from the school day, loose change, sets of keys—some people would step forward and form a protective barricade around her. Sure, she had thought she might win a handful over to her cause. This, though? This faction within the crowd who, with no apparent prior communication, with no apparent hesitation, put their bodies between a barrage of items—here came a backpack now, maroon, straps splayed out in the air like a flying squid—and herself? She had not prepared for that, and felt a lump rise in her throat as she watched them rush to protect her.
Even if it was a second too late. Everything went black.
9
11:45PM
Peejay was surprised to find himself among those keeping the mob away from Marisa. She was unconscious, hanging limp against her chains, which held her weight without loosening. The crowd stopped throwing things for now, stunned momentarily that their actions had consequences, that one of them had thrown a textbook-laden backpack and hit Marisa in the head, and as a result, she was now a rag doll. Peejay, unable to help himself, thought of Hamish. He felt a momentary desperation to flee, to get out of this damn building and stand at his brother’s bedside. He could wake up at any moment.
Amira Wahid had stepped forward and was coaxing Marisa back to wakefulness. Some in the crowd looked at Peejay like a traitor for standing there, some just looked confused, waiting for him to point out why he was there, waiting for him to speak so they could follow. What he would soon tell them (after he recovered from the transportation to his brother’s bedside, after he recovered from wondering how long it would be until he saw his brother again, standing or not) was that throwing shit at Marisa would get them all locked up in the auditorium again. If there was any chance of them partying tonight—and didn’t they all want that, didn’t they desperately crave something good happening?—they couldn’t just riot.
The truth, however, was that Peejay had acted thoughtlessly and selflessly. He had not thought about the party when he stepped toward Marisa, raising his hands to his head to protect himself while protecting her. He hadn’t thought, This is for the party, or, This is what Hamish would want, when an apple hit him in the stomach, or when a metal ruler whizzed by his ear, slicing the air before crashing loudly to the floor. And now, while he formed part of the half circle of people keeping the crowd from Marisa, his arms out, stiff, pushing encroachers away, he wondered why.
Why, when this girl had taken away this opportunity from him, stolen everything he’d fantasized for this night; not just the joys of partying itself, or the looks on the faces of everyone at school, not just the pleasure of getting away with it, but all those fantasies he’d played for himself of the aftermath, the texts and congratulations he was supposed to receive for years to come. The chance to do what Hamish had done, gone. In one fell swoop, Marisa had erased the memory of his party in these few hundred minds, and supplanted it with something of her own. So why protect her? Why wasn’t he siding with Jordi for once?
He looked at Marisa, whose eyes were fluttering open. Then he looked back at the crowd, meeting Jordi Marcos’s eyes, wondering what separated the two. They both thought they were right, in the end. Both were fighting, in their own way, to get what they wanted. One, however, was selfish, the other was global. One had been violent, the other merely disruptive.
* * *
Amira rested her hand on Marisa’s cheek, tilting her captor’s head gently upward to check for signs of a concussion. She tried to focus on the size of Marisa’s pupils instead of the mahogany shade of her irises. She felt her insides swirl.
“What do you think?” Marisa muttered. “Am I going to live?”
Amira smiled, pulled her hand slowly away. “I’m sure you’d survive anything they throw at you.”
“Do me a favor and don’t tell them that.”
Amira chuckled, then looked over her shoulder. It felt like the crowd was pushing in on the ten or so people forming the barricade, but at least the projectiles had stopped. “No concussion, then?” Marisa asked.
“I don’t think so. But I should probably find the nurse and have her check you out.”
“You really want to go through that crowd?” Marisa and Amira turned to look at their peers, still