I stand in front of the door. I am reconsidering. I am scared. I reach into my bag and touch that perfect thing to remind myself. Its weight, its power. The thing that I made in the Makers’ Space, with help from a gang of rebels and loners and losers and winners online. People who would hate me also. I am afraid. I swallow. I retract my fingers. I doubt. I can’t.

But Dee can. Her fingers wrap around it. She pulls it out. She holds it high. And from here on out, she is in control.

They recognize it, even in its homemade glory: it is a gun.

There is a riot of screams and screeching chairs. All the lockdown drills come to life. They are on the floor, hiding behind chairs, under desks.

“Stevie,” Pete shouts above it, but in a firm, calm voice. He is moving.

Dee holds the lighter up and points it at them.

“Who knew what was going on, but did nothing? Who knew the truth but didn’t set it straight? Who saw my pain but didn’t reach out to me?”

There is silence, a shaking, tearful, panicked silence. I can smell it on them. It is terror.

My voice is cracking and I ask again, “Who. Knew.”

Sniffling and silent sobbing.

“You all did. You all knew, and you looked away. You left me all alone! You left me to disappear!” I scream, my voice breaking. “My friends. My enemies.”

I whisper now. “I tried to teach you. I tried to tell you.” There are tears pouring down my face. I can’t see anything, hardly, anything at all, through them. “There is no justice. No one wins.” I begin to drop the gun; I don’t want this. But Dee lifts it back up.

She turns it now to Aidan, Paige, Breanne, all of them, swiveling it to and fro.

“You all,” she barks, her voice firm and low, “on your knees.”

Pete is now moving toward me so slowly that he thinks I don’t notice. I hesitate, but Dee urges me on. Don’t fail me now, she says. Finish it.

I flick the lighter, my hands shaking, and in one smooth motion point the gun at the ceiling. The fire ignites the gunpowder, sending an explosion into the water-stained white boards above us. A blast, a boom, dust everywhere, and now they are listening. Now they are paying attention. I am covered in white, and I shake it from my hair. I quickly refill the gun with another firecracker while the smoke clears.

“On. Your. Knees.”

“Holy shit, holy shit!” People scramble.

“Oh God,” someone sobs.

I hear footsteps in the hallway, in the adjoining room.

There is crying.

I feel a panicked urge to run, to stop this, but Dee pushes back, holds me firm.

I am fighting her. I am losing.