tousled haircuts, sitting a row back. Too influenced by romantic comedies, Celeste wondered which of the two boys the girl would fall in love with. What was the girl’s place among them? And were they maybe looking for new friends?
These scenes notwithstanding, the mood in the theater was tense. Most students felt the way Kenji did, watching the clock approach the scheduled time for their most anticipated event, while this friend or that remained on the other side. Some shut their eyes tightly and tried to slow the clock’s progress with their minds, knowing it was silly and futile, but wanting to try all the same.
* * *
Finally, Master Declan stepped up to the podium (whose job had it been, Celeste wondered, to find a podium and set up a mic in the middle of all this?) and cleared his throat. He flashed his signature smile, all warmth and cheeks. “Good evening, Sea Cucumbers,” he said for the second time that day, the exact same way he’d welcomed them to the lock-in night hours earlier. He rubbed his hands together as if trying to wring out the bad news. “I’m sure you are all happy to see me again so soon.”
He waited for the joke to land. It did not.
“Right.” He looked down at his notes scrawled on his left palm, smudged already by his hand-wringing. Someone coughed. “First of all, let me assure you that we have the situation under control. Myself and the rest of the staff are handling the, um...” He gestured vaguely with his hand out toward the audience, revealing the blotted blue bullet points. He wanted to say “protestors” but somehow felt like that might make him sound like a bit of an autocrat. Master Declan had come from a place with a history of autocrats, men who spat the word protestor and used it as an excuse to squash down others. When he unexpectedly began moving up the administrative ranks, he swore to himself he would never approach autocratic behavior. Granted, saying the word alone didn’t quite qualify, but he saw it as a slippery slope. He reached for another, friendlier word. “The children currently chained to the doors.” He cleared his throat again, the sound lonely in the tense auditorium.
“We would like you to know we are doing everything we can to resume lock-in activities as soon as possible. Until that time, please remain here.” He stopped and smiled again, then realized he’d arrived at the end of his speech. Usually, he’d wait for the scattered applause, then dismiss the assembled. But the board, which had yet to comment on any of Marisa’s demands, had decreed it’d be best to keep all the students in one place while the situation was sorted out. With no other ideas, and nowhere to dismiss his audience to, Master Declan took a step backward.
He only managed a quarter turn back to the wings flanking the stage when someone shouted out, “Just give her what she wants!”
The theater came alive. Some agreed with whoever had shouted. Some mutterings, it seemed, dissented.
Offstage, Ms. Duli widened her eyes at Master Declan. She mouthed, Don’t engage, at him, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to communicate, so he stepped back to the microphone to field questions, which he thought was only fair. It was, after all, lock-in night.
“We are considering all options right now, and are closely reading the list of demands.”
“How long is that going to take?”
Now it was Peejay raising his voice. Some who knew his role for the evening could sense the ulterior motive in his question. Others, like Celeste, took the question at face value, and did what came naturally whenever Peejay spoke: they listened.
“Well, Vice Principal Martinez is on the line with the board as we speak. I imagine it shouldn’t be long.” Unfortunately, everyone knew Master Declan lacked an imagination. At the holiday bake sales, he always brought sugar cookies. Just a few weeks ago at the Sea Cukelele Festival and Talent Show, he played Somewhere Over the Rainbow, like he did every year. The third graders played that song every year, too. What he could imagine was of little comfort to the students in the audience.
Now Ms. Duli approached the podium, putting her hand over the microphone while she whispered something in Master Declan’s ear.
This whispering among adults didn’t sit well with the student body, not tonight. They still had so much to do. The party hadn’t even started.
* * *
Peejay eyed