Amina puts her hands on her hips. “Hey, it was your idea, not mine! I was pushing too. I just didn’t think of it.”

“Be quiet!” Cole puts his finger to his lips. “They’ll hear you!”

Part of Miranda knows he’s right, but another part welcomes the anger surging through her veins, burning off some of her terror. “Maybe she wants them to hear us. After all, she’s the one in the hijab.”

“What are you talking about?” Amina whispers.

Grace opens her eyes and looks back and forth between them.

“Allahu akbar, isn’t that it?” Miranda says, “What Muslims say when they shoot people or blow up a bomb?”

Amina’s eyes widen. “Did you hear someone saying that? It means God is great. Something no terrorists understand.”

Rather than answer, Miranda looks away. That had been the terrifying thing. The shooters hadn’t said anything. But why else would anyone do such a hateful thing?

“I’m as American as the rest of you. I’m sick of people calling me a terrorist just because I cover my hair. There’s crazy people in every religion.” Amina raises her chin. “And if I was part of it, why would I be trapped in here?”

“I didn’t hear anyone saying anything about any kind of God.” Cole closes his eyes and swallows. “But I’m sure those guys have some kind of agenda.”

“Yeah,” Javier says quietly. “They want to kill a lot of people. What difference does it make why they want to?”

“All right. I’m sorry,” Miranda spits out. She moves back toward Javier. It’s only a few steps, but by the time she reaches him her legs feel too weak to support her weight. She sinks down on the loose mat of sweaters. She was okay when she was helping him or trying to barricade the door. But her head replays a loop of horror. The blood blooming on Grace’s mom’s chest. The expression on the face of the lady with the red scarf when the bullet hit her. The curly-haired woman’s legs churning against the blood-streaked floor until a shot stilled her forever.

How long will it be until everyone in this room is just as dead?

A touch on her hand makes her jerk, her heart hammering. But it’s just Javier. He gives her hand a squeeze, then takes his away.

Miranda looks around the room. Cole is rubbing his face with his palms. Amina is biting her lip as she types on her phone. Tears roll down Grace’s face as she mutters “Daddy” and “Mom,” stabbing a button on her phone over and over.

Cole looks up. “What have you guys heard in the last few minutes?”

“You mean out there?” Miranda forces herself to think back. “Nothing. Not since that guy made those announcements.”