received before now became a bona fide round of applause, louder than what Amira had received for her dunk. Celeste shook her head in the darkness. Peejay, still standing, cursed under his breath.
For years Jordi Marcos, one of the only other old-timers (students who’d been at CIS since elementary school), had followed Peejay around like a kitten, constantly pawing at him, nipping at his ankles for attention, occasionally purring at his side. Peejay had not paid him much attention because, frankly, he disliked cats.
Jordi had taken all this personally and, now that he had grown, liked to bare his teeth and extract his claws, hissing in Peejay’s direction, as if that would suddenly change Peejay’s stance on cats. He and Jordi wanted the same thing here, the same thing everyone wanted—to have lock-in night back in their hands again. But Jordi’s stupid contrarian ways were going to create factions, Peejay could tell, pitting people against each other. This would delay everything, perhaps irrevocably.
On the stage, Master Declan smiled beatifically, hiding the heartburn rising up from his stomach by stepping into Ms. Duli’s shadow. Ms. Duli, knowing this had gone on long enough, stepped up to the mic.
“Either of those options could lead to the rest of the night’s cancellation.” A whole room’s worth of hearts skipped beats.
In the back row, Amira looked up from her trimmed nails. Thinking of the possibility that the decathlon would never happen, that she wouldn’t even get the chance to earn the title she wanted so badly, made her nearly chew through her lip. At the same time, she wondered if it was a sign of some sort. She had secretly let go of the idea of God a few years ago, though she still pretended for her parents’ sake, for the sake of keeping things at home as they were.
Now the notion came back that something larger than herself could pass messages down to her through others’ actions, through fate’s twists and turns. She felt a fleeting sense of relief thinking about the decathlon being put on hold.
She stood up and squeezed past the three people sitting between her and the aisle (they barely noticed her passing by, thought maybe it was just a bout of darkness crossing their eyes signaling that they were about to faint). Amira muttered something about the bathroom to the teacher standing by the door who had not yet thought of the possibility that someone might want to sneak out. In the hallway, Amira sprinted.
* * *
Ms. Duli relished that she’d only been teaching for six years but could already bring a room this size and this restless to complete silence with a single sentence. “You two are welcome to scream and shout to get people to agree with you,” she continued, “but the fact of the matter is we are at the board’s beck and call. If we do anything without their approval—whether that’s accepting a slew of policy changes or taking bolt cutters anywhere near a student—they’re likely to send us all home. As soon as they’re able to, anyway.”
“They can’t do that,” Jordi yelled back, but his voice was unconvincing as a meow. When no one backed him up with a yell or two, busy as they all were waiting for their hearts to retake their rhythms, Jordi slunk back into his seat.
“Believe me,” Ms. Duli said, “I understand your frustration. But it’s a Thursday evening. The board members have to be pulled away from family dinners, from trafficky commutes back home, from early bedtimes. They are being gathered, and we will have a decision soon. Activities are to remain suspended at the board’s request, and there is nothing we can do about that. Until then, your patience is appreciated.” She looked straight at Peejay when she said this.
5
8:55PM
Marisa poured more sawdust into her bucket, covered it with its snap-on lid and moved it aside. She was glad for the quiet, glad she’d had the opportunity to pee away from prying eyes.
She reached down into her duffel bag and grabbed the foldable stool she’d packed to make the ordeal easier on her body (she’d bought matching stools for all her cronies).
She couldn’t help but wonder how many more times she would have to use the bucket before the demands started to fall. Her plan called for...well, that was math she didn’t like to think about anymore. She’d double-checked it plenty of times already, and now the sawdust and the bucket would last as long as they