking home, no buses, nothing. Parents have to come pick up the children at the office.

It will take hours, but this is what they’ve decided.

This is what’s best. Nobody has told me or anyone else what happened.

A door opens down the hallway, and two police officers escort Cody out. I keep my head low; maybe if I don’t see him, he won’t see me. But it’s too late—he already has.

“You told them! You told them! You said you were a safe space, but you told them!” he screams at me. I am a safe space, buddy, but if your life is in danger, I have to say something. If others are in danger, I have to say something. Things I want to say but can’t, because I’m just frozen in place.

He’s trying to walk to me, but the police stop him. He’s not handcuffed, so he’s not in trouble, so why is he so upset? Why are they taking him? Can’t speak. Can’t reply. Can’t say anything.

“What did you do, Ms. Thompson? You might as well have killed me yourself,” he screams again. This time, the taller police officer, one I’ve never seen before, grabs him by the arm and practically drags him out of the school into a police car .

“Please keep him safe!” I finally shout while someone holds me back. “Please…” I break into sobs. “Keep him safe.” Cody and the police officer look back, but where the police officer shows me sympathy, Cody shows me anger.

“Please.” Another broken sob. Another silent prayer.

I fall onto my knees and cry. A soft hand pats my back, and by the time I look up, they’re gone.

Time passes, and I stand with my arms wrapped around my body.

My nails dig into my skin. I keep counting lines on the tile until I can breathe again, until everyone’s gone.

The hallway is silent again, and the code red is lifted.

Four hours later, all the students have been dismissed, and we, the staff, are sent home.