Say Something (6 page)

A few days later, Dad and I went to the police together. I told them everything I knew, and even Brandon helped fill in the blanks where he could. He swore he never heard Jeremy and Nick talk about any plans in front of him, but he didn’t seem all that surprised to find out Jeremy was involved, either.

“Dude was psychotic,” he said. “Had all kinds of weapons stashed in his mom’s house. Paranoid as shit. That Nick kid followed him around like a puppy. Shoulda known nothing good would come of it. But he never said nothing to me about it. I’da punched his face in.”

When we were done, I sat in the passenger seat of my dad’s car, numb, feeling like the whole world was about to fall down on me. Not knowing when it would happen terrified me. I’d seen how the community had treated Valerie when they thought she was the one who was involved. The fallout she’d gotten would probably be nothing compared to what it would be like when what I’d been sitting on came to light. Would I be as strong as Valerie? I wasn’t sure.

“It’s over,” Dad said before starting up the ignition.

I made a scoffing noise. He couldn’t possibly really believe that, could he?

“It’s time to move on, then,” he said. “For everyone.”

And it seemed like everyone was moving on.

I had tried to call Valerie from the police station, to tell her it was done, to beg her to forgive me. A part of me was still hopeful that I could fix the gap between us. Maybe, with time, we could start up a little something. She could see how good I could be to her. How different I was from Nick. But her phone had been disconnected.

Stacey got into college up in northwest Missouri, so she would be leaving at the end of the summer, and Duce got some sort of construction job that sent him down south the day after graduation. I wasn’t there for the breakup, but according to Mason, it was an epic bawlfest.

Mason was spending every waking second with a girl he’d met at an after-grad party. Bridget was getting an apartment downtown, and Joey, who’d been too high to make it to graduation, had reportedly gotten busted with a huge amount of weed and was being shipped off to rehab. And who knew where everyone else was headed? Who cared? I didn’t.

All I cared about was what would happen with me. I’d gotten into community college. I wasn’t too excited about the idea of more school, but I didn’t know what else I would do with my life, so I figured I would go. I had no idea what I wanted to study but thought I’d start with a few psychology classes. Someone once told me that people major in psychology to figure out what’s wrong with themselves. Maybe I could figure out what made me such an easy target. Though I suppose I already knew the answer to that question—easy targets don’t talk. Easy targets don’t turn people in.

As I sat in my dad’s passenger seat, though, looking at the front of the police station, I couldn’t even think about college, psychology, fixing myself. All I could think about was telling him the one thing I still hadn’t fessed up to. The one thing that scared me, not because I was afraid of external fallout, but because I was afraid of what it meant about me, internally.

“I put Chris Summers’s name on the list,” I said. “I mean, Nick had already put it on there, but so did I. And he’s dead now, and I don’t know if that was what I was after—I mean, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t—but I still feel responsible, because when I put it there, I hated him so much. God, I hated him.” I punched the dashboard. “Fuck.”

Dad turned the car key, let his hand fall into his lap. “You didn’t know Nick was going to shoot him,” he said.

“But I knew it was a hate list.”

“And Chris Summers knew that attacking you in the locker room was wrong, too. I’m sure if everyone could take back everything, they would.”

I blinked. Was that true? I knew it was true for me. And I guessed it was true for Valerie. And probably Jessica, given how close she and Val got after the shooting. I wondered if that was what was going on when Chris Summers reached down to help me up. Was he taking it all back? And when I grabbed his hand and let him help me, was I accepting it? I would never know for sure. “It’s too late, though,” I said.

Dad turned, looked into my eyes, and said, “It’s over, David. This whole thing is over. It’s going to get better now. You have to trust that. Leave the nightmare behind, and trust it.”

I made the scoffing noise again, but on the inside maybe the tiniest bit of me believed him. Maybe I could leave this behind and trust that things would get better. It was all I had to hang on to. But, for the time being, it was enough.

Suspect in School Shooting Apprehended in Cabin Hideout

Warsaw, MO—A suspect in the 2008 Garvin High School shooting was arrested today, taken into custody by police, and led out of his cabin hideout in handcuffs. The police who found 22-year-old Jeremy Watson say they were led to the cabin by a tip from a former student of Garvin High School. The tipster was present during the May 2, 2008, shooting spree, and is believed to have been friends with the shooter.

According to police Watson had been hiding in a relative’s rural cabin since the shooting and was found with multiple weapons, including bullets that police believe match the bullets used by shooter Nick Levil.

Jack Angerson, principal of Garvin High School, said, “This is the puzzle piece we’ve all been missing. The why and the how. This young man knows why, and he knows how, and hopefully getting him behind bars will make everyone sleep better tonight. I know it will make me sleep better. We all need to do what we can to make sure he pays for his part in this tragedy. And maybe if he can tell us what made Nick Levil snap that day, we can prevent shootings like this from happening in the future.”

“After Jeremy owns up to the truth of what happened, I suspect there are some people out there who will feel sorry for what they put my family through,” Jenny Leftman, mother of Valerie Leftman, a former suspect in the shooting, said. “It’s too late for that, though. We can’t get our lives back, no matter how much anyone apologizes.”

Valerie Leftman had no comment.

Curious about Val’s side of the story?

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Hate List
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AVAILABLE NOW

The scene in the Garvin High School cafeteria, known as the Commons, is being described as “grim” by investigators who are working to identify the victims of a shooting spree that erupted Friday morning.

“We have teams in there going over every detail,” says Sgt. Pam Marone. “We’re getting a pretty clear picture of what went on yesterday morning. It hasn’t been easy. Even some of our veteran officers got pretty shaken up when they walked in there. It’s such a tragedy.”

The shooting, which began just as students were preparing for their first class, left at least six students dead and countless others wounded.

Valerie Leftman, 16, was the last victim shot before Nick Levil, the alleged shooter, reportedly turned the gun on himself.

Hit in the thigh at close range, Leftman required extensive surgery to repair her wounds. Representatives at Garvin County General list her in “critical condition.”

“There was a lot of blood,” an EMT told reporters on the scene. “He must have hit her artery just right.”

“She’s very lucky,” the ER nurse on duty confirmed. “She’s got a good chance of surviving, but we’re being really careful. Especially since so many people want to talk to her.”

Reports by witnesses at the scene of the shooting vary, some claiming Leftman was a victim, others saying she was a hero, still others alleging she was involved in a plan with Levil to shoot and kill students whom they disliked.

According to Jane Keller, a student who witnessed the shooting, the shot to Leftman appeared to be accidental. “It looked like she tripped and fell into him or something, but I couldn’t tell for sure,” Keller told reporters at the scene. “All I know is it was all over real quick after that. And when she fell on him it gave some people a chance to run away.”

But police are questioning whether the shot that took down Leftman was an accident or a double suicide gone awry.

Early reports indicate that Leftman and Levil had discussed suicide in some detail, and some sources close to the couple suggest they talked about homicide as well, leaving police wondering if there is more to the Garvin High shooting than originally thought.

“They talked about death a lot,” says Mason Markum, a close friend of both Leftman and Levil. “Nick talked about it more than Valerie, but, yeah, Valerie talked about it too. We all thought they were just playing some game, but I guess it was for real. I can’t believe they were serious. I mean, I was just talking to Nick like three hours ago, and he never said anything. Not about this.”

Whether Leftman’s wounds were intentional or accidental, there is little doubt in the minds of the police that Nick Levil intended to commit suicide after massacring nearly half a dozen Garvin High students.

“Witnesses at the scene tell us that after he shot Leftman he pointed the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger,” says Marone. Levil was pronounced dead at the scene.

“It was a relief,” says Keller. “Some kids actually cheered, which I think is kind of wrong. But I guess I can understand why they did it. It was really scary.”

Leftman’s participation in the shooting is under investigation with Garvin County police. Leftman’s family could not be reached for comment, and police will only divulge that they’re “very interested” in speaking with her at this time.

***

After I ignored the third snooze alarm, my mom started pounding on my door, trying to get me out of bed. Just like any other morning. Only this morning wasn’t just any other morning. This was the morning I was supposed to pick myself up and get on with my life. But I guess with moms, old habits die hard—if the snooze alarm doesn’t do the trick, you start pounding and yelling, whatever kind of morning it is.

Instead of just yelling at me, though, she started getting that scared quavery sound in her voice that she’d had so often lately. The one that said she wasn’t sure if I was just being difficult or if she should be ready to call 911. “Valerie!” she kept pleading, “You have to get up now! The school is being very lenient letting you back in. Don’t blow it your first day back!”

Like I would be happy about going back to school. About stepping back into those haunted halls. Into the Commons, where the world as I knew it had crashed to an end last May. Like I hadn’t been having nightmares about that place every single night and waking up sweaty, crying, totally relieved to be in my room again where things were safe.

The school couldn’t decide if I was hero or villain, and I guess I couldn’t blame them. I was having a hard time deciding that myself. Was I the bad guy who set into motion the plan to mow down half my school, or the hero who sacrificed herself to end the killing? Some days I felt like both. Some days I felt like neither. It was all so complicated.

The school board did try to hold some ceremony for me early in the summer. Which was crazy. I didn’t mean to be a hero. I wasn’t even thinking when I jumped in between Nick and Jessica. It’s certainly not like I thought, “Here’s my chance to save the girl who used to laugh at me and call me Sister Death, and get myself shot in the process.” By all accounts it was a heroic thing to do, but in my case… well, nobody was really sure.

I refused to go to the ceremony. Told Mom my leg was hurting too much and I needed some sleep and besides, it was a stupid idea anyway. It was just like the school, I told her, to do something totally lame like that. I wouldn’t go to something so dumb if you paid me, I said.

But the truth was I was scared of going to the ceremony. I was scared of facing all those people. Afraid they’d all believed everything they’d read about me in the newspaper and seen about me on TV, that I’d been a murderer. That I’d see it in their eyes—
You should’ve committed suicide just like him
—even if they didn’t say it out loud. Or worse, that they’d make me out to be someone brave and selfless, which would only make me feel more awful than I already did, given that it was my boyfriend who killed all those kids and apparently I made him think I wanted them dead too. Not to mention I was the idiot who had no idea that the guy I loved was going to shoot up the school, even though he basically told me so, like, every day. But every time I opened my mouth to tell Mom those things, all that came out was
It’s so lame. I wouldn’t go to something so dumb if you paid me.
Guess old habits die hard for everyone.

Mr. Angerson, the principal, ended up coming to our house that night instead. He sat at my kitchen table and talked to my mom about… I don’t know—God, destiny, trauma, whatever. Waiting around, I’m sure, for me to come out of my room and smile and tell him how proud I was of my school and how I was more than happy to serve as a human sacrifice for Miss Perfect Jessica Campbell. Maybe he was waiting for me to apologize, too. Which I would do if I could figure out how. But so far I hadn’t come up with words big enough for something this hard.

When Mr. Angerson was in the kitchen waiting for me I turned up my music and crawled deeper in my sheets and let him sit there. I never came out, not even when my mom started pounding on the door, begging in “company-voice” for me to be polite and come downstairs.

“Valerie, please!” she hissed, opening the door a crack and poking her head into my room.

I didn’t answer. I pulled the sheets over my head instead. It’s not that I didn’t want to do it; it’s that I just couldn’t. But Mom would never understand that. The way she saw it, the more people who “forgave” me, the less I had to feel guilty about. The way I saw it… it was just the opposite.

After a while I saw headlights reflecting off my bedroom window. I sat up and looked into the driveway. Mr. Angerson was pulling away. A few minutes later, Mom knocked on my door again.

“What?” I said.

She opened the door and came in, looking all tentative like a baby deer or something. Her face was all red and splotchy and her nose was seriously plugged up. She was holding this dorky medal in her hand, along with a letter of “thanks” from the school district.

“They don’t blame you,” she said. “They want you to know that. They want you to come back. They’re very appreciative of what you did.” She shoved the medal and letter into my hands. I glanced at the letter and noticed that only about ten teachers had signed it. Noticed that, of course, Mr. Kline wasn’t one of them. For about the millionth time since the shooting, I felt an enormous pang of guilt: Kline was exactly the kind of teacher who would’ve signed that letter, but he couldn’t because he was dead.

We stared at each other for a minute. I knew my mom was looking for some sort of gratitude from me. Some sense that if the school was moving on, maybe I could, too. Maybe we all could.

“Um, yeah, Mom,” I said. I handed the medal and letter back to her. “That’s, um… great.” I tried to muster up a smile to reassure her, but found that I couldn’t do it. What if I didn’t want to move on just yet? What if that medal reminded me that the guy I’d trusted most in this world shot people, shot me, shot himself? Why couldn’t she see that accepting the school’s “thanks,” in that light, was painful to me? Like gratitude would be the only possible emotion I could feel now. Gratitude that I’d lived. Gratitude that I’d been forgiven. Gratitude that they recognized that I’d saved the lives of other Garvin students.

The truth was most days I couldn’t feel grateful no matter how hard I tried. Most days I couldn’t even pinpoint how I felt. Sometimes sad, sometimes relieved, sometimes confused, sometimes misunderstood. And a lot of times angry. And, what’s worse, I didn’t know who I was angry at the most: myself, Nick, my parents, the school, the whole world. And then there was the anger that felt the worst of all: anger at the students who died.

“Val,” she said, her eyes pleading.

“No, really,” I said, “It’s cool. I’m just really tired is all, Mom. Really. My leg…”

I pushed my head deeper into my pillow and folded myself into the blankets again.

Mom bowed her head and left the room, stooped. I knew she would try to get Dr. Hieler all worked up over “my reaction” at our next visit. I could imagine him sitting in his chair:
“So, Val, we probably should talk about that medal…”

I know Mom later put the medal and letter away in a keepsake box with all the other kid junk she’d collected over the years. Kindergarten artwork, seventh grade report cards, a letter from the school thanking me for stopping a school shooting. To Mom, somehow all those things would fit together.

That’s Mom’s way of showing her stubborn hope. Her hope that someday I’ll be “fine” again, although she probably can’t remember the last time I was “fine.” Come to think of it, neither can I. Was it before the shooting? Before Jeremy walked into Nick’s life? Before Dad and Mom started hating each other and I started searching for someone, something to take me away from the unhappiness? Way back when I had braces and wore pastel-colored sweaters and listened to Top 40 and thought life would be easy?

The snooze alarm sounded again and I pawed at it, accidentally knocking the clock to the floor.

“Valerie, come on!” she yelled. I imagined she had the cordless in her hand by now, her finger poised over the 9. “School starts in an hour. Wake up!”

I curled up around my pillow and stared at the horses printed on my wallpaper. Ever since I was a little kid, every time I got into trouble, I’d lie on my bed and stare at those horses and imagine myself hopping on one of them and riding away. Just riding, riding, riding, my hair swimming out behind me, my horse never getting tired or hungry, never finding another soul on earth. Just open possibility ahead of me into eternity.

Now the horses just looked like crappy kids’ wallpaper art. They didn’t take me anywhere. They couldn’t. Now I knew they never could, which I thought was so sad. Like my whole life was all a big, dumb dream.

I heard clicking against the doorknob and groaned. Of course—the key. At some point, Dr. Hieler, usually totally on my side, gave my mom permission to use a key and come into my room whenever she pleased.
Just in case
, you know.
As a precaution
, you know.
There was that whole suicide issue
, you know. So now anytime I didn’t answer her knock she’d just come right in anyway, the cordless in her hand, just in case she walked in and I was lying in a pool of razor blades and blood on my daisy-shaped throw rug.

I watched as the doorknob turned. Nothing I could do about it but watch from my pillow. She crept in. I was right. The cordless was in her hand.

“Good, you’re awake,” she said. She smiled and bustled over to the window. She reached up and pulled the Venetian blinds open. I squinted against the early morning sunlight.

“You’re in a suit,” I said, shading my eyes with my forearm.

She reached down with her free hand and smoothed the camel-colored skirt around her thighs. It was tentative, like it was the first time she’d ever dressed up before. For a minute she looked as insecure as I was, which made me feel sad for her.

“Yeah,” she said, using the same hand to pat the back of her hair. “I figured since you were going back to school, I should, you know, start trying to get back full time at the office.”

I pulled myself to a sitting position. My head felt sort of flat in the back from lying down so long and my leg twinged a little. I absently rubbed the dent in my thigh under the sheets. “On my first day back?”

She stumbled over to me, high-stepping over a pile of dirty laundry in her camel-colored high heels. “Well… yeah. It’s been a few months. Dr. Hieler thinks it’s fine for me to go back. And I’ll be there to pick you up after school.” She sat on the side of my bed and stroked my hair. “You’ll be fine.”