The cleaner continues to glug into the hall, thick, green, and treacherously loud. It almost drowns the slap, slap, slap of the gunmen' s sneakers. I don’t have long to hide.

  But where? Even I can’t hide behind a mop, scrawny as I am. And massive as they are, the industrial shelves are stacked to the brim with bottles and supplies. I’d knock over half the contents if I try to hide there, making it even easier to find me. The only clear space is on the top shelf, about ten feet off the ground with less than a foot of clearance left for the fire sprinkler.

  “What’s that?”

  They’ve spotted the cleaner in the hall. I can’t hesitate.

  I scramble up the big shelf, using each shelf like a ladder. It’s thick and sturdy, but my shoes pound loudly with each step. My arms tense with every sound. Their footsteps come closer and I force myself to go faster.

  The lower shelves scrape my legs, shredding my jeans and skin. The jagged edges of the sprinkler snag my hair and scrape my forehead. Tears blur my vision and I bite my tongue to force a pained groan back to my throat, rushing to the furthest back corner. That stupid sprinkler rips into my back as I turn and stare into the open doorway.

  Right as two silhouettes fill the door, pondering the still spilling cleaner, before looking into the storage closet with their phones’ flashlights.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “We all know the janitor hits the juice pretty hard. It probably wasn’t all the way on the cart.” A beam flushes through every empty space in the shelves, filling the gloom with an unnatural light. I plaster my body as flat as I can and hold my breath.

  “Yeah, you want to tell Dan that?”

  Dan? My mind automatically starts digging through roll call, thinking of every Dan, Daniel, and Danny they might be referring to. Just a panicked place to put my energy. Not like I can tap my fingers. Or move my head. Or get my spine out from the spiky sprinkler head as it digs further into my back. I bite my lip and try to think.

  Daniel Brown. Mouse of a guy, super sweet. Always gives Lucy his pudding. Dan Jacobs, has some anger issues with teachers, but I can’t see him doing this. Fireworks still make him cry, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Danny Robinson, one of the bigger bullies. Ramona’s newest boyfriend, always making out in the hall. Could be, but I doubt it. Angela thinks guns should be repossessed by the government, no way one of her cronies would date a shooter.

  The lights flow over my head and all my thoughts lodge into a huge knot in my throat. I keep hoping that giant shelf will develop a wormhole and swallow me up. Especially when the beam stays in place, the light blinding through my glasses.

  I hold my breath and bite my tongue hard enough to bleed, forcing the scream back. I might be strong, but I still get paper cuts. I doubt I can take a speeding bullet.

  “You see something, man?”

  “Huh?” The light jolts from my body, the beam dancing wildly. “Oh, no. Nothing.”

  The closet door starts to close and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing. Only partly from relief.

  The other part was abject horror when James looks straight up at me, gun strap over one shoulder and a single finger to his lips.