While Hiding In The Back Of Class, My Mentally Ill Teacher Asked

Trapped in the Classroom

While hiding in the back of class, my mentally ill teacher asked, “Did you all call your parents goodbye?” My girlfriend Molly put her hand under my desk. Mrs. Dodson was crying now with mascara running down her cheeks. “And please, Mrs. Dodson, you have to legally let us go”.

“I’m sorry, but if I let you all run out of the class, the gunman might get you”. “We need to wait”. I looked at Molly and tried to keep my voice steady. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to figure out a way out of this”.

Mrs. Dodson had kept our entire class trapped in the room. She’d been acting strange all week, but today she locked the door during last period because she sensed a warning. Mrs. Adodson suddenly screamed and pointed at the door.

“There, did you hear those gunshots? Everyone get down”. We all looked at each other confused, but Mrs. Adodson was shaking and clutching a rosary to her chest.

She heard it all 20 of us to the back corner of the room furthest from the windows. She started praying in Latin while we huddled together. Some kids were crying, others were texting their parents frantically. Basketball practice had started 2 hours ago.

Drama rehearsal was happening without half the cast. The school had probably already called wondering where we were.

“Mrs. Dodson, I have an idea,” I said, interrupting her prayer. “How about you let us out through the window since we’re only on the first floor and we can all escape and get help”. She shook her head violently. “No. The gunman has friends outside”. “They’ll shoot all of you the second you climb out”. “I won’t let you leave”.

She started going around hugging each student and telling them she loved them. Kids were flinching away from her touch. This woman who usually graded papers with perfect posture was now wildeyed and sweating through her cardigan. Bradley was the class troublemaker who usually slept through lessons. He stood up and crossed his arms.

“Mrs. Dodson, you’re so insane that you make me want to actually do my homework”. “Let us out, you crazy witch”. School dismissal was 4 hours ago. Her face twisted into something ugly. “The only dismissal you’re going to have is straight to hell”.

“I should let you out of the classroom and let the gunman unload on you”. “Fine then, let’s do it”. Bradley walked toward the door.

Mrs. Dodson immediately crumbled. “I’m sorry, sweetie”. “You know I can’t let you leave here”. “I have to keep the door locked so I can protect you all”. While she was focused on Bradley and trying to pull him back to the group, I saw my chance.

Her keys were hanging from her belt loop. I carefully reached over and unclipped them, trying not to jingle the metal. Molly saw what I was doing and created more distraction by fake crying loudly. I crawled toward the door, staying low like we were actually in danger. I didn’t realize till later that we really were.

My hands were shaking as I found the right key. The lock clicked open and I yanked the door handle. “Run!” I shouted. All 20 students rushed for the door at once. Mrs. Dodson screamed and tried to grab people, but we pushed past her.

We ran down the hallway and burst through the front entrance into the parking lot where police cars were everywhere. The cops had their hands on their weapons until they saw it was just a bunch of terrified teenagers. They immediately asked us what happened. “Our teacher went insane and trapped us in there for 4 hours,” I told the nearest officer.

He nodded grimly. “We’re sorry we took so long”. “We just got the call about you guys after we searched in Mrs. Dodson’s house”. “You won’t believe what we found”.

The officer pulled out a small notebook from his chest pocket, and his face got even more serious than before. He started writing something down while shaking his head slowly. I could see other cops behind him talking into their radios about something urgent.

My legs were still shaking from running out of the building, and now this cop was making it worse with whatever he wasn’t telling us yet. He looked up from his notebook and scanned our group of 20 scared students standing in a tight cluster near the school entrance.

The officer opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again, like he was trying to find the right words for what he needed to say.

Behind him, I saw more police cars pulling into the parking lot with their lights flashing, but no sirens, which somehow made everything feel more serious. The officer finally told us they’d found walls covered in newspaper clippings about school shootings at Mrs.

Dodson’s house, along with detailed maps of our school building. My stomach dropped so hard, I thought I might throw up right there on the concrete.