We had a substitute teacher in World Issues, and I was the only one who wasn't disappointed.

Well, Sparky also wasn't disappointed, but that was because Sparky didn't really know we had a World Issues class, let alone a regular teacher.

The rest of my classmates were noticeably glum. Gladly was such a goof that nearly anyone else was bound to be stricter, and I could tell when I walked in and saw the substitute sitting behind the teacher's desk that he was going to be a lot stricter.

He had presence, and I tried to break down how he pulled it off.

Part of it was his size. He was broad, muscular, and wearing a royal blue dress shirt that accentuated both those facts. The trim beard that traced his jawline combined with his short, neat haircut to give him a no-nonsense edge.

Grooming and clothing choices that accentuated the physical traits he'd been born with. I was too gawky to emulate those, though I could file the general lesson away for future reference.

The other part of it was how he carried and presented himself. He was absolutely calm and moved deliberately, without any fidgeting. I also noticed that he stared down every student in turn as we piled into the classroom. He wasn't afraid of or embarrassed about his own authority the way Gladly was, and he conveyed that in less than three seconds.

"Getting ideas, Taylor?"

Madison, one of my foster sister's tagalongs.

Her remark wasn't really about teasing me, though I'd probably hear more about how hot I was for teacher after lunch. It was about getting my attention so I'd notice that she'd spilled juice on the seat I normally sat in.

Not worth responding to. I rolled my eyes and sat one desk over.

The bell rang just as another girl hurried through the door. She plopped into the seat I'd avoided, oblivious to the puddle of cranberry juice.

I turned my head away and bent over my backpack, pretending to be busy looking for a notebook or something. She was new to Winslow, a transfer student from out of state, and she'd latched on to me the moment she'd walked in the door of Mrs. Knott's classroom. I hadn't appreciated the attention.

Your name's Taylor Rose? Mine's Theresa Richter! Same initials, huh? TR, like the president.

I'd brushed her off, a little uncomfortable. My parents had never married so Rose was my legal name, but I still thought of myself as Hebert, even after all the bullshit my dad had put me through.

The teacher made his way to the front of the classroom. "Mr. Gladly is ill today," he said, looking down at a clipboard. "My name is Mr. Wallis."

"Hungover," Hunter stage-whispered. "Big G's hungover."

"Gladly's not any kind of hung," Jared said, loud enough that the teacher could hear.

General sniggering.

Hunter raised his hand.

The teacher stared at him, not prompting him to talk.

Unfazed, he did talk, keeping his hand up. "Would you describe Mr. Gladly as being in a status that is over hung? Overly hung, perhaps?"

"Mr. Gladly is ill today," Mr. Wallis said again, returning his attention to his clipboard. "I will take attendance now. Madison Clements."

"Here, Mr. Wallis," she cooed, throwing puppy dog eyes at me.

As he went down the list, I thought about what to do about her and her friends.

I'd lived with the Barneses for three years. When we were both in the house, which didn't happen a lot, Emma pretended I didn't exist. When we were at school, which I couldn't get out of without causing problems, she and her friends got on my ass.

Every few months, things would get to be too annoying or they'd do something that interfered with class, like steal an assignment or ruin a book. Then I'd have a chat with her in her bedroom that boiled down to I can get into your bedroom. She was still a little scared of me, so she'd have them scale back for a while. But they always started back up again and they always escalated and I'd always have to talk to Emma again. Rinse and repeat.

The last time I'd spoken to her had been in December. It was March. I knew we were coming due for another heart to heart, but were we there just yet?

No, I decided. Juice on a chair I didn't actually have to sit in wasn't quite bad enough. But if they talked about how I'd stared at the teacher and decided to turn it into a joke about Brian...

"Theresa Richter."

"Here," she said. She was sitting perfectly still, and I was pretty sure she hadn't moved since she'd sat down. I wondered if she was pretending her jeans weren't soaked to save face, or if she actually hadn't noticed. Which would be weirder?

"Taylor Rose."

"Here," I said.

He lifted his eyes and sought me out. "You are Taylor Rose?"

I made eye contact and held it. He hadn't asked anyone else to repeat themselves. Why did he have to single me out?

Madison tittered.

"That's what I said."

"'Yes' would have sufficed."

The gun seemed to come up in slow motion.

I didn't react. I didn't dodge. I didn't think.

Theresa must have started moving at the same time he drew the gun. She knocked me out of the way and onto the floor. Three shots, all of which struck her.

I scrambled up and went for the door.

Two more shots struck the doorframe, and I was out in the hallway.

I fell back on the training, training I'd tried to forget since they'd taken my dad away.

This was a confined space, there were other people who could get hurt, I'd been surprised, and I had no plans, allies, or weapons.

Create distance.

I ran.

I was good at running. It got me out of the house, it left me time to think, and part of me had always thought that I should be in shape, just in case my dad actually wasn't crazy.

Now I knew he wasn't.

Mr. Wallis, he, it had infiltrated the school and confirmed my identity before trying to kill me.

This wasn't just a school shooting.

It was an assassination.

Dad was right.