[ WP ] Your best friend is shooting up your middle school , and hands you a gun , without your prior knowledge to the event .

`` Blue.'' 
 
 A single word from the intercom in the classroom, one which has no meaning to me. Miss Tooley's eyes are wider than I have ever seen them though, so it must mean something other than sunshine and fairytales. 
 
 `` Class, please stay seated,'' Ms. Tooley's quivering tone hinting that she was keeping panic at bay, `` I'm going to look in the hallway and then we are going to lock the door and stay really quiet, ok?'' 
 
 She walks to the door and reaches for the handle, but then drops her hand. For a moment she stands motionless in front of the door, surrounded by some invisible cage. She shakes her head, reaches again for the handle, turns the knob, and opens the door as slowly and quietly as she can. She carefully peeks around the doorway into the quiet hallway outside, turns her head to the other side as if she was about to cross the road, then walks softly to the classroom door across the hall. The door opens and she whispers something to the other teacher, but I ca n't make it out from this far away. They both nod in agreement and Miss Tooley turns to come back to our room, but she stops. 
 
 `` Please,'' she raises her hands and falls to her knees, `` please.'' She begins to sob uncontrollably and drops into a fetal position with her back facing our classroom. 
 
 In the moment, I take notice of my classmates. Everyone is focused on the doorway, waiting for whatever crumpled Ms. Tooley without a sound to show itself. Time feels slow. Then he walks into the doorway, locks eyes with me and smiles. Chris Thompson, my best friend who I have known since we moved to this state when I was 6, is standing in my classroom doorway with a pistol in each hand and smiling at me. He walks into the classroom and everyone jumps out of their desks and runs to the back of the room in a panic, everyone except for me. I stay quietly seated in a state of confusion and amazement. He stops directly in front of me, looks down at the guns, and places one of the pistols on my desk. 
 
 `` What... what the fuck did you do that for Chris?'' 
 
 `` Turn around and look at them. What do you see Tom?'' 
 
 I turn around in my chair and look at the huddled group in the corner of the room. Some kids had given up completely and sat in a state of frozen panic, others stood in a way that suggested they were prepared to take any action, while others positioned themselves behind everyone as if the front line was intended to act as a shield. A conversation came to mind that Chris and I had shared a few days earlier about how some people are hard-wired to sacrafice everyone else to get what they wanted in the world and how this was the most despicable evil. Something he said repeated itself over and over in my mind as I looked; `` we're just stepping stones to people like that.'' The statement had been a lone opinion of my friend, but now it was taking on a meaning of more vivid significance. 
 I look back at Chris, and something in my facial expression must have given away my epiphany. He laughed. 
 
 `` You see it now, huh?'' 
 
 I turn and scan across the faces behind me. The truth of our conversation slowly begins to sink in. I turn and look at Chris, who is still smiling, and then look down at the pistol. It's the same pistol we shot at coke bottles with in the woods. I look at Chris again. 
 
 `` It's the only way to help the stepping stones,'' he says with an infectiously peaceful tone, the smile unwavering from his lips. 
 
 I place my hand on the pistol and feel the coolness of the metal before picking it up. I get out of my desk and turn to look at the group. Ellie, Frank, Tommy, Phil and Jen all stand in the back of the group, surrounded by human armor. Ellie and Frank were boyfriend and girlfriend and they found great humor in ignoring kids who were less popular than them. Tommy and Phil were athletes and used their size to get other people to pay for their lunch for them. Jen was the prettiest girl in school, but she treated everyone like they should worship her and constantly gossiped about the girls who were less pretty than she was. Chris was right. 
 
 I look down at the gun in my hand, this beautiful tool for destruction, then look at Chris and smile.
