Introduktion
My name is Rose. My father always had a special fondness for the name Rose. It's funny, though, because he once mentioned that my mother would have named me Willow.

The strange thing is, I don't really know her. My mom left us when I was just six months old, so she's practically a stranger to me.

My dad used to say she was a troubled soul, too self-absorbed to think of anyone else. I blame her every day for leaving us, even though I never got the chance to truly know her.

Utdrag
In history class, Miss Chesterfield was teaching, but my mind drifted. Something sparked a memory from our class field trip, one of the best weekends of my life.

That weekend, I made my first friend. I remember the joy of talking and laughing freely. My mind returned to reality when a loud noise rang through the school.

A school shooting had begun. My heart raced, and I looked around, realizing that some kids, like me, knew exactly what was happening.

Then I looked at Miss Chesterfield, who was scared but trying to keep us calm. We huddled under our tables as she locked the door.

"Everyone, get to the corner as we practiced," she whispered, flicking off the lights. The classroom fell into darkness, and the room filled with frightened whispers.

All I could think about was Dad – everything I'd done wrong, how I hadn't let him finish speaking this morning. My mind wandered to Mom, and suddenly, I forgave her.

I glanced at the clock above the door; it was 11 a.m. Panic set in as I heard a knock on the door. My attention was drawn to the lock, our only protection.

I looked around as another loud noise echoed through the school, silencing the classroom.

I stumbled to the back, praying that the person outside wouldn't enter. And then it happened, another knock.