Never Fall For The Sad Boy (bxb)

1. News Reports

Every town (city that isn't, like, NYC or LA or any other big city/capital city) in this book is made up and fake, however, it's in Indiana.

TWs: mentions of school shootings, trauma, hospital rooms, intended mention of parental abuse

"After the tragic school shooting where five teenagers and one teacher were hurt, Oakfolk High will be closed for the remainder of this school year. Students will be separated to the different schools around Oakfolk, and now over to–"

The TV is abruptly cut off by my mom, turning it off.

"Gosh, how tragic," she looks furious, "Sending the kids out to new schools where they won't know anybody. Is anyone moving to your school, sweetie?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Principal Cline had some speech about it last week," I tell her. Talking about the tragedy always makes me uncomfortable. I never know what to say or do.

"Be friends with whoever shows up. They are bound to be quite shaken, considering the attack, and you need to be patient with them, and nice to them."

"I promise, mom, I will be," I say, because I mean it. I mean to make them feel as welcome as possible.

"I know you will," mom smiles and stands up, placing her palm on my head before bending down and kissing my forehead, like she's done all my life. I smile at the familiar gesture.

When mom leaves, I turn on the TV again. I know I said that talking about it makes me uncomfortable, and it does, but I'm nosy as hell, and I will watch the news in hopes of getting an inkling of who may be joining my school.

A girl is being interviewed, and it looks like she's crying, but she isn't acknowledging it. Maybe she hasn't noticed. She's looking slightly dazed, like her eyes are out of focus.

"We were hiding in the bathroom," she's saying, practically whispering, "and– and we heard the door open. Julie was hiding in the stall beside me and I heard her suck in a tight breath, before–" the girl sucks in a tight breath that probably resembles Julie's, "before I heard the gunshot," once she says the word, she flinches, and I feel so bad for her. She seems to need a minute before someone off screen reaches out and squeezes her arm, to which she offers them a smile.

"I think the shooter left after that," she continues, having composed herself, "At least I heard the door close. After that, I waited for a couple of seconds to make sure he was gone," there's a look of guilt on her face and, once again, whoever isn't on screen squeezes her arm, "then I left my stall and went into Julie's."

There is a grimace on her face. Another squeeze. Silence. Another. Silence.

"Carla?" the reporter's voice. More tears fall from the girl's, presumably Carla's, eyes when she shakes her head. "Okay," the reporter sighs and the camera switches to the guy who was previously on.

"Thank you, James, and thank you so much, Carla, for sharing your story. Julie, a senior at Oakfolk High, was shot in the stomach through the door, and her friend Carla saved her life. Police investigators believe Julie was the first to get shot in the shooting. The last one was Kian Browne, who will be moving to Wayhild High to finish the semester, " I sit up straighter at that. Wayhild is my highschool. "His school time is starting tomorrow. Kian's family has requested his face remain anonymous."

The camera once again switches to see a reporter sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. In the corner of the screen, he is presented as James, and another corner states that this video is from a couple days ago.

"How do you feel?" James questions, a look of false concern evident on his features.

"I'm fine," comes a boy's voice, snappy and sour. He is clearly annoyed with having the reporter there.

"How did you feel after the shooting?" James carries on anyway. I get that he needs to do his job, but leave the kid some space!

"I don't know," Kian says, voice now falsely chipper, "I was sort of unconscious."

James laughs gently, politely. It makes me want to smash the TV.

"How did you feel when you woke up?"

"Hungry," James laughs again, and the comment even pulls a little at the corners of my mouth, "and hurt. Like, pain."

"Of course. Can I ask, where were you shot?"

"My thigh."

"The doctors said that it's a miracle you can still walk, is that true?"

"I guess. It did hurt like a b— though."

At the swear word, there is a long beeping sound that I can't help but roll my eyes to. This kid was joining my school tomorrow and he went through a traumatic event recently, and they don't even let him use the words he wants to use.

"Kian, how old are you?" James asks now. Kian scoffs.

"What, my dearest father hasn't told you already?" James shakes his head, "Well, I'm a junior."

"How nice. How do you feel about moving to Wayhild?"

"I don't care. One highschool can't be worse than the other, right?"

Once again, James laughs.

"I guess not."

—

Mom has made spaghetti for dinner. Me, mom, and dad are sitting around the dinner table.

"I heard you kept watching the news after I'd left, Elis," mom says, and I look up from my food.

"Oh. Yeah, I wanted to see if I'd get to know who'd be going to my school."

"And..?" Dad prompts, looking at me expectantly. His Spanish accent is easy to make out, as usual. "Did you find out?"

"Yeah. This kid Kian is starting tomorrow."

"Did he seem nice?"

I only shrug, thinking about the sarcastic voice on the TV. He had sounded... quite rude, to be honest. I mean, some of my friends are sarcastic and I can tell that stuff, but using sarcasm on national television? It feels a bit risky.

That night, I stay up, researching the shooting more thoroughly.

During the end of lunch two Mondays ago, exactly two weeks after school started, a shooter came into school and after a warning shot into the roof, the alarms went off.

The first thing the unknown shooter did was go into the first corridor girl's toilets and shoot at a stall which contained a girl called Julie Anderson. The cops think that the shooter thought the bathroom was empty and left.

The shooter then walked past a few classrooms before entering the art room and shooting a freshman boy and a sophomore girl. Then he shot a teacher in another bathroom. Ten minutes later, he entered a cupboard in which another sophomore was hiding and shot her too. His last stop was an almost empty gym, where he shot Kian.

After Kian was shot, the cops entered the building and the shooter fled through a window in the gym. There were no details on how any of the victims were found, except for Julie, who had Carla call for help.

Once I finish going through that day, it's almost three AM. I think about going to sleep, but it feels unnecessary considering I will still be just as tired tomorrow. Well, today.

So I go on Instagram and search for Kian's name, wanting to know more about him. I find an account. It's a bit old, apparently created when he started on Oakfolk High. The one picture there is is two years old, and it's of a boy with dark hair and a wide smile, standing in front of Oakfolk High with his hands clutching the straps of a backpack.

He looks very cute, I can't help but think before I fall asleep in my chair.