Youth / OPINION : ‘Thinking About Him, This Guy I Never Knew’ : The fatal shooting at Reseda High triggers a gamut of emotions in a fellow student, who mourns his lost sense of safety at school.

I was getting ready to take a history test when I first heard the news. Up until then, my day had been pretty normal. But after those words, all normalcy was gone.

“Hey, Sim, did you hear? Some kid was shot over in the S-building.”

I didn’t believe him at first. Here? At Reseda High? No, I thought. It can’t be. It must be some kind of stupid rumor.

Half an hour later, I knew it was true. Our principal came over the public address system and announced it. Taking my history test seemed pointless, an insignificant act given the weight of what was going on around us.

I walked across campus to my fourth period class trying to comprehend it all. A student was shot by a guy with a gun. What did that mean? I was trying to put things in perspective, but couldn’t. What could be worth shooting someone over?

I wanted to know whether the guy who got shot was the same one I passed this morning. Was the guy who did the shooting the same one I bumped into in the hall? What if it had been me?

And then the bad news turned worse.

A teacher came in and announced that the shot student had died.

To get shot is one thing; to be killed is another. I kept thinking about him, this guy I never knew. This morning he woke up, got ready, said goodby to his mom, got on his bus and came to school--just like I did. Except he would never go home again.

It’s weird, but I always thought that school was the safest place I could ever be. In fact, during those earthquake drills I’d always joke that I wanted to be stuck at school during a real emergency because I’d have everyone around me. I guess I was naive, but I never expected guns to be used on campus. I knew there were people who carried them around, but I always figured they would never be used at school.

Naturally, the talk in our fourth period class was of the shooting. We all discussed how this could have happened and what could be done. Nothing concrete came out of the discussion. How could it? By lunch, I realized I was so mad that I couldn’t stand it. I had to do something to let off steam. I did what I always do when I’m mad. I played basketball. And I played it rough.

In fifth period class, the topic of the shooting again dominated. How could this have been prevented, the teacher wanted to know. I know our administrators and superintendent have this plan in place, one that involves random checks with metal detectors and a tip hotline. Obviously, it doesn’t work. The problem with metal detectors is simple: They can’t be everywhere. And the tip hotline: It can’t work. Too many people are afraid of being shot in retaliation by an an angry gang member.

I wish I knew a solution, but I don’t. I guess we just have to accept that it’s a dangerous world and hope we’re not its next victim.

By the end of the day, I had run the whole gamut of emotions. I’d felt grief, denial, fear, depression, anger and a crude form of acceptance. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know the student who was shot, or that he may have been involved in something. I’m still mourning for him, and maybe for the rest of us students, too.