The Fire
    
I slipped into my chair, yawning. One last hour until school was over and I was free for the whole long, glorious weekend.

Just as I rested my arms on my unorganized desk, the fire alarm began to blare ear-splittingly. I stood up, annoyed that we had a fire drill on a lazy Friday like this, and headed to the door to line up.
    
I was concerned when I saw my teacher’s worried face as she snatched the neon-orange emergency bag from its hook. I felt flat-out panicked when a whiff of awful smoke made its way into my nostrils from the black cloud down the hallway. My stomach filled with fearful pain, and my hands grew cold as ice as I ran into the chaos outside the apparent safety of my classroom.
    
Frightened students crowded toward the door. Many obviously realized something was wrong, judging by upset, horrified, and even teary faces. The kids who remained unaware and unfrightened were quickly alerted by the sirens that could be heard in the distance a moment later. I shoved my way through anxiously chattering classmates, whose voices were unnaturally high-pitched. I heard yells of “Fire! Get to the doors!” as I passed people
    
“Jade!” My best friend Ethan’s eyes were wide open and terrified as he called my name. “The doors are blocked, or something’s wrong. I don’t know exactly, but nobody can get through!”
    
“The windows,” I said softly, not recognizing my own voice. “We can get through the windows!”
    
Before I knew it, Ethan was yelling for people to follow us back into the classroom. Teachers, janitors, and students pried open the windows and started helping as many people as they could climb clumsily and quickly through them.
    
I tumbled out of the smoke-filled school and onto the cool grass, crawling aside so others could join me. Ambulances and fire trucks crowded the streets. I sobbed in relief, my body shaking all over. I was alive. All the actual fire drills had paid off and proved themselves to be much more than a pointless annoyance.