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BEFORE?!?”
    Even over the pounding of my heart, I could hear every word he said.
    â€œYes, I’m in the kitchen now!...Whaddya mean ‘the pantry’? How am I supposed to know what a pantry is!...Just tell me where they are! Look, you worked here. Not me. I don’t know where he keeps his matches! You want me to burn the place down, I need the matches!...”
    Burn the place down.
    I heard the words. I understood the words. But it took a few really, really long seconds before I knew what they meant. He was going to light the log house—and everyone in it—on fire. That’s why he needed the matches. That’s why he was talking about kerosene. That was the tragic accident he was planning.
    I could hear a chair scraping across the floor and then the guy scrambling around in the kitchen. A couple of dishes broke. You could hear him throwing stuff around. He clearly didn’t care what kindof mess he left behind. After a while the noise stopped. He went, “Yeah, okay, I got ’em.”
    The door slammed, and then everything was quiet. He’d gone outside. I could breathe.
    I wanted to find a place to hide—a REAL place to hide—and stay there until the guy was gone for good. He wouldn’t miss one more kid. He wouldn’t even know I was gone. He’d just burn the place down, and then he’d leave. Sooner or later the police would show up. I’d explain everything then. They’d understand.
    Yeah.
    They’d understand that I was a chicken. That I let my whole class die. That when I had a chance to save them, I saved myself instead.
    That would suck.
    I thought my life was bad before. Imagine what it would be like if I let Shane die. He’d end up the big hero. Kids who die are always heroes. No one would remember what a jerk he was, how manypeople he tortured, how he tortured me every day of my life. They’d forget that. I’d be the live chicken, and Shane would be the dead hero—forever and ever. I’d never live it down.
    I had to at least try to do something. No one would blame me if I at least tried.
    I got out of the fireplace. I snuck over to the window. I hoped the guy wouldn’t be able to see me through the lace curtains.
    I kept losing sight of him. The bus was in the way. But I saw a can of something over by the log house. I figured it was the kerosene. My grandmother has some at the cottage in case the power goes out. That stuff’s like lighter fluid. If he sprinkled it around, the house would go up in flames like a paper bag. No one inside would have a chance. I started shaking again.
    I saw the guy dragging the bus driver toward the log house. A minute later, he was back, carrying Ms. Creaser. She was struggling. He didn’t seem to care.
    I had to do something. I ran into the kitchen. I needed a weapon. A hammer. A frying pan. Something. I know it sounds dumb, but I had this idea that I could just sneak up behind him and hit him. I actually thought I’d be strong enough to stop him somehow.
    I got into the kitchen and I saw something even better than a weapon.
    The guy’s cell phone.

chapter eleven
    It was lying on the table beside his cigarettes. I wiped the soot off my hands and dialed. I couldn’t believe it. Someone answered.
    This lady’s voice said, “9-1-1. What is your emergency?” It was just like on TV.
    I told her—or at least I tried. I must have sounded nuts. I was terrified the guy was going to come back and murder me. Under the circumstances, it was kind ofhard to think straight. I just blurted out whatever came into my head. I was sure she was going to hang up on me. The story was so crazy. It sounded like some stupid joke—even to me. Some guy kidnapped my entire class and was going to light us all on fire? Who’d believe that?
    The operator did. Or at least she seemed to. She didn’t say, “Yeah, right...” or tell me to quit kidding around. She