rubs her back, making cooing noises and trying to get her to calm down.
The next thing I know, Mrs. Arnold is yelling that she canât get the gas off and all the burners flare up higher. I have the distinct feeling that my eyebrows are about to get singed off. I canât stop myself from blocking them with my hands. As if my hands are really going to protect anything during a major gas fire.
The whole class seems to be holding their breath. Even Bonnie finally stopped crying.
âThis isnât good,â Mrs. Arnold mutters. She runs around to each individual hookup, stopping at mine and trying to turn the connector off. It doesnât seem to have any effect on the flame.
After determining that something is legitimately wrong, she turns to look at us, white-faced. I feel like sheâs about to apologize or something. Itâs a very weird moment.
Then she pulls the fire alarm. It starts blaring and we all look at one another, unmoving, as if we still canât believe this is happening.
Iâm so scared I can barely move a muscle. Maybe thatâs what everyone else is feeling, too.
âIâm not kidding, people!â she yells. âWe need to get out of here.â
Mrs. Arnold grabs her cell phone and calls someone, explaining what just happened while ushering students out of the classroom and into the hallway, where a crowd is building to make their way out of the school.
I think I have my act of God.
I was not expecting that.
Kyle
When the fire alarm goes off during my English class, Iâm more than a little relieved. Now I wonât get pulled aside by Ms. Gupta at the end of the day. I can look forward to a nice, long Gupta-less weekend. I really didnât want to share my feelings about the testing she set up for me on Monday. Though sheâd already gotten in a few sympathetic smiles before the alarm went off.
During the plodding walk out of the building, it becomes obvious that there are some crazy rumors flying around about why the fire alarm went off. There are a lot of people saying that this isnât just a drill, but itâs hard to tell who really knows something and whoâs just pissing in the wind.
âI heard there were huge flames coming from the science wing,â a sophomore in front of me says.
âI heard there was, like, a ball of fire,â the kid next to him chimes in.
âSomething happened with a gas leak,â a girl says, completely separate from the two guys ahead of me.
Iâm personally doubtful until a minute later when fire trucks roll onto the street and the teachers start ushering us toward the football field and away from the building.
âThatâs a first,â I mumble. The sophomore turns around and gives me a confused look.
I find Ruby lounging near one of the goalposts with Lauren and Lilah.
âAll Iâm saying is that we need to find something to do tonight,â Lauren says.
âI agree. I canât sit around my house again. I think my parents are starting to feel bad for me. Last Saturday night they asked me to play cards with them. And I did!â Lilah says.
When I sit down next to Ruby, she leans over to kiss my cheek but then jumps back into the conversation.
âI donât have to babysit tonight for once,â she says.
âAwesome. All you do lately is babysit,â Lauren says.
âCan you hang out tonight?â Ruby asks me.
I nod. âDefinitely.â
While Iâm technically grounded on school nights because of my English grade, Friday is not considered a school night. At least I hope not. I donât know why my parents would make me stay home on Friday night to do my homework when Sunday night is a perfectly reasonable time to get it done.
The girls continue to toss ideas around for what to do that night, and after a few minutes, more of our friends gather in this spot. It seems like everyone is getting comfortable, including the teachers, who are
The next thing I know, Mrs. Arnold is yelling that she canât get the gas off and all the burners flare up higher. I have the distinct feeling that my eyebrows are about to get singed off. I canât stop myself from blocking them with my hands. As if my hands are really going to protect anything during a major gas fire.
The whole class seems to be holding their breath. Even Bonnie finally stopped crying.
âThis isnât good,â Mrs. Arnold mutters. She runs around to each individual hookup, stopping at mine and trying to turn the connector off. It doesnât seem to have any effect on the flame.
After determining that something is legitimately wrong, she turns to look at us, white-faced. I feel like sheâs about to apologize or something. Itâs a very weird moment.
Then she pulls the fire alarm. It starts blaring and we all look at one another, unmoving, as if we still canât believe this is happening.
Iâm so scared I can barely move a muscle. Maybe thatâs what everyone else is feeling, too.
âIâm not kidding, people!â she yells. âWe need to get out of here.â
Mrs. Arnold grabs her cell phone and calls someone, explaining what just happened while ushering students out of the classroom and into the hallway, where a crowd is building to make their way out of the school.
I think I have my act of God.
I was not expecting that.
Kyle
When the fire alarm goes off during my English class, Iâm more than a little relieved. Now I wonât get pulled aside by Ms. Gupta at the end of the day. I can look forward to a nice, long Gupta-less weekend. I really didnât want to share my feelings about the testing she set up for me on Monday. Though sheâd already gotten in a few sympathetic smiles before the alarm went off.
During the plodding walk out of the building, it becomes obvious that there are some crazy rumors flying around about why the fire alarm went off. There are a lot of people saying that this isnât just a drill, but itâs hard to tell who really knows something and whoâs just pissing in the wind.
âI heard there were huge flames coming from the science wing,â a sophomore in front of me says.
âI heard there was, like, a ball of fire,â the kid next to him chimes in.
âSomething happened with a gas leak,â a girl says, completely separate from the two guys ahead of me.
Iâm personally doubtful until a minute later when fire trucks roll onto the street and the teachers start ushering us toward the football field and away from the building.
âThatâs a first,â I mumble. The sophomore turns around and gives me a confused look.
I find Ruby lounging near one of the goalposts with Lauren and Lilah.
âAll Iâm saying is that we need to find something to do tonight,â Lauren says.
âI agree. I canât sit around my house again. I think my parents are starting to feel bad for me. Last Saturday night they asked me to play cards with them. And I did!â Lilah says.
When I sit down next to Ruby, she leans over to kiss my cheek but then jumps back into the conversation.
âI donât have to babysit tonight for once,â she says.
âAwesome. All you do lately is babysit,â Lauren says.
âCan you hang out tonight?â Ruby asks me.
I nod. âDefinitely.â
While Iâm technically grounded on school nights because of my English grade, Friday is not considered a school night. At least I hope not. I donât know why my parents would make me stay home on Friday night to do my homework when Sunday night is a perfectly reasonable time to get it done.
The girls continue to toss ideas around for what to do that night, and after a few minutes, more of our friends gather in this spot. It seems like everyone is getting comfortable, including the teachers, who are
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