THE TRAVELING SALESMAN

     Just as I turned the corner to the back entrance of Gaven High, the only high school in Gaven County, Illinois, I see Duane Peterson flick his cigarette. The butt soared through the sky and landed in the grass that was once green but now covered with a light coating of snow. Me and a few other seniors in the school know exactly what door to use whenever we wanted to sneak in or out of the building without being seen. Most of the time, if I’m running late for school, I’ll use this door instead of the one near the office. You can only get so many tardies before Principal Boyles gives you detention, something I don’t get often.

     When my friend Jordan worked in the front office, she confiscated a few tardy slips and hall passes that I leave in my locker for days like today. I had overslept again, not that I make a habit of sleeping through my alarm. Today was an exception. My father had returned from a trip that kept him away for the past two months, and I spent all night talking with him.

     Duane and I nodded at one another before I opened the door and went inside. I headed to the boys’ restroom down the hall to my left. When I finished, I stood at the sink washing my hands. My head jolted up and my ears perked towards the restroom door. I could have sworn I heard the faint sound of a gun going off, and then I heard a second shot. “What the fuck is going on out there?” I mumbled.

     I walked to the door and opened it just enough to stick my head out. The corridor that I was in was on the opposite side of the school, which meant the gun being fired was coming from the main school entrance.

    This gave me an advantage.

     I ducked out of the restroom and quickly made my way down the hall along the white painted brick wall.

     I peeked around the corner.

     I saw nothing.

     Another shot ricocheted off the walls, echoing around me, but this time I heard screams. Someone was in the school, shooting people. I had to find a place to hide, but at the same time, I knew I needed to help my fellow classmates. I heard about gunmen shooting up schools on the news, but I never once thought it would happen in my school.

     I looked at my watch. It was 9:40 in the morning, and I should be in my Economics class. I could actually picture Mrs. Arbor, my Economics teacher, bolting to the door and locking it. She was always jumpy like that. I couldn’t go to the classroom because it was all the way on the other side of the school, and I would be taking the chance of being caught by whoever was doing the shooting.

     I ran across the hall where it opened up and stopped at the first door. It was locked and the lights were out. Which could mean two things: Either there were people in the room and they thought it’d be a good idea to make it look like no one was in the room; or second, there was actually no one in the locked room.

     I trotted to the next door and peered inside. I could see teenagers hunched along the wall, but only if I pressed my face against the glass and looked to the right. I twisted the knob, but it was locked too. “Shit!”

     I then heard the sound of heavy boots marching down the shiny buffed floor. I took off down the hall, reaching out at all the knobs to see if I could find one unlocked. I thought to myself, “How did the person get over to this side of the school so fast?” But then, as I wasn’t certain, there could possibly be two gunmen in the school.

     I turned the next corner and found a janitor’s closet unlocked and ducked inside. Once inside, I pushed in the lock. I didn’t want to turn on the light just in case whoever was out there could see it. I felt my way to the back, trying not to hit anything and make noise.

     I hunkered down against the far wall, jumping when another gunshot went off. That’s when I unzipped the front pocket of my backpack that was strapped over my shoulders and slid out my cell phone. I wasn’t sure if my dad could help, being a traveling salesman and all, but what other choice did I have?

     I started texting my dad because if I called him, I couldn’t promise to be quiet. “Dad, it’s Brad. There’s someone shooting a gun off at the school.” That’s what I started to send him when I heard the gunman speak just outside the door I was hiding behind.

    “All the doors are locked, but I know for a fact that he’s here,” said a man with a deep voice.

     He must be talking on a phone because I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation, so it couldn’t be a walkie-talkie.

     “You better get the father to talk or I will kill his son,” the man shouted.

     I stiffened when I heard the next thing the man said.

     “Once I find him, I will kill Brad Hunter. His father will suffer the loss of a child if he doesn’t obey and give me what I want.”

     My mouth became dry as I tried to swallow. My throat felt as if it was closing and I couldn’t breathe. My only thoughts were, “What could they want with my dad?”