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Farmers' Harvest

The school news site of Lewisville High School

Farmers' Harvest

The school news site of Lewisville High School

Farmers' Harvest

Column: Guilty by name

‘I do not know what I would be arrested for, but my name is the last thing I would expect to be used as evidence.’
Kevin Granados
“Getting accused of threatening to shoot a school was the last thing I could expect on a Saturday morning. Now, why would anyone think such a thing?”

Seeing police that Saturday morning was so shocking it had enough power to come to life and slap me in the face. In 2020, a lone police car with an officer was at my front door and another one was in their car on the driveway. I knew someone was at the door, but I was too immersed in a bowl of Fruity Pebbles while watching my dad play Final Fantasy 14. 

My mom answered the door and spoke for what felt like hours. My curiosity peaked and her conversation continued. Despite the urge to peer down from the banister attached to the stairs, I made no effort to move. Five excruciating minutes later, her stiff laughter finally halts. Even from upstairs I could tell she was uncomfortable as her voice remained flat and she hid part of her face behind the door. When she beckons me to come downstairs her words echo as they would later shatter my world.

I was in middle school, but even today, I’d like to think I am as straight-laced as they come. To this day, I have never done anything illegal, I’ve never done drugs or got in a fight. In middle school and high school, I was on A Honor Roll and took AP classes. On paper, I looked good not only for college, but also in the face of innocence. 

Getting accused of threatening to shoot a school was the last thing I could expect on a Saturday morning. Now, why would anyone think such a thing? 

I saw the uniform as I peeked through the slim window frames beside the wooden door. Being in a law enforcement class, I could immediately tell what the officer was doing. As he introduced himself, he peered through the house. A common strategy is to wear shades, so people don’t know where you’re looking or searching. I closed the door as fast and as delicately as possible. 

My mind raced, trying to figure out why the police were at my door. Occasionally, an officer comes to ask for donations twice a year. I freaked out, thinking about how I was specifically called to speak with them. I haven’t done anything illegal, so I started to list miscommunications or misunderstandings that could have happened. 

Thinking back on it now, I messed up during the questioning. I was asked if my family had guns in the house. Lying is not good, especially to the police, however, it makes the conversation longer. I told the truth and revealed the amount of guns we had. That alone extended this stressful situation for five extra minutes. 

The police officer explained someone on Snapchat threatened to shoot up my middle school: Durham. The person’s name was Alexis, but spelled differently. The person who received the message reported that message to the police. I was shown a picture of the message along with a picture she sent. 

I sighed in relief when I saw the image. It was an ugly snubbed-nosed revolver. It was nothing like my dad’s guns. I confidently told the officer and became slightly relaxed. I also felt good finding out this was all on Snapchat. I have never owned a phone in my entire life, and I was sure there was no way to get the app on the iPad. My dad was the only one who used it.

I checked after, and I found out I could download it. I pray they never checked the iPad App Store, and I hope they believed me. I can’t help but feel embarrassed thinking about everything. I made the talk with the police so much worse by rambling and trying to be polite. I did nothing, yet I felt guilty. My own home was turning into an interrogation room.

The blond female officer, who had been watching in the car whispering to dispatch, left the car. She silently observed the conversation and my panicked face that began to sweat. Her action alone increased uneasiness from before. Cops usually do this when there are too many suspects or if they feel threatened. The male officer remained the questioner and asked if I knew another Alexis or anything about them. As much as I refuse to snitch, I just wanted this to be over with. Unfortunately, I could not snitch, even if I wanted to. I could think of three Alexis’ on the top of my head, two only by name. I knew about 15 Alexia’s, but I knew nothing about them.

The one person I could list was Alexis spelled Alexys. I said she had red hair and glasses. I knew Alexys had done art because she was a friend of a friend. I told the police she did not look or sound like the type to threaten a school shooting. Two years later, I was a freshman and we shared a class. Ironically, it was law enforcement. She told me she also got questioned.

I also had to confirm I knew nothing about the people or who sent that message.

The thing that made this ironically interesting was the fact that I had no phone. I barely heard about this Snapchat message from a friend the day before. I paid no mind to it since the school gets threatened a lot. Multiple kids claim they are going to bring a gun, but they never do. The closest to danger I have ever been in was when a kid brought a gun to school during my junior year. However, he did it in self-defense because he was being bullied. Almost immediately, someone spotted a gun in his bag before lunchtime. I still did not bat an eye hearing the news.

A few days later, I found out that the girl who sent the message did not even go to my school. She was from Delay Middle School and was just being aggressive. Instead of threatening Delay, she chose Durham. She never brought the gun, but she caused a lot of issues. Some students skipped school that day. I went from clueless to the most informed thanks to that morning. Despite knowing the most, I still did not believe someone would bring a gun to school. Maybe I have become desensitized to threats, but I was not worried.

Realistically, I was the least afraid of the gun. That revolver has no range and can only hold six bullets. It was old-fashioned, so it had lots of recoil and a slower reload time. She would have to bring a lot of bullets. At most, six people could get hurt. I also had a hunch she was not a professional shooter. Thinking back on it, I guess I should have taken it more seriously. In the end, I was right.

I still refuse to acknowledge I was a suspect for my name. I never had anything against the police, but seeing an officer still makes me uncomfortable. I always think I must have done something wrong. Even though I am interested in law enforcement, I still get panicked. Also, I should be more careful as shootings are getting more attention these days. I think I would be more scared if the same situation happened today. 

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