Free Bang by Lisa McMann

everything.
    Including what you said in your note.”
Sawyer begins. And I watch the two guys I love most
    in the world talk to each other. They are almost exactly
    the same height, a few inches taller than me. Trey’s eyes
    are black and his hair is darker than Sawyer’s, almost black,
    but they both have natural waves. Sawyer tries to fight his
    hair by keeping it short, while Trey coaxes his longer locks
    to curl every morning. I almost smile as I watch them.
    They are both so beautiful.
But the story Sawyer tells is not beautiful. I tune in,
    watching Trey’s face go from shock to disbelief. “A school
    shooting,” Trey says. “God, that’s my worst nightmare.”
    He shivers.
I didn’t know that. “Mine’s a toss-up between burning
    and being crushed,” I murmur.
“Drowning,” Sawyer adds. “Stampede. Or . . . being
    shot in the face by a fucking maniac or two.”
That brings us back. “So we have two shooters now,”
    I say, opening up the note Sawyer gave me this morning.
    Trey shushes me as a group of freshmen walk by. One of
    them eyes us in fear.
Sawyer waits until they’re gone. “Yeah.”
“And you don’t know what school,” Trey says. “That’s
    . . . impossible.”
“We need help, man. You’re the only one who will
    believe us.”
I watch conflict wash across Trey’s face.
“Guys,” he says, “look. I’m not trying to be all superior or grown up or whatever, but this is insane. Insane. How bad . . . I mean, the visions—I guess they’re pretty
    bad.”
“They let up a little when I manage to figure something out. But yeah. It’s about fifty million times worse than having the theme song from ‘Elmo’s World’ stuck in
    your head for a month straight.”
Trey glances at the clock. “I think . . .” He gives me a
    guilty look, and then his gaze drops to the floor. “Look. I
    think it’s too big for two teenagers. Or three. And, Sawyer,
    you should try and just get through it until it happens, and
    then hopefully it’ll go away.”
The bell rings.
“But, Trey,” I say, “it’s a lot of people. It’s their families. Their lives.”
“You don’t know them.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” I say, my voice pitching higher. “Besides, I feel like it’s my fault. I mean, Sawyer didn’t do anything to deserve this stupid vision,
    except somehow he caught it from me. I have to do
    something—” I grab his shirtsleeve as he turns to go to
    class. “Trey, come on.”
“Come on, what? It’s too dangerous. You’re being irrational. I’m sorry about the noise in your head, Sawyer, and I hope it goes away soon, but, well, we almost died once
    already. If we manage to survive this, it won’t be for long,
    because our parents will murder us.” He starts walking
    quickly. “Get to class,” he says over his shoulder to me.
Sawyer and I look at each other. “I’ll work on him,”
    I say.
“No. It’s cool. I’ll . . . I’ll see you.”
“I’m planning on the library if you can make it.”
Sawyer’s face sags. “I—I don’t think so. Not today.”
    He turns and goes toward his next class, and I go to sculpting. With Trey.
Eighteen
    “Let’s just talk about it a little more before you
    decide,” I whisper once the teacher lets us loose to work
    on our own. Trey and I share a table, which is, according
    to our stunned classmates, something no brother and sister have ever before done willingly in the history of education. I don’t get why not, but whatever.
    Trey pretends I’m not there.
I don’t know how to handle him when he does the silent
    treatment—it may be a stereotype, but we Italians aren’t
    exactly known for our ability to keep our opinions quiet. All
    I know is that if I poke him a little, he’ll start in on me, and
    that’s when we can actually accomplish something.
“What if we do know one of the victims?” I whisper.
    “Does that change anything?”
He frowns at his misshapen bowl, then scrunches up
    his nose and smashes the clay