I tightened my fist and stared on, it was my turn soon, and I still hadn’t figured what I would say, I didn’t wanna do it, but if I did it and got it over with maybe I could blend in, have him not bother with someone like me at all, maybe he wouldn’t discover my secret at all, maybe it would all just end.

The man was now sitting on the desk, his hammer pointed out like a talk show host's microphone.

“So, what’s your name, and talent?” He said pointing the mic to the student right in front of me.

Gary was a quiet kid like me, but unlike me in a lot of ways, he wasn’t weird, nor the smelly weird kid. He was just Gary who everyone copied homework and test questions from.

“I- I’m Gary Allen an-and I wa-wanna be the president.” He finally spit out, his nerves shredded, and most likely his spirit too. This is what Gary always spouted off about, being the president of the whole United States, he’d always say that his mom and dad were grooming him to be successful.

“Oh ho, those are some big aspirations Gary, but can I ask, of what?”

Gary’s barely audible huh only reached me because the man said.

“CMON GARE PRESIDENT OF WHAT?”

Mr. Cooper once asked me did If I knew how lethal a gun was. I said I had, because my father was huge on them, and he even showed me how to use them, shoot them, and clean them. I wasn’t fond of weapons, but I was fond of spending time with my father. So, when I was over and he showed me a collection of weapons he had similar to my father’s, I acted amazed, even though all I wanted was someone to talk to too. We talked about more than weapons, we talked about past lessons, and myself, along with my family life. He’d told me that I was the only student he’d ever let see his collection, and rode in his car. I was his special student, different from the rest, and I needed to keep this a secret, us meeting like this, because it could never be known that I was given special treatment. I think of that yellow couch, the smell of lemon drops, and the cold feeling of the fan blowing against my skin. I think of grasping the gun he showed me that day, holding it, and taking aim.

“So, who do I have the pleasure of talking to today?”

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The man asked, right up to my face, invading what I had thought was a safe spot away from it all. He had his hammer in my face, a makeshift microphone once again. I was snapped back to reality, listening to the cries of my classmates, as this man stood before me.

“Oh,” he said, focusing his eyes on me. “Oh, ho I think we’ve got a winner.” His voice was choked and loud, almost inaudible if I wasn’t right there.

The rest of my class stared at us in horror, probably thinking, good take him away and be done with the rest of us, he deserves it, we don’t, please just go. Then the man did something I hadn’t expected, he hugged me, whispering something in my ear.

“He did huh?” he said after coming back up.

I hadn’t heard him; I was so focused on the rest of the class and the strong smell of alcohol coming out of his breath.

“You’re his type, I mean, I can tell, you’re just like me,” he said singing it lackadaisically, the hammer still in his hand swinging around loosely as he talked. “Let me guess, special, one of a kind, different from the rest? Car rides to fast food joints?”

I didn’t nod nor acknowledge what he was saying, I was spinning in my own head. I had known I wasn’t the only one, I saw it when he had fallen asleep, the name tags of previous students, before me.

“So, Mister, just like me, What’s your name and what’s his secret?” He said pointing back to Mr. Cooper. Ferocity in his voice, a danger I hadn’t sensed earlier.

My eye darted to my bag beside me, which held the present I had got for Mr. Cooper, the one that I would never be able to give him because this man took him away from me. He took what I wanted away. Then it became clear, I had the perfect chance to end it all here, I didn’t care if my secret came out in the end, as long as I could save this classroom, which had never saved me, I wondered what they’ll say. Brave child saves the day, or revenge slayings end brutally, the cycle never-ending. I had wondered when he told me he was like me, which name he was in that pile, but I know it doesn’t matter because a victim is a victim.

“My name is Peter Hamm” a name I had been poked fun about since I was born, oh what a ham hock, oh the little piggy, take it you pig. A curse brought onto me by my own existence. “I do have something to show today, it’s a present from my father, that I wanted to show.” I don’t know what kind of face I was making, or if I was making one, but I think I was smiling.

The man’s surprise and welcome didn’t shock me, he was just like me, so he would welcome what I had and what was coming to him. He crossed his arms expecting something great from me. So, I reached into my backpack and grabbed the surprise I had in store, not for my classmates, but for Mr. Copper himself, but now that he’s no longer here, I have to gift it to the man who took away my grief, maybe that’s not the right word, my way to deal with my own pain. Feeling around, I reach inside and grab the Glock 21c in the bottom of my bag, my father’s precious child, the one he proudly shows out in the cupboard, which he leaves drunkenly open. I switch the safety off, and I survive.