Shooter -- excerpt:

"He's just pulling a prank. Or maybe he had a test and he didn't want to write it." 

Or maybe he's a psychopath on a rampage. I don't say that one out loud. 

Izzy pouts. "Well, even if we knew anything about this guy--which we don't--what good would it do?" 

"Unless. . ." I say, as the idea clicks on like a bare bulb, "unless you know his fatal flaw." 

Silence. 

I look up to see all of them staring at me in surprise. "What?" I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. "I read Hamlet in Dunne's class. And I didn't even read the play, okay? It was the graphic novel or whatever." I cross my arms. 

Yeah. I listen in class sometimes. So what? I've skipped her class more times than I've sat through it. 

Alice grins at me and I feel my scowl coming on. 

"No," she says, "you're on to something." 

I realize she's not laughing at me. I see it in her eyes. Something I haven't seen from anyone in a long time. Something I thought I'd never see again. 

Respect. 

She looks back at the floor and taps her lip, deep in thought. "Every tragic hero does have a fatal flaw. A trait that brings him down.” 

"Ya," Izzy cuts in. "How about crazy? Lunatic? Demented? Oh, what does it matter anyway?" Izzy moans in her melodramatic way. We don't even know who he is." 

They're both right. It is a hero's journey. And it is real life. But I hope to God I'm wrong. Because I learned something else in Dunne's class, something I am not about to share. 

In a Shakespearean tragedy--everyone dies.