Gone, Gone, Gone by Hannah Moskowitz

Author:Hannah Moskowitz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

LIO

I’M IN HISTORY ON MONDAY WHEN MY CELL PHONE starts buzzing. Luckily, we’re in the middle of a rousing conversation about Rochambeau, so no one hears it vibrate in my pocket.

At that moment, we hear the bing of our teacher’s email, and he goes to his desk and checks it. He frowns, but he doesn’t tell us anything.

The buzz and the bing are connected. I know it immediately.

I fake a sneeze and duck into the hallway to fake-blow my nose.

I check my phone. Michelle.

She’s already sobbing when my phone connects to hers. She doesn’t even wait for me to say hi and then start crying. That’s when I realize it’s real.

I say, “Are you okay?”

And she says, “Thiskidgotshotoutsidemyschool.” And then she’s sobbing again. My sister. “H-he got shot.”

“What?”

“My friend saw it, j-just outside. He j-just . . . he was about to go inside—”

She’s okay. She’s okay. It wasn’t her. I still can’t breathe. “Holy shit, Michelle. Holy . . . Oh, God, God, fuck.”

She mews. “Th-they’re going to make me hang up in a second, we’re on lockdown.”

“Okay. Okay. You called Dad, right?”

I can hear her brush against the speaker of the phone a few times. She’s nodding. “He’s o-on his way.”

“You’re safe. You’re safe? There are adults with you?”

“Yes.” She sniffles.

“Okay. You . . . don’t do anything stupid, okay? Stay safe until Dad gets there. Stay safe after Dad gets there!”

I let her hang up first.

I should call Dad. I want to. But he doesn’t need to worry about me right now. All my sisters are probably attacking him with calls, or they will as soon as they recognize the name of Michelle’s school. Maybe I should call Veronica, my middle sister? She’s six years older than me, but she always reads my papers before I turn them in, and she’s good at softball, and boys like her. Would she be good at this?

He told us our children were safe at school.

My lungs are tightening up.

He told us they were safe.

My teacher sticks his head into the hallway and says, “Lio.”

I’m standing here holding my phone. He could give me detention. I expect him to at least take my phone away.

He says, “Back to class, now, okay?”

My tongue feels too heavy for my mouth. I nod and follow him back inside the classroom, but I don’t know if I’m going to stay or if I’m going to get my things and run.

They’ve rolled out the TV, and everyone’s crowded around watching the news. There’s the outside of my sister’s school. There’s a reporter, and her hair is perfect. There’s the police chief, and he’s crying.

He’s crying.

He’s our police chief, and he’s crying.

I need to get out of here. I need to get to my sister.

I’m fully willing to fake an entire string of sneezes to get out of this class, but the bell goes off as I’m gathering my stuff. Everyone mills around, mumbling to each other. Thirteen years old. How did this happen?

How the fuck do they think it happened? Exactly the same as the ones who weren’t thirteen.

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