“Why do the reefs matter so much to you?” Amira asked.
“Aside from the fact that if the reefs die, people die?”
“Sure. Aside from that.”
Marisa sighed. She gave the speech so often, delineated all the ways the reefs were dying and the impacts it would have on the world. But Amira didn’t seem to need that kind of convincing. “Have you ever gone snorkeling? Or diving?”
Amira nodded. She had a vague memory of being eight or so, making a game out of going deep beneath the surface, chasing tiny turquoise fish for as long as she could. Her mother had laughed at first, taking her in her arms once Amira was back on sand, saying what a happy child Amira was. Then Amira kept going longer and longer, stretching her lungs’ abilities with each dive, feeling her muscles burn with lack of oxygen and trying to push them for another ten seconds, another twenty. Her mom had not kept laughing. When Amira returned to shore, her mother had yanked her down by the arm onto the sand and said, “That was too dangerous for a girl. Stay here with me.”
Amira didn’t have a clear memory of the snorkeling itself, or of where they were. It must have been that holiday in Langkawi, which was around the time Amira’s mom had stopped treating her like a child and started treating her like a girl.
“Well, then,” Marisa went on. “What you saw was probably not a fully living reef. It was choked, choking. Imagine knowing that when you were down there. Imagine loving the reefs like nothing else, your happiest moments are when you’re visiting them, but then you know they’re choking.” She paused, not feeling like she was making her point. “It’s like visiting a grandparent on their deathbed,” she said. “And you know it doesn’t have to be their deathbed, all they need is a little medicine. But no one’s bringing it to them.”
Amira didn’t feel the need to respond. She finished reading the list of demands, suddenly knowing the decathlon was never going to happen. She waited for the rage to come, waited to feel the injustice of her dream getting ripped away by Marisa. All she felt, though, was the rage against her mother, who would’ve been glad Amira was denied the chance to compete. Then there was the guilt at the rage, guilt at the things she kept hidden from her mother, who was not abusive or cruel but simply held different beliefs.
Like always, the rage-guilt was followed by the urge to run. She turned to say something to Marisa, but just then a teacher approached them. His hands were in his pockets and he was walking calmly, as if they were in class and he was just coming around to see if they needed any help with their assignments.
“I’ve been sent to, um, negotiate.” He made a face like he didn’t know why everyone was taking everything so seriously. “Is this a good time?” He eyed both of them as if both should answer.
Amira gestured vaguely over her shoulder. “I’m gonna go.”
* * *
Marisa watched her go before turning to Mr. Gigs. “I don’t understand, what is there to negotiate?” She motioned with her head toward the poster behind her. “I get those things or no one leaves.”
“Sure,” Mr. Gigs said. “I get that. But I don’t think they want to give you all of it.”
“Why not?”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them up, hands out. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I haven’t been authorized to speak on their behalf. I’m just the messenger.” He smiled, eyeing the poster. “But there is kind of a lot on that list. Some of these items could take time.” He pointed. “Like, number twenty-two? ‘Ensure that all school suppliers comply with—’”
Marisa cut him off. “‘With the highest industry standards for waste disposal.’ I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”
“Well, sure, I agree,” Mr. Gigs said, not sure if he was breaking some sort of negotiator/messenger rule by agreeing with the hostage-taker. Probably. “But that kind of thing takes time. There’s contracts in place, probably. Lawyers will have to look at those if they have to get broken, someone’s going to have to do research to find suppliers who meet those standards. That all takes time.”
“I didn’t set a timeline for them.”
Mr. Gigs chuckled. “Fair enough. But if you scratch that one or, I don’t know, tell them they have to promise to do