I think back often, too often for it to be comfortable, on the first school shooter drill that happened this school year. I remember the moments before — up to the point of the lockdown it had been a normal day. I walked into Sugar Beet to the usual shouts of whatever joke was popular on TikTok at the time. I sat on the couch to quietly have a conversation of my own. The room then fell silent as one of the students began to present to the class about current events in the US. The room fell even more silent as the fire alarm in the corner began to flash, and the words “Intruder inside. Secure building,” began to ring out from the speaker. The classroom suddenly became very loud, with 16 opinions all being spoken at once. Anyone who has been in the Sugar Beet room will immediately understand why it is very difficult to effectively lock it down: there are three classrooms making up the room, with three separate doors to barricade. The main door was easy enough, we simply slid the yellow door blocker into place. As we ran to the other two doors, we realized we only possessed one of the door blockers. One of the locked door began to open, and Mr. Nelson quickly wrenched it back shut. We heard Officer Foster speaking from the other side, and at this point we realized that our classroom was actively being broken into as part of the drill. Students ran to hold the other door shut, and I rushed back to check on the main door. From the other room I heard yelling: the room had been broken into and we failed to correctly barricade. When Officer Foster was able to get past the door I realized that if it was not a drill I would have been killed in that classroom. It was at this point that I realized the gravity of the potential situation, and since then I haven’t been able to shake the realization that if that would have been real, everything would have been over for me and my classmates. At the conclusion of that first intruder drill, it was clear that my class needed some organization in the event of a real situation. With the help of my classmates, I created an outline of what the plan would be for the next intruder drill. That plan was put to the test during the second drill of the year, as it occurred during the same time of day. I later heard the plan went perfectly, the only problem for me was that I was not in the classroom at the time. While my classmates were back in the room barricading and subsequently hiding from the searching flashlights, I was in the worst possible place to be during a lockdown: the bathroom. When the now-familiar alarm went off I immediately checked the bathroom door to see if I thought it would be secure. I decided that staying in the bathroom was a bad decision. In the hall I found two of my friends exiting the opposite bathroom, and we then assessed our options together. We turned to run back toward our class, but were blocked by the fire door which had already automatically sealed. We were forced to walk into the commons, where we saw Officer Foster. I was relieved, and was hoping to receive help. He then said, “I’m not here, you guys gotta do something,” and continued on his way. The closest safe place appeared to be the cafeteria, and so we ran there. At last it seemed we had found some adults who would help hide us; however, we were sorely mistaken in thinking this. The lunch ladies we found only said, “go back to class,” and no matter how much I attempted to explain that the way was blocked, that we were in a lockdown and that we were supposed to act as if it was real, they refused to allow us to stay. Only after we had been rudely ushered out did they close the cafeteria gates to ensure their safety from the intruder stand-in. After being kicked out by lunch staff, my friends and I rushed to the second nearest safe place, which appeared to be the Career Center. Shortly after we entered, Mrs. Bailey found us and hurried us into a supply closet. It was here that the stress of being kicked out of the cafeteria faded and I began to think about the overall ineffectiveness of the current intruder drills, as well as why they are needed in the first place. What the experience of both these drills showed me is that no-one at any level of command has any real clue of how to prepare for an active shooting. When the initial drill resulted in failure for my classroom, the only feedback we were offered amounted to “do better next time.” Even some of the staff members are not properly trained on protocols, shown by my friends and I being kicked out of the cafeteria by lunch staff. The pipeline of information takes far too long, with teachers having to open a text or email to find out where a shooter is (instead of it being announced along with the initial warning). These drills confine us to the school, eliminating the smartest option in a real shooting: which would be to flee the building. We are forced to partake in these drills and told to act as if they are real, and then at their conclusion everything goes back to normal. We receive no feedback, and teachers go right back to teaching as if nothing happened. In addition to this, it is impossible to truly prepare for a real intruder because drills and the real thing differ in one glaring way: during a real situation, an intruder will not just be knocking on doors and pulling handles — they will be actively shooting with a deadly weapon. While inadequate preparation at the school’s level is an issue, the root of this inability to prepare is clear: regular citizens of the United States are given access to weapons that can kill rooms of people in seconds, simply by holding or repeatedly pressing a trigger, with no reload required. Members of the United States will swear on everything that the problem is not the guns, or that there is no problem at all. They will shove the Second Amendment in our faces all the while ignoring the children who are killed by the very same right. As long as potential shooters will use these murder weapons, there is no real way to prepare students for what will inevitably turn into a massacre. Teachers and students deserve better than what the American government has given them. We are told to always be prepared with an exit strategy, with some teachers hanging crisis plans next to their inspirational posters. Alongside teaching complex fractions or punctuation, our teachers are expected to magically know how to properly turn a classroom door into a barricaded fortress. The likelihood of a school shooting happening has become so high that expecting one has become engrained into everyday life for students. The kicker is that there are simple steps that could be taken at the state and federal level to reduce the danger of shooters in a school, but those in positions of power seem to lack the drive for change.  I hate coming to school everyday knowing in the back of my mind that I have to have a plan for every class I go to on what I will do if the shooter alarm goes off. I hate knowing I would have to make the decision to either run away as fast as I could, or to help my other classmates get away too. I hate that if something were to happen, one of my friends would likely be killed. As long as regular American citizens are allowed to own weapons designed to kill other people, schools will remain in danger. Too many students have died in our schools, and I can’t help but wonder how many more of us have to be killed before action will be taken.