My year of disastrous dating

Panic arose again in February, when reports of popping sounds sent the school into lockdown.

Students hid behind desks and pressed tight against the classroom walls, hiding from a gunman who never arrived. This week, instead of printing prom pictures and planning graduation parties, this small city held free community dinners and formed prayer circles.

Her career at Santa Fe High revolved around the choir.

She was vice president, an alto destined to finish well in the statewide vocal contest, hoping she could spend her junior year singing and meeting the new students who seemed to come every few weeks.

Later she found her dogs swimming in the waters rising outside her house. The school district canceled two more days of classes. When the doors opened again, Latham said, everything felt different.

The district attorney warned graduates that they were entering into a “spiritual war zone,” full of death and evil.

Longtime residents blamed the shooting on a well-publicized decision to stop holding prayers before each school day.

In the hours after the shooting, Murphy decided she needed to go back.

She needed to see her friends and teachers, to look in their eyes and know they had survived.

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