"This is a lockdown drill. Teachers please follow the lockdown procedures and keep the students in the classroom till the drill is called off. Stay put at all times and do not answer the door even if the person outside claims it is police."
This is the VP's usual dictum in a lockdown announcement. As soon as the VP goes off the PA, Zack directs the class to take cover away from the windows. This is standard procedure in a lockdown: kids mostly squat in a corner, though some choose to fit under a desk. Zack follows a checklist: lock the classroom door after quickly checking the hallway, draw down the blinds, hush the students if they are talking, and switch off the lights.
"One more thing, please mute your phone if you forgot to leave it in your locker this morning," Zack reminds the kids as he scans the room one last time. It is then that he briefly makes eye contact with Leon, who has just closed the blinds on the far side of the room and is now darting across the room to join a huddle of friends.
"Thanks buddy," Zack nods appreciatively at the youth. An international student from Vietnam, Leon is an athletic boy with a baby face and a smile that lights up everything about him. He dreams of becoming an engineer, an aspiration his manicurist mother unreservedly endorses. He has the knack of knowing when and where help is needed and renders it unbidden, like today.
When the drill is over, Zack decides to do a short debriefing. He begins by asking "what if you are heading back from the washroom when a lockdown is announced? Do you still seek your classroom? Amelia."
"No, you go into the classroom nearest to you."
"Good. And why do we have these lockdown drills every year, despite the fact that it takes up precious instructional time?" Zack looks around the room.
Leon raises his hand and gets the go-ahead.
"Because some crazy intruders might try to cause us harm and we practice to be ready for such an event."
"Good job." Leon always has the answer. They have had many lockdown drills the past two years, but rarely has the VP or the classroom teachers explained why they have them in the first place. Zack is pleased with Leon's answer, though he makes a point of not showing him too much overt approbation.
It is now five minutes to the bell, time to do a quick wrap-up. Zack decides to use the few minutes to remind the class of the math competition that is coming up soon. Most of the class have signed up this year, much to his delight. In an age when fewer and fewer kids are taking up math contests or AP Calculus courses, this level of interest and participation makes this grade 11 class a singular gratifying exception.
"We will have our last pre-contest workshop this coming Thursday. If you want some last-minute practice or have any burning questions to ask, make sure I see you there. The competition will be on the following Tuesday, which is Day 1, so we will be using the entire second block. Those who did not sign up will be working on your trig project in the Library Learning Commons. I have reserved space for you with Ms. MacTavish."
When Leon shows up that Thursday after school, a sports bag containing his tennis gear strapped across the chest, Zack is happy to see him, but he knows Leon is not here to get help, more likely to give it. Thanks to his selfless peer tutoring, many of the students have come a long way in getting ready for the contest.
"Are you staying or are you going for tennis practice today?" Zack asks as Leon helps him move a few desks to form a rectangle at the back of the room.
"Reif tweeted, so I'll stay for half an hour before heading to the practice." It is tennis season. Leon, a key player on the school team, has been busy practicing and going to tournaments these days.
"When do you play next time?" Zack asks.
"Next Tuesday afternoon. Thank goodness the math contest is in the morning; otherwise I'll be toasted as I don't want to miss either. Hi Reif."
Leon has promise in math. He does not need to demonstrate his skills by participating in math contests like many kids do. Zack will be more than happy to attest to his math talent in his college or university applications. He is here mainly to cheer other kids on. To be honest, Zack doubts if as many kids would have signed up had Leon not done so first. Privately Zack feels lucky to have Leon in his class. No, the whole class is blessed to have him.
Next Tuesday is looking to be a good day.
Unfortunately, the day looks wrong from the start.
Brringggg, brringggg, brringggg...
Zack has just finished checking the time and is about to tell the kids to begin when the school fire alarm goes off. "Quickly line up at the door, everyone. Leave the contest booklet on your desk. We'll use the side exit on the way out." As he yells out those instructions amidst the earsplitting noise of the alarm that is filling every crevice in the building, Zack grabs his laptop and then the red plastic binder off a hook at the door. Within minutes they are assembled at their designated spot on the grass field, the fifth time in the past two months.
"I hope it is not a false alarm again," a red-haired, freckled girl from a nearby class shrugs as a fire truck turns round the corner, its lights flashing. "It costs thousands of dollars each time that thing pulls up here," another girl weighs in.
Zack finishes checking everyone's name off the attendance list and sends Leon with it to Ms. Draney the school secretary, who is standing in the middle of the field like a spider reigning over her web, with all the student runners scurrying towards her, attendance slips flapping in their hands. It is a most dreary and distressing experience to wait on a big school field like this, not knowing exactly what is going on, or being able to go back in if one needs to use the washroom. About an hour later, the VP tells the whole assembly that it has been another false alarm, that someone has probably pulled the fire alarm to delay a test for which he is not ready yet.
Back in the classroom, Zack asks for a show of hands to see how many students still wish to do the contest rescheduled for later that afternoon. According to contest regulations, a minimum of twelve students need to be present for a contest session to be valid. Eleven hands are in the air.
"We are one person short," Zack explains the situation to the class. People start to look around, and presently almost everyone is looking at Leon. Slowly and blushing a little, Leon raises his hand.
"You have tennis tournament this afternoon, Leon. Remember?" Zack reminds him.
"I will talk to the coach. If he can find someone to take my place today, I will stay."
"Yes!" A few boys punch the air in exultation. Zack quietly heaves a sigh of relief.
About two hours later, at 1:05 pm, the bell rings, signaling the end of the third block and the beginning of the last. One by one, those who put up their hands in the morning file in, visibly in good spirits. The fourth and last block on Day 1 is Zack's scheduled prep time, but he is happy to forego it today for the students' benefit.
When the second bell rings, Zack surveys the room. Eleven students are seated, nicely spread out. There is no sign of Leon.
"He is probably caught up in something. He came to tell me he has the coach's permission. We will give him a minute or two." Zack sounds as much he is reassuring himself as he is informing the students already seated in the room.
Hardly has Zack finished talking when a commotion is heard from the far end of the hallway. Then someone lets out a yelp and frantic footsteps are heard fleeing from the source of the commotion. Before Zack and the students have time to figure out what is going on, the VP's voice comes on the PA.
"Lockdown procedure activated, lockdown procedure activated..."
Zack races for the door. He is almost knocked over by two black-attired bodies ducking in.
"Anyone else out there?"
"No!"
Zack slams the door shut and locks it secure. Then he draws down the strip of blinds on the left and switches off the lights. In the split second before the lights go off, he sees panicked eyes staring at him from a back corner. In the darkness Zack whispers "Phonnnes". Then silence falls, deadly silence. Nobody rattles the door handle from outside as usually happens in a drill. In the ensuing stillness, Zack collects his thoughts. It is then that he realizes the blinds on the far side of the room are down. Who shut them? When? Was it Leon? Where is he now?
A few minutes later, a police car is heard screeching to a halt outside. This is definitely a real emergency. No police car has ever come in a drill. A sickening sensation starts to settle in Zack's stomach. He wishes he had cancelled the contest, but he is still holding out the hope that all shall be fine. Maybe he is safe in one of the other teachers' rooms.
Minutes become hours. Hours turn into evening. At about 6 pm, they are told through the PA that a homicide has happened in the school, that the entire school is now cordoned off, that students and staff are to vacate the building under police escort. No names are to be released while the whole thing is under police investigation.
Zack spends a sleepless night. He dreads checking his email. Early in the morning, a text message says there is no school today. Eventually, the news that he fears most comes through. Leon died in a homicide that happened in the last block yesterday, minutes before the math contest he had meant to write was set to begin.
"Leon was getting his stuff at the locker when two boys got into an altercation. One of the boys took out a knife and stabbed the other, but the blade went into Leon's side instead as he turned around to see what the matter was," a reporter is later quoted speaking to a TV audience.
This is insanity. Zack sinks in despair.
Author's note: The story is based on a real tragedy that happened in the Abbotsford School District a few years ago. Abbotsford is a town in an agricultural area of the Lower Mainland, British Columbia, Canada.
