Free This Is Not a Drill by Beck McDowell Page B

say.
    “Here.” Kimberly hands him
Interrupting Chicken
and he hugs it to his chest.
    “Miss Emery,” Natalie says, “my uncle Robby, he ran his truck into a tree and he’s in the hospital and my daddy said it’s ’cause he dranked too many beers, and my momma got mad and told my daddy—”
    “TMI, sweetheart.” I cut her off, putting a finger over my lips. Mrs. Campbell always says it in such a kind voice that it doesn’t hurt their feelings when she interrupts their long stories.
    “Look at you,” Jake says in a low voice beside me. “I didn’t know you spoke Teacher.”
    I take a few steps away so the kids can’t hear me. “I just don’t have time to tune in to the Natalie Channel right now.”
    “I hear you.” He grins, then looks again at my face. “Hey, Em, you okay?”
    “I’m good,” I tell him, and I’m surprised that it’s the truth, that I’ve somehow managed to channel Mrs. Campbell instead of my mom—at least for now. One of my greatest fears is that I’ll react to every problem in life with anger and bitterness like my mom. I don’t want to let my insecurity drive everyone away. I don’t want to be unhappy and alone.
    “Sorry I had to leave you,” Jake says.
    “It’s okay. You had to help Mrs. Campbell.” We haven’t had a chance to talk since he got back to the room. “Jake, the security guard . . . Was he . . . ?”
    “Didn’t see him, and I didn’t have time to ask.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t know.”
    “That’s mine! I had it first.” An argument erupts, this time between DeQuan and Tyler, and Jake moves to separate them.
    I turn back to the kids. “Let’s all see if we can count how many animals are in our books,” I tell them, searching my brain for something to occupy them.
    Olivia starts counting loudly.
    I lean my face down close to hers and whisper, “Count to yourself, lovey.”
    She shifts into exaggerated silent mode, pointing to each animal and mouthing her count soundlessly. Honestly, they’re heartbreakingly cute.
    My love for these kids suddenly overwhelms me and my eyes fill with tears. I feel like I’ve come to know them so well in just a few short months. I can’t let anything happen to them. We have to get them out of here. I turn away from them and move quickly, before I can lose my nerve, to speak to Stutts in the front of the room.
    “Mr. Stutts, why don’t you let the kids go?” Stutts looks up, surprised that I’ve addressed him. I’m surprised, too. “I know they’re driving you crazy, and I can’t promise how long I can keep them quiet. You can keep me and Jake.”
    “Just keep me,” Jake chimes in, coming up behind me. “Look, my dad’s the mayor. He has a lot of clout, and he’s not going to let anything happen to me. You can use me to get what you want. Just let the kids and Emery go.”
    “Jake—” I try to interrupt.
    “
Don’t
tell me what to do,” Stutts yells at us. “I don’t need your help.”
    “You can think better if you don’t have all this distraction,” I try again.
    As if on cue, Mason Mayfield III yells, “You’re a poophead!” at Lewis, and Natalie starts to cry again over some slight, real or imagined. I turn back to shush them.
    “If you let them go, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re heard,” Jake says.
    Stutts looks over at the kids. He paces, still keeping the door in his line of vision, the gun waving dangerously in his hand every time he speaks.
    “No,” he says. “Everybody shut up!”
    I turn back to the kids. “Y’all keep counting.” What would Mrs. Campbell do? “Whoever has the most animals in your book gets to be the line leader tomorrow.” My bribe turns out to be the exact right thing to say. It seems to calm the overcharged atmosphere in the room—the idea that tomorrow will be a normal day and that we’ll be choosing line leaders to go to lunch again.
    “Do we count people?” Alicia asks. Good question. I look at Stutts,