perpetrators would get bored and cut themselves free to resume the lock-in activities they were missing out on. The lock-in party had always happened, for as long as lock-in night had happened, and Peejay wasn’t going to be the one at the helm when that tradition ended. Quite the opposite; he would ensure it continued to be the most anticipated night of the year. Hamish would wake up to stories of the party, not of its failure.
Still, the yelling needed to happen.
Once all his steam had billowed out, Peejay looked around the room. Most people avoided his gaze. Mr. Gigs spoke on the phone, scratching his beard and looking like he wanted to do almost anything else. Perhaps the administrators Mr. Gigs was speaking to would solve this problem before it grew. A lanky Japanese boy—these freshmen were blessed little cherubs, weren’t they, so much younger-looking than the rest; it was a wonder they weren’t still playing with blocks and taking naps—was smiling wildly.
* * *
Celeste Rollins was the only one looking at him with raised eyebrows. Peejay knew this girl; he’d been part of her welcoming committee, and had noticed her around school all year long, carrying herself as if she assumed others were judging her constantly. Despite his current concerns, despite knowing very little about this girl, he tried to assure her somehow with a single smile, amid all this. The way Hamish would.
At first, Celeste returned the smile. However, a smile between basically strangers was difficult to interpret, even if its intended purpose was mere reassurance. After a moment, it made Celeste wonder if she was misunderstanding, being weird in some other way. Was Peejay setting his sights on her next? Had she done something wrong? She averted her eyes, hugging her arms closer to her.
Peejay sighed, then knelt down to face Malik. “Where is your leader?” he asked in a calm voice, then laughed at his phrasing. “Marisa, was it?”
“Marisa.” He was already forgetting Peejay yelling at him. This was the longest he’d spent in Peejay’s presence, and he understood now why Peejay never seemed to be alone, why his parties were always crowded, why it seemed like whenever he entered a room people turned toward him. Some people were simply magnetic. If he weren’t chained to the door, Malik might follow him out when he left.
“She’s downstairs in the main entrance.”
“She’ll be the one in the chains, I assume?”
Malik beamed at the fact that Peejay was joking around with him. He nodded. Then, as if absolving Malik, Peejay touched him on the shoulder and left the room.
“Scene!” Kenji called out.
* * *
The keys had tasted, mysteriously, like salt water, like the accidental splashes that worked their way into your mouth when you surfaced to clean your mask. Marisa was glad for it, glad for the reminder of what had moved her to do this.
There was a moment of pause, an uncertainty to the air, people unsure of how they were expected to react. Then a murmur began, which quickly turned into a roar. Marisa had anticipated what happened next. She braced herself with a deep breath, tensing her muscles to resist getting turned into a rag doll beaten down by their frustration. People swarmed around her, trying to open the doors. It was exactly like she imagined it would be, but a part of her was still scared. Not for her safety, but for the chains. Would they hold? Would they keep her plan intact, in the face of all these desperate students?
They had so much they wanted to do on the other side. And even if all they wanted was inside the building, even if they had already feasted on food truck offerings, they were curious if Marisa was for real. The doors jolted back and forth from behind her, too. Most of the people on the other side hadn’t heard her speech and were simply confused about the lack of flow in and out of the building. Lock-in night had never been about constriction before. Quite the opposite.
Junior Dov Nudel grabbed at Marisa’s chains and gave them a few yanks. Though it pinched her skin and ground against her hip bones, nothing came loose and the doors didn’t budge. Marisa smiled at Dov, who muttered something in Hebrew, then stalked away to do something useful with his time while someone else dealt with this.
Then Jordi Marcos, loser of the Partyer in Chief elections, stood in front of the doors with his brow furrowed.