Cari and the Red Dot Adventure

I was smart enough to skip the ninth grade and be enrolled in high school as a sophomore. My mom said I was probably too smart for my own good, although she said that with a chuckle. Maybe she’s right. Also, my dad sits on the town school board, and he was unsure of the wisdom of this move. Nevertheless, I was determined to prove myself.

Although I had moved ahead, my thirteen-year-old mind was still back at the Emma J. Barnard Middle School, a place that I loved with all my heart. And I feared for the safety of my former schoolmates because I saw it as a vulnerable place and was determined to do something about that. I may get in trouble, but isn’t that what life is all about—standing up for what one believes in?

It took a while to concoct a plan that would get the attention it deserved, and first, I had to make sure that the results would be adequately presented in the press and on TV. My older cousin was a reporter for the Mansfield Times, and I took my plan to her first. “Robin, please let me lay this whole thing out for you before you make any comments.”

She gave me that, ‘I’m older and wiser than you’ smile and consented to hear my story.

“I’ve given this a lot of thought. I’m sure I have everything covered, and my best friend, Darla Cunningham, said she’d be there with me.”

“So, Cari, how can I help?” Robin appeared interested.

I was sure she meant that, so I went into a lot of detail and laid out my plan while she made some notes and doodled on a yellow legal pad with a red-ink ballpoint pen. Her first word to me after I finished was “Ambitious.” Her following words expressed some skepticism, and finally, she said, “You might get expelled.”

I was willing to take that risk because I saw this as a life-and-death situation.

Like me, Darla was also thirteen. However, last summer, she had come from another state where the kids started school at a younger age and had completed ninth grade before she arrived here. So, the school allowed her to begin as a sophomore.

Both of us were younger than the other kids, although taller than some of the fourteen-year-olds. That brought us together the first day as though a cosmic spotlight had shined on us. In the beginning, I merely hinted at the thing I planned, trying to gauge her interest and whether, or not, she could keep a secret. She passed both criteria with flying colors, and the deal was done. Although we didn’t seal it with a blood oath as the pirates did in Treasure Island, I had confidence in her and proceeded to concentrate on my plan.

Darla suggested a few changes that I gratefully accepted, especially about the disguises. I called my cousin again and spoke with her, and she agreed. She was getting more interested and saw this as a scoop for her paper and a significant cred to enhance her career.

The plan was simple, but like all simple things, it probably had some holes in it. Darla and I worked on this each day on the bus ride home and came to one conclusion—we’d give it our best shot.

The first problem lay in the disguises. Could we, a couple of early teens, pass ourselves off as adults? While my mom was at work, I went into her bedroom and tried on a pair of heels. Wobbly at first, I got better as I practiced, walking up and down the hall several times without stumbling. I didn’t try to go downstairs because there were none at the school. The next thing I did was go in her closet and take down the box that contained the Styrofoam head with the long brunette wig. I pushed my short blond hair under the wig cap and instantly became an older, if not wiser, twenty-something adult. At least in my mind.

To complete the transformation, I rolled up some socks and stuck them in my bra and was pleased with that effect, although I knew it would take some time for nature to complete the job.

I didn’t add make-up, I knew how that would work, but I did put in a pair of mom’s earrings to replace the peace signs I had been wearing and stepped away from the mirror at an advanced age. I wore clear lens glasses in a school play last year, added them, and gained a few years, although they slightly distorted my contacts. My only problem was my braces, and I began practicing speech with my lips tighter together, which added a little depth to my voice. I was well satisfied with the woman I saw in the mirror. I called Darla.

She was excited about her own transformation, and she had an older sister whose underwear could do what the rolled-up socks did for me. Also, the sister had a red-haired wig that completely covered Darla’s ponytail, and she had perfect teeth. We took selfies of our new look and exchanged them. Her adult appearance was terrific, and she, like me, had not even bothered with make-up

I had an outline of the plan, and the next box to check was labeled: ID. I downloaded an app that allowed kids to make funny business cards that no one would ever accept as proof of age. But, with a bit of manipulation by my mouse friend, who I had nicknamed “The Seeker,” I manipulated the screen to give us realistic-looking cards that stated we represented “The Department.”

Darla’s coming over Saturday morning while my parents are still asleep, and we’ll take pictures in my room, wearing the wigs. The passport-sized images will quickly pass a cursory examination by the front office at the Emma J. Barnard Middle School.

The rest of the school week passed like cold molasses, and we anxiously awaited Saturday morning and our wig pictures.

Darla rode over on her bike. I met her on the porch, and we quietly went upstairs to my room. I had hung a blue bedsheet on the wall for the background, and we took turns taking pictures with my new phone, which had high-resolution capability. We stood there smiling, or closed mouth, or frowning, and took several shots. She liked her smiley picture. I wanted the one with my mouth shut and braces hidden. But, in both our photos, we weren’t teens anymore.

I printed these on card stock cut from a manila letter file, and the results were exactly what we were hoping for. After that, we rode our bikes to the mall, staying on the sidewalk because of the traffic. I had enough money saved from babysitting and walking Mrs. Tingley’s dog that I paid for both of us without using the credit card my dad allowed me to carry. He gave me that on my thirteenth birthday with many caveats and instructions and how it was for emergencies only. I’m not sure if he would call my plan an “emergency,” but as a school board member, I think he might accept it that way. Maybe.

We went to Office Depot at the south end of the mall and presented our ID cards to the lady at the service counter. She looked a little squinty until I said, “They’re for a play we’re doing at school.” This was only the first of many fibs I would tell to protect the mission. We also purchased the blue lanyards and left there thinking we were some kind of badass, but it was for a noble purpose.

After that, we went into the food court to meet some of our friends and get something to eat.

It was early, so only Tom, Sue, and Becky were there seated at a table for six. Darla and I said, “Hey guys…” as we approached and pulled out chairs. Tommy responded for the three of them and said, “Wazzup!” trying to sound all “gangsta.” This is hard to pull off when you’re as small and thin as he is. I don’t think he could threaten a squirrel. Sue asked, “What’s in the bag?”

We both said, “Nothin’,” and sat there with our drinks, joining in the day’s gossip until we had sucked the bottom of the cups dry through double straws and cracked the remaining ice between our teeth. Then I nodded to Darla, and she said, “See ya, guys, and we got up to leave pretending we didn’t hear their other questions.

I spent an hour Monday night after my homework was done surfing the net for reports on school shootings. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time and often cried for the victims and their families. This only strengthened my purpose and, although we might get in trouble, I saw it as the right thing to do. Now, Darla and I needed to put the final touches on our plan.

When the bus dropped us off at the front entrance Tuesday morning, we entered the school with the laughing, cheerful group of kids. I checked out the location of the CCTV cameras and the call box that would be used to request entry after the doors were locked. The Middle School was similar, and I remembered the camera and call box located in the same place without needing to go there to check. We all smiled at the Resource Officer who stood there as the first line of defense and nodded to us as we walked by. He was a combat veteran and looked like someone who could handle a bad situation. Officer Rooney at the Middle School wore the same uniform. Still, I always doubted his ability to do much more than that.

After school, we told our friends we intended to walk home. As people left the grounds, we checked for a backdoor camera. We walked around the edge of the athletic field while the football team was coming out for practice. I spotted several places where I thought an intruder could quickly get inside the fenced perimeter. Darla made notes on a pad, drew a sketch of the school building, and indicated the weak points along the boundary. We could have done this at Emma J., but the two schools were very similar, and I didn’t want to risk being identified by any former teachers or kids who knew me.

We decided, later that day, at Darla’s house that we had everything in place and would put our plan in action on Thursday morning. This would allow Robin time to get her scoop printed in the Friday morning edition of the Times and the TV stations time to pick it up beginning with the noon news

Wednesday night, I asked my mom if I could use her wig for a skit at school on Thursday. I had my fingers crossed behind my back to, hopefully, absolve me from this fib--and maybe a few more. Darla went into her sister’s closet and took the red wig, assuming her sister wouldn’t miss it because she was now streaking her hair with rainbow colors.

The plan was magnificent in its simplicity. On Thursday morning, we would miss the bus, come back to my house after mom and dad had both left for work, get ready, and head for Emma J. after the morning bell rang and the doors were locked.

Now came the tricky part. Dad trusted me to use the credit card wisely, and in my mind, I was doing just that. We got into our disguises in my room, added makeup, checked ourselves in the mirror, and carried the high heels down the stairs along with my Dad’s large Adidas gym bag and one of his old briefcases. I opened the app for my dad’s Uber account, entered the necessary data, and requested a car. We waited outside, shifting from one foot to the other as the anxiety mounted.

This was all new to me, and I explained that to the driver as I affirmed the address, hoping I was doing the right thing. Instead, he mumbled something in a language I didn’t understand, and we drove to the school. I had folded a five-dollar bill in my pocket for a tip, assuming that’s what adults did.

He pulled into the circle in front of the main entrance, and I got out with the briefcase. Darla stayed in the car, and he dropped her off at the end of the parking lot. She walked to the back door with the Adidas bag and waited.

I squared my shoulders and shrugged up the socks, then went to the entrance, smiled at the camera, held up my ID lanyard, and pressed the button on the call box. A cheery young girl's voice asked why I was there. I took a deep breath and answered, “I’m Madeline Albright from The Department. I’m here for the survey.” She accepted that and buzzed me into the lobby. I don’t know if it was from some recollection of the former Secretary of State or my smiling face, but I was in.

Now it got tricky, and I hoped I could get through the next few minutes without fainting because, after that, it was easy-peasy. I hope.

I went to the front desk and met the same girl I spoke with through the mike, who said her name was Margaret. She asked me again why I was there. I raised the laminated ID above the counter but did not remove it from my neck. “The Department sent me here to conduct a security survey of the campus as required under the new Federal law. My colleague has checked the outside perimeter and will be joining me. Oh, there she is now.” I pointed to Darla’s waving, smiling, black and white image on the CCTV monitor and asked Margaret to buzz her in that door. The bag she was carrying could have held an arsenal.

Then, I asked where the Resource Officer’s office was as if I didn’t know. She directed me to room 112. I thanked her and said we wouldn’t bother anyone. But, we would cover the entire school for the survey and place colored sticky dots at areas that might be of concern. She thought that was an admirable thing to do and thanked me. Then, I left the office before my legs gave out, made a beeline for the restroom, leaned against the wall to collect myself, and waited for Darla.

Darla was wide-eyed when she arrived and was so nervous, she had to pee. When she was done, we took out the dots and Magic Markers and went to work.

The first thing I did was go directly to 112 and knock on the open doorframe. Rooney looked up from his monitor, where he might have been playing solitaire or something, and asked what I wanted. As I did for Margaret, I told him I was doing a survey for “The Department,” omitting the word “security,” not wanting to raise his interest level. He asked, “Why?” and I stated again it was for “The Department.” He shook his head as if that was beyond his understanding and asked if I needed any help. I thanked him and said that my colleague would be assisting me. Before leaving his office, I stuck red dot number one on his door, explaining that this was so my colleague would know this room was already done. I hobbled in my heels down one side of the corridor, placing numbered dots here, there, and everywhere as if an active shooter had sprayed the area with his deadly automatic weapon. That could have killed the kids I knew. And I had been a potential target here myself last year. That horrible thought made me shiver. Darla placed her dots on the other side of the corridor. Because she had not previously been a student here, she went into several classrooms, apologized for the interruption, and stated she was doing this for “The Department.” She stuck her “lethal” dots in several places. By the time we were done, we had “fired” 47 “shots.”

We’re not sure how we got through this exercise without passing out. I’ve never been so nervous in all my life. But we did it, then checked out at the office and told them they passed with “flying colors,” We walked outside through several rows of teacher’s cars before collapsing on the grass at the other side of the parking lot.

After I recovered, I called Robin. She said she would be there in about twenty minutes and was bringing a cameraman with her. It took them about ten minutes in the office to explain why they were there to follow up on the survey and take a few pictures, “If that was alright.” The school staff was glad for the publicity because of the pending bond issue coming to a vote in May. So they granted Robin and Harold the access they needed. When they were done, they picked up Darla and me and drove us to the Purple Cow ice cream parlor, and we pigged out on sundaes with a lot of gooey extras.

It took a while to settle down. Now we had to face the music and tell our parents what we had done. Robin said she would fully support us and send me her first draft for backup when it was complete.

We went to my house, changed out of our disguises, and Darla went home still wearing her sister’s bra, which she thought of as an adventure.

I lay on my bed listening to some Taylor Swift with my earbuds when my mom came home. I didn’t hear her enter, and she came upstairs and was standing in my doorway before I saw her. “Hi, Mom.” I matched her smile and took out the earbuds

“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?”

I sat up and shrugged, then said, “It was different, Mom.”

She had a question on her face. “Oh?”

“I’d like to wait for Dad to come home, then I’ll tell both of you. Is that okay?”

“Sure, hon, take your time. We’re always here for you.” She came over and placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a little squeeze, then went downstairs, and I could only imagine what she was thinking might have happened.

When my dad came home, I gave them a few moments to talk, imagining my mom would suggest a few topics that I might want to discuss. Then, finally, I went downstairs.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Kiddo.,” which Dad always said when he wasn’t sure what came next. Then he ruffled my hair and chuckled as he did it.

“Can we go to the living room and sit down, please.” I tried to look contrite, which I think I pulled off well because I did have some regrets about what I did.

Mom and Dad sat on the sofa together, and I sat on the piano bench by the window and began my story. It didn’t take long for the emotion to overwhelm me like an ocean wave, and I started sobbing uncontrollably.

Mom opened her arms, and I went to the couch and wedged between my parents, clinging to my mom with her arms tight around me. My dad was patting my hair and saying over and over, “It’s alright, Cari, it’s alright….” Then he got up and went to the fridge to get me a juice box.

When I settled down, I apologized for my fibs and began my story again. So I’ll wait a little bit before I tell them about Uber.

I explained that I thought of this after seeing the reports of so many horrific school shootings and how I began to fear for my life every day when I went to school. “I’m not the only kid who feels that way. All of us do. Honestly, Mom and Dad, we’re scared.” I explained that the security at the high school was much better. They had a Resource Officer who looked like he knew what he was doing or needed to do in the event of an active shooter attack. On the other hand, I said that the Middle school was much less protected and, in my opinion, Officer Rooney should retire.

When I described our disguises, my parents thought that was hilarious, and Mom said she’d like to see me in heels. Dad said he would call for a special school board meeting and talk to the District Superintendent in the morning. We had no sooner settled when I got a text from Robin and opened her draft on my phone. She said she only had an hour before the deadline and asked if I wanted to add anything. So I read it aloud to my parents.

Two young students have exposed a severe vulnerability in the Middle School defenses against a shooter. Cari Liberto and Darla Cunningham, both thirteen-year-old students at West Side High School, “invaded” the Emma J. Barnard Middle School. They placed red sticky dots throughout the building, simulating where bullets might have struck from a shooter’s assault rifle. Unfortunately, the school was unaware of their plan. It allowed the two teens, cleverly disguised as adults, to roam throughout the building after presenting false IDs identifying them as representing “The Department,” conducting a survey. Cari’s father, Dan Liberto, is on the school board and will be one of the committee members looking for a complete overhaul of school defense policy. This reporter has been unable to reach any school officials for a statement. This story will continue as details emerge.

“Wow!” My dad was excited by this and left the room to call the school board chairman. I sat close with Mom, and she slowly rubbed my back as the air went out of me. When Dad came back in the room, he said, “Jerry will be all over this, and there’ll be statements made before morning. He will appear on Channel 6 beginning at 5 a.m. Then Dad said, “Let’s celebrate. Pizza time!”

We went to Eddie’s Best on Turner St. and ordered the Super Supreme with everything but anchovies. Dad’s phone lit up several times with messages from school board members who assured him they would get right on this. A special meeting was called for tomorrow at 7 p.m. Chairman Jerry said he would be glued to the TV in the morning. He told Dad to tell me there would be no penalties for Darla and me. He would make sure of that. I slurped the bottom of my drink and asked for another one. Dad said I could ask for the moon, and he’d get it for me. Even though I had gone way outside the boundaries with this stunt, my parents were glowing with pride.

Before we left Eddie’s, I got a text from Robin that said her story would be printed on page one above the fold. So I’d be downstairs in my jammies, ready to scoot out into the driveway and get our copy because Billy Parnell never threw it far enough to make the porch landing.

We sat around the breakfast table together, reading the paper. Mom cut out the article with scissors and mounted it on the fridge with a magnet. I called Darla, and she told me her parents were a bit upset at first, but once they understood what we had done, they were very proud of her. Her sister told her not to touch her things again without asking first.

Dad said he’d drive Darla and me to school. I called to tell her that and learned that her father had taken the article to work with him to put it on the office bulletin board. When we got to the school, many of the kids were waiting out front. They cheered us when we got out of the car. Both of us raised our hands and strutted like we had just scored a winning touchdown. As we entered the lobby, the Resource Officer gave us a thumbs-up and smiled broadly, something he seldom did. Then, Mrs. Iannelli came into the corridor and said Doctor Brownstein wanted to see us in his office—now. “Uh, oh.”

He was on the phone when we went into his outer office, and Ms. Benedict, his secretary, told us to have a seat, and he would be with us in a minute. So we sat on the hard wooden bench, bouncing our heels off the floor and gripping each other’s hands. The minute seemed more like an hour but probably wasn’t.

Finally, the desk console buzzed, and Ms. Benedict said we could go in now. When we opened his door, Dr. Brownstein was standing behind his desk, looking out the window, his hands clasped behind him. We stood silently in front of his desk until he turned and motioned us to sit. We sat. He sat and steepled his hands under his chin. “Well, ladies, what would you call that stunt?”

Darla said, “Ummm.”

I took a deep breath and said, “Sir, it was all my idea. It wasn’t Darla’s fault. She had nothing to do with it, Sir.” I thought the passive, apologetic voice was best.

Dr. Brownstein chuckled, then said, “That’s too bad. I had planned to congratulate both of you.”

Darla and I both said, “What? Sir.” And looked at each other, not sure we understood.

Dr. Brownstein’s chuckle became a laugh, and then he told us what he thought about the whole thing. He explained that we had exposed a troubling weakness in the security at the Middle School, and he had already talked with Principal Porter. He added that Chief Vasquez had a team of SWAT trainers scheduled to go to the school on Monday, conduct their own review and tell Officer Rooney it might be best if he retired. Darla took out the sketch she had made of the vulnerable perimeter areas and gave it to him.

The good news continued later that day. A special assembly was called to honor us for what we did and explain that there would be a complete review of all security measures throughout the school system. We sat on the stage trying to appear cool, but when the kids started cheering, we lost it and jumped up and down, hugging each other. The football team captain brought us two team jerseys that we slipped on and enveloped our skinny frames like tents. The kids started chanting the school cheer, and we were pumping our fists, egging them on. We didn’t know it, but our parents were at the back of the hall watching this scene with a special invitation from Dr. Brownstein.

Also, unknown to us, Channel 6 was filming, and after the assembly was dismissed, they interviewed us in Dr. Brownstein’s office. We tried to be humble, but that didn’t work. It’s not everyday kids like us are celebrities, and we played it to the max. While this was happening, I saw Mrs. Porter, the Middle School principal, enter the outer office. Following our TV interview, she came in, hugged us both, and told us how wonderful we were and may have saved many lives. I saw a tear slip out of her eye. Everyone knew that she had lost a grandchild at Sandy Hook.

Author's note: This story is based on the effort of a former Federal Marshall who tried to warn the Parkland School of its vulnerability months before the tragedy.