students and teachers, arms locked, deflecting reporter questions by answering them. At the center of the circle: Marisa, Amira, Kenji, Celeste, Peejay.
They stood (or, in one case, leaned) in their own little concentric circle, looking at each other and not looking at each other.
“We should turn this into a pizza party,” Kenji said.
Peejay balled up his now-soaked pashmina and threw it at Kenji while the others laughed. When the laughter stopped they went back to looking around. The crowd kept thinning. Some maintenance workers were coming out of the high school, looking confused at the general lack of trash. Instead, they hauled out forgotten backpacks and phone chargers toward the lost and found, and a strange number of socks, too.
Ms. Florgen was going to be late to the happy hour gathering because the damn gym mats were going to get mildewy in the rain. She barked at the remaining crowd to move and made some cameramen help her carry the mats back to the storage room at the far end of the field.
* * *
“You okay?” Celeste asked. They all turned toward Marisa.
Marisa grimaced a little, but she was already nodding. She didn’t say anything.
“How many were we short?” Amira asked.
“Five? I think. Got hard to keep track at the end there.”
“Damn.” Kenji got that look on his face, and everyone knew what he was about to say, but they let him say it, anyway, laughed afterward, too. “Should we go back inside, then?”
“Sure, you go ahead. We’ll catch up,” Celeste said.
“Someone else’s turn to get chained,” Marisa added, rubbing her ribs. “I think I’m going to have a chafe here for the rest of my life.”
* * *
Beyond the circles, their parents looked on, as they had this whole week. They were trying to be patient and understanding when the truth was none of them understood a single thing that was happening. The past week, however, had taught them to resign themselves to that, and so they small talked with each other, granted interviews to reporters for whom the story hadn’t ended, since people reacting to a story was almost as important as the story itself.
* * *
“You don’t seem sad,” Kenji said, looking back at the building with awe and a sense of wonder. “I’m a little sad. I really thought we would get them all.”
Peejay reached over to Kenji and ruffled his head. “What beacons of hopeful innocence these freshmen are.”
“The way I see it, I won twenty-something battles. There’s a lot more to win. A lot,” Marisa emphasized. “And I don’t want to lose sight of that. But the world watched. You guys joined me. The school got behind me. When this started I just wanted that one project scrapped. Just to save one little corner of the world, you know? I didn’t. But I saved something, I think.” They sat with this for a while.
The rain had soaked through their clothes by now, but it felt so nice just being out there in the world.
“I have an announcement,” Peejay declared, his arms up so people in the larger protector circle knew to tune in, too. “In keeping with lock-in traditions as Partyer in Chief, it is now time to pick my successor.”
“You don’t have to say it, we all know Jordi earned that title tonight,” Kenji said.
Peejay reached over and smacked him on the back of the head. “No jokes for a week and suddenly you’re flowing with them during my speech?”
“The dam broke,” Kenji said, adjusting his glasses, which Peejay’s smack had pushed down his nose. “Prepare to be flooded.”
“For God’s sake, don’t say ‘prepare to be flooded.’” Peejay winced. Then, after looking around to make sure no teachers or staff were around, he turned to face Celeste. “Celeste Rollins, I hereby pass the torch to you.”
“Wait, what?” about ten people in the vicinity said, including Celeste. “How am I qualified?”
Peejay shook his head. “The host has spoken.”
* * *
Though they didn’t say anything about it, they all recalled lock-in night then, those waning hours of the party, right before the sun rose, when all that was to be accomplished momentarily felt not daunting but colored by hope, by energy. Exhaustion, sure, but a steadfast belief that it would all be okay.
Beyond their circle, CIS continued dealing with the mayhem. Police ran through the building. Parents weepingly hauled away their kids. School board members answered phone call after phone call, like they had all week, the doors’ opening changing nothing for them. Inside, it was almost quiet, as if under some protective spell.
The only thing that eventually broke this peace was Marisa getting hit by another cramp. She held on to Amira’s hand through it, even when her mom broke through the circle of Protectors and put an arm around her daughter, peeling her away from Amira and Kenji. “Let’s get you to a hospital,” she said.
Marisa didn’t protest. It was time. She held her gaze just a moment longer, before turning her attention to the rest of the group. They thought maybe a speech was coming, but Marisa just smiled at them, and let her mother lead her hopping away toward the car. Her father followed behind, carrying the surprisingly light duffel bag over his shoulder.
Once Marisa was gone, the others felt the call of their beds, the comfort of their homes. They found their parents and followed them to their cars.
The school slowly emptied out, falling quiet save for the relentless patter of rain.
* * *