“Kendall, get out of here!” he yelled at me.

I winced at his angry tone, but walked through the door.

“I’m not leaving,” I shouted back.

An officer grabbed me as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk and took me behind a car.

“I’m not leaving,” I told him.

“Just stay where you are then,” the officer grumbled, going back to the job at hand.

“He’s not a bad guy,” I told him.

But it only fell on deaf ears.

I watched Mason as he stood completely still, listening to Mark. He was beyond distraught—it was written all over his face. I tried to remain calm as I watched them try to convince him to give up.

Nothing else mattered as I watched Mason. I pleaded to the heavens that Mason made it out of that bank and into the cop car. I never wanted something so bad in my life. I could have never imagined that the best thing to happen to Mason would be for him to be arrested. But, right now, I believed it was.

We soon became the talk of the town. People from all over Gusby gathered in front of every store and house as far as the eye could see to see.

I didn’t want Mason to be that guy—another Leon of Gusby. I didn’t want him to be classified as some low life—the guy who’d be talked about for years to come. He was so much more than any of them would ever know.

He was everything to me. He was my heart.

Mark moved closer to the doors and everything fell quiet. The atmosphere grew tense as the officers watched Mark try a new approach.

“I think this is one nut about to crack,” one young cop said to his buddy.

The other one chuckled. “This beats waiting around for the regular drunk calls over at The Shed.”

I held my breath, watching Mason hold onto his gun for dear life. Mark inched closer and closer to Mason. He was still except for his eyes darting around nervously as Mark got closer to him. I looked at his arm—the one that always held me at night while I slept.

“Come on, buddy, don’t do anything stupid,” the officer next to me said, steadying his aim.

“Or maybe he should. This is the most action I’ve seen my whole career,” the other guy said. He didn’t care that I was only feet away.

Please, Mason, don’t move, I begged.

I held my breath. I felt so numb and so out of control.

“Kendall,” Mom yelled from somewhere behind me in the crowd.

I spun on my heels in slow motion as if in a dream. My hair sailed along in the air, whipping against my face with the sudden turn.

I found her in the crowd. She was jumping up and down to see over the people gathered there.

The sound of gunshots filled the air. Everyone dropped to the ground in an instant. My own body slammed against the asphalt. All I could see was black as the side of my face hugged the pavement.

I screamed as more shots went off above my head. I plugged my ears with my fingers to block out the sound.

I wasn’t sure how long I was on the ground. I just knew my mom was next to me yelling at the police, telling them I was her daughter. She frantically patted my body, checking for any gunshot wounds.

“I’m okay. Where’s Mason?” I asked, grabbing her by the arm. She pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening around me. I wondered why the police were no longer there standing behind their car doors.

Mom pulled me toward the street.

I fought back, digging in my heels to stop her from making me leave.

“Kendall, honey, he’s been shot. Let’s go back to the house. We can call the hospital to check on him,” she pleaded with me. Somehow my feet started moving.

I heard the words. That Mason had been shot, but it didn’t make sense. I didn’t understand.

Why would anyone want to shoot Mason?

“I need to see him,” I screamed, suddenly frantic and afraid her words were real. I got free from her grip and ran back to the bank. I passed the ambulance and paramedics as they ran toward the bank with medical equipment.

I got past the cops and made it to the window before anyone could stop me.

I slammed into the glass, my palms pressed against it as I peered in.

“Those are his feet,” I cried out. I couldn’t see his face. But I knew those were his shoes.

One of the paramedics shifted just enough that I could see his face.

I screamed, banging on the glass.

I shouted Mason’s name, begging him to get up. I was inside before I could be stopped. I needed to see him.

“Mason!” I dropped to my knees beside him. He was bloody and still.

“Is he okay?” I asked the paramedic. Her expression was grim.

“Kendall, we have to go,” my mom said. She had been allowed to go inside to get me. “We can go to the hospital and wait there. They want you to talk to an officer; he will meet us at the hospital.”

My mom steered me through the crowd of bystanders. I didn’t fight—I had no fight left in me—and I got into her car. I just wanted to know what was happening to Mason and that he was going to be okay.

JULY 28

TH

WHY WERE HOSPITALS so white?

Was the designer of hospitals anti-color?

Was it supposed to make us feel more comfortable?

These thoughts were on loop in my brain as I sat in the waiting room with my mom. I rested my head against my palm, trying to find a comfortable position in the hard chairs.

The hospital staff was nice enough to give me a blanket to keep me warm as I waited.

The only thing that I knew was that Mason was still in surgery.

So we waited…

I kept my eyes shut to avoid conversation with anyone. Of course, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was the gun battle that took place at the bank. Everyone had their own version of what happened at the bank. Lots of speculation and gossip filled the air and no matter what I did, I couldn’t completely drown out the talk.

They were saying Mason fired first. I didn’t want to believe that. I couldn’t believe Mason would ever shoot anyone. But a nagging thought kept running through my mind that he’d done it on purpose—that he wanted to get shot. That thought made me sick to my stomach.

“Do you even think they will tell us anything when they’re done?” I finally asked.

My mom closed the magazine she was looking at when I sat up. Her expression was somber.

“His mom is in jail. They have to tell someone,” she said softly.

I thought she must be right. I stood up and walked a few feet to the water fountain. Mason was tough. I just wanted him to be okay.

I wanted another chance to look into his eyes, to hear his voice, to feel his kiss.

I replayed his smile in my mind over and over again. I didn’t want to forget a single thing about him.

The cool water hit my lips. I didn’t drink it. I just let it pass over my lips for something to do—something besides waiting and worrying.

“Kendall,” a tall man said.

I straightened up and wiped the corner of my mouth with my hand. He flashed his badge and quickly shoved it in his shirt pocket.

“Yes?” I asked, hoping to hear news about Mason. Maybe he knew something.

“Could I speak with you for a moment? I’d like to ask you a few questions,” he said.

I stared at him.

He was maybe thirty, well groomed, and taller than most. I wondered how much sympathy a guy like him would have for Mason—or me.

“Sure,” I said, following him down the hall to the vending machines.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, shoving some coins into the machine. I watched his hands shaking as he pressed the buttons.

“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. There’s no way I could put anything in my stomach at the moment.