curtains coming down on shop windows; food vendors rolling up their carts to popular corners, the sharp whistles of steam releasing from their makeshift boilers, which they used for yams and dumplings. Marisa and Peejay had each sat like this for hours, their respective parents passing by their open bedroom doors wondering if they were still home, so silent had the house fallen. Diego, not fully in the know, but not as oblivious as some thought, went from one house to the other, noticing the intense concentration in both these people in his life, thinking it wonderful. This, of course, before Hamish’s accident at work, the last few details strung together at the hospital, unable to sleep, Peejay hoping his brother would wake up now, now, now, and help him plan out the rest).
Peejay still believed he could throw a party. Not a lock-in party any longer, but a hostage party, he supposed. Something to show CIS he was still worthy of their adoration, still worthy of the title bestowed upon him as Partyer in Chief. Something still worthy of Hamish. These kids needed it. Look at how much control they lost without it, look at what the lack of joy had wrought on their angelic little faces.
He texted Diego again for an update on the DJ equipment.
But Diego had momentarily left campus to go eat with the famous DJ and his hands were currently busy holding a plastic-covered plate while he bit down on greasy fried chicken, the spicy sauce dripping down his chin. He hadn’t thought of his sister chained to the door, or how that related to the problems he was trying to solve for Peejay. Diego didn’t like to make many connections between his thoughts, between any situation that wasn’t the one at hand. Which made school particularly challenging, unless it was some hands-on project. He liked looking at exactly what was in front of him and making that his whole world. Right now, that was the delicious food in his mouth, and the DJ standing in front of him, telling stories of having traveled to clubs in Berlin and Mexico City. Diego was immersed. Not necessarily in the DJ’s stories, but in the DJ’s talking, the sound of his voice, the shape of his mouth. He was immersed and completely aware of the sauce clinging to the DJ’s beard, in the guy’s accent—which he couldn’t place—in the freedom he himself had to be out late at a food stand on what should have been a school night and not face anyone’s scrutiny (this was categorically false, since Peejay was calling him now and his mom had left three voice mails shortly after she’d spoken with Marisa). It was a perfect night out, and Diego, despite his reputation as somewhat of a dummy, or rather, for the same reasons, was perfectly suited to enjoying it.
* * *
“Diego, you gorgeous, maddening dumb-dumb, answer me.” Peejay hung up the phone. He looked next to him, surprised to see Celeste Rollins, and that it was maybe the first time he’d seen her not looking completely shut inside of herself. When she noticed him looking, she even smiled a little. Not a big or lasting smile, and probably not a knowing one. But the girl had smiled.
Part of him was wildly irked by this. Why now? he wanted to yell, like someone else had not long ago. What is it about this particular situation that makes you so fucking peppy all of a sudden? But Hamish would disapprove of that approach, and his efforts were better saved for a party. Instead, he just sighed and said, “These Cuevas siblings really have it out for me today.”
* * *
Celeste hadn’t caught Marisa’s last name, and had never met Diego, so she had no idea what he was talking about. “Hmm,” she said as a response. She looked down the line of students sitting with their legs crossed facing the crowd, those she was starting to think of as Marisa’s Protectors.
On her other side sat Kenji, his hands small nervous twin engines rattling. Beyond him, Maya and Lou, kids she had a few classes with, as well as a handful of others whose names she didn’t know. Two teachers had joined in, as well (under the guise of protecting a student, though both Mr. Jankowski and Ms. Ficorino as science enthusiasts and environmentalists weren’t just protecting Marisa, they were standing with her, arguing for her, damn whatever the board would have to