A split second later, an explosion silenced the children's chatter, and Michelle Rodriguez fell to the floor, a bullet lodged in her back. As the kids screamed and Daniel stood stunned, Black, in tears, ran into the hall. Leaning over a third-story railing, she screamed for help, bringing principal Luis Perez, 49, bounding up the stairs as a police officer—fortuitously on hand for a security check—radioed for an ambulance.
Michelle was rushed to Chicago's Children's Memorial Hospital, lying small and motionless. Meanwhile, at the district police station, little Daniel (whose name has been changed because of his youth), wearing a Chicago Bulls sweatshirt and high-top sneakers, was brought in for questioning. "Did you know the gun was loaded?" an officer asked. "Did you mean to pull the trigger?" Each time, the terrified boy shook his head.
In the gang-infested Humboldt Park neighborhood that Daniel and Michelle call home, shootings are commonplace. But this one, police believe, was a tragic accident. Daniel, says Commander Charles Roberts, "was engaging in a certain amount of 8-year-old bravado."
In fact, the day before, police learned, Daniel had brought to school a silver-and-chrome .25-caliber automatic handgun belonging to his father. Goaded by the admiring gasps of his friends, he promised that the next day he'd bring another gun. According to police, on the morning of the shooting, Daniel awoke in his family's house, opened the cabinet where his father, a factory worker, kept his guns, and stashed a .380-caliber semiautomatic in his book bag with the handgun he had taken earlier.
As Daniel and a friend walked to the Sharon Christa McAuliffe Elementary School (named for the teacher killed in the explosion of the shuttle Challenger), a passing bus driver saw them playing with the guns. He jumped out and stopped them—but did not take away the guns. Instead, he wanted to buy the automatic. Daniel's friend asked $65. They settled on $20. Later, on the school playground, the semiautomatic was fired once—though police have yet to determine by whom. When the morning bell rang, Daniel removed the magazine from the gun and went to class. Bragging to his friends, Daniel said. "...I'll shoot it too." Unaware that a single bullet remained, he pulled the trigger and hit Michelle.
All her life, Michelle Rodriguez has defied the odds. She was born prematurely, and nearly everyone, including her doctors, believed the tiny little girl had no chance. A priest administered last rites. But Michelle would not die. Two years later, afflicted with a heart murmur, the feisty toddler once again showed her stuff, pulling through grueling heart surgery. She survived her latest brush with fate by one millimeter—the distance between the bullet and her spinal cord. Today Michelle is in good condition, though she still has trouble walking. "I'm just happy she's alive," says her mother.
As for Daniel, says his family's attorney, Brian Crowley, "he's scared to death, as any 8-year-old would be—scared of the police, scared of being punished by his parents." Daniel and his father face unlawful weapons charges and, under school regulations, the boy has been transferred to another school. Originally from the Philippines, Daniel's parents, says Crowley, "are extremely upset with their son and concerned for his well-being." But, he adds, "the majority of their concern lies with the girl.
At home, a huge hand-painted GET WELL poster with notes from her classmates is a welcome antidote to Michelle's pain. Already, Michelle has begun physical therapy, and last week took her first steps with the help of parallel bars. On the thank-you note she sent back to her class, she made sure to single out one friend in particular: Daniel. In carefully penned, forgiving letters, Michelle wrote, "I know you didn't mean to do it on purpose."
KAREN S. SCHNEIDER
BONNIE RELL in Chicago
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