Breathe And You're Dead

A Love That Survived the Unthinkable

When 17-year-old Andrew survives a school shooting at the start of his senior year, his life is shattered—and reshaped. One friend is lost forever. Another connection is just beginning. Hiding in the copy room during the attack, Andrew bonds with Levi, the school’s closeted football star. What begins as shared trauma becomes something deeper: a complicated, intimate relationship shadowed by secrets and grief.

As Andrew navigates love, loss, and identity, he’s also haunted by a mystery the town won’t let go—the shooter was never caught. With the truth still hidden behind a ski mask, Andrew is drawn into a chilling discovery that will once again upend everything he thought he knew.

This is a story about surviving tragedy, learning to love openly, and the painful, personal cost of violence that’s never truly distant.

Discover a gripping and emotional coming-of-age story—read now.

Excerpt from the book

Gunshots echo through the school hallway

during my first Tuesday of senior year.

I blink, unsure of

where the noise came from.

A guy wearing a varsity jacket turns his head,

then says, "What are you waiting for?

Come hide in here."

I accept his invitation.

And before I know it,

I'm inside the copy room and he locks the door.

Principal Weatherly says from the intercom,

"Attention, students and staff:

There's an active shooter on campus,

and we’re now on lockdown.”

Wow.

A complete stranger just saved my life.

I toss my backpack aside

before sitting on the floor.

My stomach coils.

Today is supposed to be an ordinary day.

But no.

Life has other plans.

Because it doesn't matter how positive I am.

The universe has a sick sense of humor.

I can't help thinking about what bad thing

I did that meant

I deserve to get caught up in a school shooting.

Guilt washes over me

like rain falling on the ground.

And the emptiness shoots through my veins.

The thought of presenting

in my AP Psychology class

doesn't seem so bad now.

Life shouldn't resemble a war zone.

I'm only 17, and have my whole life ahead of me.

And my mind circles back

to how the universe has other plans for me.

It sucks.

I'm not supposed to become a statistic of gun violence.

But here I am.

Sitting on the floor next to this cute jock.

Him rubbing his spiked hair

is the last thing I should be focusing on.

Yet I can't help myself.

I'm only human, after all.

So, yeah.

I'm intoxicated by this guy

despite how the shooter could

walk down this part of the school

at any moment.

He chuckles, then says, "Take a picture—it’ll last longer.”

My cheeks flush.

And my throat tightens.

He asks, "Something wrong?"

I say, "I'm claustrophobic.”

He offers his hand.

And I take it.

He nods.

And I know what I do.

I squeeze it.

But not before closing my eyes for a beat.

The world stops.

Almost as if nothing else matters.

I finally say, "Can I at least get a name?"

He grins before saying, "I'm Levi.”

"And I'm Andrew."

"I know who you are."

More disbelief floods my body.

This hot guy can't know who I am.

That's like saying night and day are the same thing.

Levi finally says, "We have several classes together.”

Today is supposed to be an ordinary day.

But no.

Life has other plans.

And I can't help

but think about

how many people might be dead.

More specifically, if my friends are alive.

Yet somehow, I'm not as worried

about becoming another statistic

of gun violence like I was minutes earlier.

At least I have company.

Because if these are really my last minutes or hours,

then at least I won't die alone.