locked outside the doors, he now realized, they might have enough to carry on. With the raised alertness around the school, handing them out would have to be a little more surreptitious than originally planned (truth be told, that part of the scheme had always felt lazy to Peejay, just throwing the earphones over the second-floor railing and assuming the teachers would simply not understand what they were for), but that would come to him.
“There’s no chance I could convince you to open up this door for me, is there?” Peejay asked, running his hands through the earphones, listening to the satisfying crinkle of cellophane. “Or did you swallow the keys, too?”
There was a long pause, which Peejay hoped was Lolo weighing her loyalties to him and Marisa. Perhaps he had a chance here, to persuade her to just open up for a little bit, let him sneak out and come back in with the DJ equipment, the booze, the DJ himself. He thought for a moment he could go see Hamish, too, just make sure he hadn’t woken up. But no, not before the party. Best to see him with good news to tell.
He would promise Lolo not to flee, or tell anyone how he’d procured all the supplies. Then she said his name, in that way someone does when they’re trying not to disappoint you, all drawn out and tender, like hearing your own name could hurt. “Peejay...”
“Yeah, I thought so.” He looked up at Lolo and smiled. A beat passed, and Peejay tried to push himself to get a move on, to return to the world above and figure out a way to make this thing happen.
“Any news on your brother?” Lolo asked.
Peejay lifted the boxes of earphones back to where they were, doing his best to tuck the flaps back into each other. The question was trying to burrow itself into his gut, make its presence felt. Peejay didn’t have time for that, though. Hamish would want him to throw the party, anyway. He gave an almost imperceptible head shake, which, in the dark, Lolo could have easily missed. “Do me a favor, and keep those safe until I come back to get them,” he said, then he went back upstairs.
* * *
Kenji and Celeste were two of the last students to leave the auditorium. They paused by the door, watching their schoolmates wander off as if there was still some schedule to adhere to. How did they know where to go? Kenji wondered.
Celeste stood quietly by him. He glanced over, not wanting her to say goodbye but wondering how soon it’d be until she, too, heeded some unknown call and left him alone. Before she, too, said no.
Celeste, though, didn’t want to say bye. Of course she didn’t. Goodbyes were so much harder than hellos, because they stole away the chance of anything else. Goodbyes in Illinois were how she’d gotten here in the first place, desperate for attention, desperate for a place to feel at home.
“So,” Kenji said. “What should we do next?”
The question hung between them for a moment. Kenji had no idea what the options were. Without improv, without Lindsay, he was lost. Celeste was giddy at the “we,” but terrified whatever she might suggest would reveal her great singlehood, reveal whatever it was that had kept others at CIS away from her. So neither said anything for a while, until Jordi Marcos started running down the hall in their direction, two spray paint cans in hand, spraying into the air behind him.
There were a handful of others trailing him, making whooping noises and occasionally coughing if they happened to inhale some of Jordi’s colorful exhaust. Celeste and Kenji pressed themselves against the wall and covered their mouths.
Then it was as if the whole school was again just waiting for Jordi to lead the way in mayhem, and other sounds of chaos erupted. Glass broke, furniture squeaked against linoleum as a group pushed Ms. Duli’s desk across her room. Someone started playing punk music on a portable speaker, perhaps for the sole reason that it was a fitting soundtrack.
Celeste and Kenji widened their eyes at each other and wordlessly walked the hall in unison, scoping out what their classmates were doing. Not too far up ahead Matias Merkling was standing at the railing, looking down and shouting directions. Celeste and Kenji paused and saw some kids making a pile of backpacks and sweatshirts on the floor below.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Celeste said,