Since they’re dressed so similarly, she wonders if they wear each other’s clothes, and if so, how the girl feels about that. At home, Miranda has learned to hide anything she really likes, which annoys her mom. Not that you can tell by her expression. She’s had so much Botox that her face can’t get angry anymore. She can barely raise her eyebrows. Her happiest moments are when a stranger asks if she’s Miranda’s sister.

The rich girl’s mom is lifting her apple for another bite when a bright-red splotch about the size of a fist appears on her chest.

Miranda blinks. The red spot is growing, like a magic trick she doesn’t understand. Then she registers the sounds, nearly lost in the white noise of Christmas music and a hundred conversations.

POP, POP, POP.

A man in a blue plaid shirt two tables over clutches his arm. A skinny old woman falls, her walker and her Jamba Juice cup flying out in front of her.

The sounds are gunshots. So many and so fast, she can’t count them.

Miranda looks back at the girl’s mom. She’s tilting. Her eyes are wide and blood is bubbling between her lips. And Miranda realizes that’s what’s on the woman’s chest.

Blood.

Start to Die

START TO DIE

3:52 P.M.

When the boy with the mop of blond curls made a show of dropping his napkin to the floor, Javier Ramirez kept his face impassive. The kid clearly thought he was a real badass.

Like a piece of garbage and maybe a muttered slur were going to ruin Javier’s day.

Like he doesn’t have real things to worry him.

What if, despite how hard he worked this term, his grades are bad? What if the mall figures out the Social Security number he gave them is fake? What if, after Christmas, they cut his hours?

Javier is bending over to pick up the napkin when the first shot comes from behind him. Behind and above. It catches a forty-ish woman in the chest.

He recognizes the sound immediately.

Javier is already running as more people in the food court start to die.

Fish in a Barrel

FISH IN A BARREL

3:53 P.M.

The shots continue.

Miranda’s mind is filled with a jumble of panicked thoughts. Her body is frozen as she tries to take it all in. People falling. Some are hurt. Some dead. Dozens running. Tripping over chairs in panic. Screaming. Shouting. Stampeding away as quickly as they can.

The rich girl pushes back her chair so fast, it falls over. She runs around the table to her mom, tries to catch her as she slides off her seat. The older woman’s chest is now covered with blood, red and shiny as freshly spilled paint.

Is she dead? Miranda can’t believe it, despite how boneless the woman now looks.