This Is Not a Drill by Beck McDowell Page B

her eyes are closed, and her mouth is open a little.
    “Mrs. Campbell,” Emery says, close to her face. “Mrs. C., can you hear me?”
    The kids are starting to crowd around. I hold up a hand. “Hey, guys, everybody move back so she can get some air.”
    “Is she dead?” Natalie wails.
    Emery looks up in shock. “Oh, honey, no.”
    “Is she going to be okay?” Rose asks.
    “She’s gonna be fine,” I tell her. “She just fainted, that’s all. People do it all the time.”
    “Jake, can you help me lean her up?” Emery asks.
    I move closer and slide my hand under her back. I lift her shoulders and lean her body against me, holding her head to keep it from rolling. It feels weird touching her like this.
    “Mrs. Campbell, can you hear me?” Emery asks again, close to her ear.
    Stutts seems to come out of a daze. “What’s going on? Is she okay?” He walks closer, looking back and forth from her to the door. “Wake her up. You hear me? Wake her up!”
    Emery gets very still. She’s taking deep breaths and staring at a spot in front of her and squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them. If she has one of those attacks right now, I’m gonna be on my own here.
    “Emery, you okay? Don’t you go passing out on me, too,” I say to her in a low voice.
    Emery glances up at me and then I can see she’s about to lose it. I’m not sure if she’s mad at herself for nearly fainting or at me for noticing. Or Stutts for—well, being Stutts. She hardly ever gets really steamed, but she can go from angel to kick-ass ninja in about three seconds if you really get her riled.
    “Mr. Stutts, I’m trying.” Emery turns on Stutts, facing him down like a warrior. “We’re doing the best we can, so just cut us some slack. And put that gun away before you hurt somebody. This is no time to be waving it around.”
    Ohhhh crap, this is not a good plan. “Emery, here, we can use this to fan her.” I grab a notebook from the teacher’s desk, trying to distract her before she really goes off on him. Stutts looks hypnotized; you can tell people don’t stand up to him very often. He doesn’t put the gun away, but he does hold it more carefully at his side.
    “You want my water?” Simon asks, holding a plastic bottle toward us. “Mrs. Campbell can have it.”
    “Thanks, Simon,” Emery says. “Good idea.”
    “You da man, Tarzan,” I say to Simon. “Pour it on this and you can wipe her face with it,” I tell Emery, stripping off the long-sleeved button-down I’m wearing over my T-shirt and handing it over. Oh great. The
one
day I wear the freakin’ Justin Bieber shirt my grandmother gave me for my birthday. It was all I could find this morning, ’cause my crazy stepmom destroyed all my T-shirts. The Christine went into my room and took scissors and cut out all the slogans she didn’t like. And then she put the mutilated shirts back in my drawer! That woman is crazy as an outhouse rat. I put this one on today ’cause I figured it’d be under my other shirt where no one would see it. Simon checks it out, but Emery doesn’t notice as she pours water on the shirt I’ve handed her.
    There’s a soft buzzing sound. Stutts reaches onto the desk and holds out a cell phone to me. It’s mine. “Turn it off. I don’t want to listen to that.” I glance down. Dad. Word has reached the mayor’s office. I turn it off and hand it back to Stutts.
    “This one, too.” He hands me another buzzing phone. I switch it off and give it back to him. Looks like the whole town’s heard what’s going on. As much as I hate to worry everybody, I’m glad they know. Maybe somebody’ll figure out what the hell to do.
    Emery wipes Mrs. Campbell’s face. Then she stops and looks up.
    “Hey, does anybody remember seeing Mrs. Campbell giving herself a shot?”
    Mason raises his hand. “I saw her. I came in at lunch one day because I forgot my lunch money, and she had a needle sticked in her arm.” Mason Mayfield III’s very