We were rabid. I'm sure of it. We were rabid and revenous and the worst kids ever, and we were about to prove it by doing something really, ridiculously stupid. The lights were still off and all but one of the blinds shut, the only artificial light in the room the dull flashlight with the dying batteries.

I suppose in the end they were mainly desperate. Like a baby crying when its mother goes out of sight, afraid it will never see her again.

Tuesday morning, the May before the end of seventh grade. We were in Ms. Schoemaker's class -- social studies. The class in which nobody had any respect for the teacher or subject and simply slacked off the entire time, every day.

The opening question was up on the board. "What would you have done if you were also on the island?". No one but me was actually reading the book, no one would be able to answer. Still, a large conglomeration of people gathered around the journals alcove, getting their notebooks. I stayed in my seat in the back of the left corner of the room, gazing out at the fluffy clouds and the third graders on the playground a floor below. I was waiting for all the others to clear out so I could get my journal. But they were gathered there en masse, barring my way for several minutes.

I suppose even at the beginning we acted like animals.

Then the bell went off. Ringing warning. Our eyes all shot instantly to the red sign taped above the door with the guide to the bells.

One long ring meant fire. Two short bursts was earthquake. Three short bursts was a lockdown.

We counted.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Lockdown.

"Quick, everyone throw things at the attacker!" someone said. He was referencing a time when Ms. Schumann told us that, during a lockdown, do not just sit there cowering, throw chairs or something, save your ass.

I laughed.

We gathered up in the corner opposite to mine, together like newborn puppies around their mother. Ms. Schumann pulled the blinds down on all the windows and shut off the lights.

The first few minutes were dead silent, but that passed quickly. An hour passed in whispering quiet. We had moved around, gathered with our friends. I was now back over in my own corner, writing a story.

Schumann's pager went off. We all looked up. "Okay," she said, "Don't leave the room, they're calling me to the front office."

She left.

"So you guys think this is for real?" one girl asked.

"No shit," someone else said, "No, we're having a several-hour-long drill."

Time passed.

After two hours, people were antsy. Schumann still hadn't returned from the office and the classroom was beginning to become warm and stuffy. To our much distatste, the windows and door were both locked tight. In other words, we were trapped until someone came and let us out.

After, probably, another half hour, people started getting hostile, snapping at each other for sitting too close, or talking too loud. At one point someone almost took a swing at their friend for not sharing food they had in their bag.

It got bad, then it got worse.

We were now scattered around the room in various patches. My friends were around my corner, but I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying.

In truth, I spent most of that time pretending to write, staring at Keira, the girl I liked, trying to work up the courage to go talk to her. Yeah, yeah, pathetic, whatever.

It was now just about 1:30pm. School got out at 3:00. We had spent the entire day so far locked in that hellhole of a room.

Then we reached a tipping point. We reached a mindset bent on escape.

People attempted to unlock the door with a credit card, and when that was fruitless, they began simply throwing themselves at it in futile attempts to break it down. These, of course, were also fruitless.

"Let's break the windows then!"

It was as if they'd become a collective consciousness. I wasn't even able to distinguish one from another anymore. They acted as one. Someone lifted a chair and readied it to hurl at a window.

"Wait!" a voice said from the back. I guess I hadn't noticed that Keira was now alone in the opposite corner from me. "What good will that do? We're on the second floor!"

This is why I liked her. She was sensible and sincere and convincing and--

"She wants us to stay trapped here!" someone yelled. "Throw her out the window!"

This was the point at which I lost faith in humanity. It was surreal. I felt detached from the whole ordeal. They were a hivemind, I was a rock. I was utterly unable to say a word. It may have been the dehydration, or maybe just the shock at my friends' actions, but all I could do is stare as her pleading eyes met mine and they dragged her toward the window. Tears were running idly down my face, but I was unable to try to stop them.

"NO! NO! STOP!" she screamed.

I looked over at the journal alcove.

"PLEASE!"

There was no one there.

"BEN! SOMEONE PLEASE!"

I walked over and grabbed my journal, took it back to my desk, and began writing my response to the day's question.