The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2009

J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 9 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 31 “Is anyone in there?” Coach asked. “Come out now. It’s over.” In the gym, Ian rushed toward us. “I was hiding under the curtain. Then five or six Pakistani guys came in, one with a shotgun, and I heard a bang. A chair came smashing through the window.” “Did they see you?” “I don’t think so. I got to the locker room and hid.” “Who were they?” I asked. “A busload of students,” Coach said, running a hand through his dark hair. We moved across campus toward the music room. Outside, several school aides stood with hockey sticks and baseball bats. We froze, but Coach reassured us. “They helped chase away the bad guys with the sports equip- ment.” Ian saw his car, and Ellen and I followed him out to question his mom. “Come on, Ian; it’s getting dark,” she yelled. “Hi, Mrs. Datan. What’s hap- pening?” “Well, a Marine got shot. The rest may still be alive, but they’re trapped in the burning building. Are you girls going to be able to get home? The streets are dangerous.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.” “Oh that’s right; your mom’s on the field trip, Ronni. I’ll make sure you get a ride home.” In the sound of the muffler, my response was lost. “No one’s there.” When we got to the music room, Mr. Roberts said, “Ronni, Coach will drive you home.” “What about my dad?” “Coach will stay with you until we know.” Ellen’s father kissed her. “Honey, I love you very much, but I have some bad news. Steven was shot in the F O C U S “OK, everyone,” Coach Connors yelled. “Into the auditorium, now. Let’s go!”