We finished our dinners in silence, more awkward than before. I spent the entire meal just wondering what to do with Günther. The lyrics of Demi Lovato's song run through my mind.

"Tell me what to do-oo about you
I already know
I can see in your eyes when you're selling the truth
Cause it's been a long time coming
So where you runnin' to?
Tell me what to do-oo about you

You've got your way of speaking
Even the air you're breathing
You could be anything
But you don't know that to believe in
You've got the world before you
If I could only show you
But you don't know what to do

You think about it
Can you ever change?
Finish what you started
Make me want to stay?

Tired of conversation
Show me something real
Find out what your part is
Play it how you feel"

I realized then that I should stop hanging out with Günther. Ever since that morning, song after song lyric had gone through my head. I blamed him, simply because I had to blame Günther for something, otherwise I couldn't be mad at him anymore.

Oh… sh…. Er. Darn. I don't hate Günther. Now we have a problem. I eyed a tan, tall, brunette girl who had her skin been just one half-shade darker, I would call her an African-American, well, I guess maybe black would be the more polite term in this generation I live in. She was Rocky. Damn her!

I would have to talk to her later, but at that second Günther was more important. I turned to him. "Günther, I—" I never finished that sentence, because just then we were interrupted by a masked man with a gun barging into the place yelling, "Everyone get down!"

Rocky, Günther and myself all dropped to the floor as fast as we could. I heard a shot ring out. A woman screamed what I presumed to be her husband's name, maybe her son's. Then I heard a second shot, and I looked over, and saw that the unlucky people were the woman and a young boy who was obviously autistic.

I heard a second shot and watched as the young woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late behind the counter slumped to the ground. Rocky snuck her phone out at dialed what I guessed to be 911. She whispered the information over to the operator.

I heard another shot and this time it had hit a 6-year-old child with long wavy blonde hair holding a teddy bear. She was shot in the leg. I gritted my teeth and grabbed Günther's hand from the other side of our table to keep myself from running over there and helping her. Children were my kryptonite.

Another shot, and after the previous one I couldn't bring myself to keep watching to see who the next person was going to be. I heard Günther grunt. A bullet, presumably the last one, had hit him in the stomach area. I let out a shaky breath.

"No." I said under my breath.