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The two girls are each kneeling down on one knee, the two guys standing with their feet wide apart. They are all facing me. But here’s the freaky part: They are all pointing their hands at me, their index fingers aimed like the barrel of a pistol. All four “shooters” make that dumbass bullet-firing sound.
Puh-kuh. Puh-kuh.Loud. Very loud.Puh-kuh.
They fake shoot. Then they fake shoot some more. Occasionally one of them will bend his arm up, then snap it down and resume shooting. They seem to think that this is particularly clever. They laugh as they pull this move.
They are so totally enjoying themselves. And I hate myself for actually being scared. It’s absurd. Stupid big kids acting like stupid little kids playing cops and robbers.
Then I suddenly hear a very loud voice.
“What the hell are you guys doing?”
I turn my head to see who’s yelling.
It could be one of the assistant principals. Or a teacher. Or Coach Hassim.
But it turns out to be way better than any of those people. It turns out that it’s my good friend Cedric. All 175 pounds of my good friend Cedric. His face is turned way up to very mean and very angry. He’s wearing his XXL Army surplus jacket, and his left hand is patting some bulging, bulky item in that jacket.
Looks like the question—What are you doing?—is going to go unanswered as a few nervous seconds go by.
“Just having fun with the cop kid,” one of the girls finally says. She acts like this is no big deal. She pretends that she doesn’t care that someone caught them, but the other three—they’re nervous. Suddenly, they don’t look like they’re having as much fun. They even put down their “weapons,” sort of.
“You know what? It doesn’t look to me like the cop kid is having fun,” says Cedric.
By now, the hallway is busy and a few kids start to crowd around. But I know they don’t want to get too involved, in case this little scene grabs a teacher’s attention. I know if I was passing by this spectacle, I would definitely move on. But I can’t really do that now, can I? So I’m not too surprised when I see everyone glance at us and then keep walking. The only face in the crowd I actually recognize is Gabe’s, and he stands on the edge of the action.
“Hey, man, we were joking, you know, joking around,” says the guy who was in the boys’ room with me. He’s trying to stay tough, but I get the sense, deep down, that his “chicken” is showing. Cedric keeps patting his side pocket.
“Yeah, well. Why don’t you just leave Ali alone,” says Cedric. I watch—we all watch—as Cede now slips his hand into his pocket.
Cedric speaks again.
“Who the hell are you guys, anyway?”
There’s no answer.
We’re all waiting (and I’m privately saying a thank-you prayer for Cedric), but before anything else happens the school emergency siren goes off—piercing, ugly. The loudspeaker comes on:
“PLEASE RETURN TO THE NEAREST CLASSROOM OR FACULTY ROOM. STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO REMAIN IN THE HALLWAYS OR STAIRWELLS. PLEASE RETURN TO THE NEAREST CLASSROOM. TEACHERS AND SECURITY WILL PATROL ALL HALLS AND STAIRWELLS.”
The four strangers take off. Fast. I watch them all reach the closest fire exit door. A very loud fire alarm begins to beep. And as the gang of four run through the door, one of the guys turns and shoots the last couple of imaginary bullets at me. Now, in addition to the beeping fire alarm, the loudspeaker repeats:
“PLEASE RETURN TO THE NEAREST CLASSROOM.…”
Then it’s all over. No more siren. No more fire alarm. No more announcements.
“Who the hell were those jokers?” Gabe asks.
“Fools. Just fools,” Cedric says.
“I hope that’sallthey were,” says Gabe.
Okay, the noise has stopped. Two security guards and a few teachers come into the hall.
A new loudspeaker announcement informs us that “THE EMERGENCY HAS ENDED. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR CLASSROOMS IMMEDIATELY.”
“I bet those four aren’t even from our school,” says Gabe. “No wonder they ran out through the side entrance.”
We all should be taking off to our classrooms. But first, there’s something I’ve got to ask Cedric.
