list in front of them. Still, they hoped. Maybe this was it, maybe it would all be over now. There were a few hours left. They would take those, be happy with them, if only she were to grant them that gift.
“Who wrote this?”
Mr. Gigs stammered. “Me?”
“Why?”
“Um. So you could see what they’re agreeing to.”
Marisa rolled her eyes and crumpled the paper in her fingers. To everyone watching, it felt like she was crumpling their dreams. “It’s a nice dramatic touch, writing it down and handing me the slip of paper, like in the movies. But you could have just said it. Either way it doesn’t mean a thing.” She turned as much as she could, trying to hide the cramp that seized her lower back as she moved, and she tossed the paper into the trash. “I want them to enact the rule officially. Change the rulebook. Act, not just fling words at me.”
Mr. Gigs narrowed his eyes. “A rule banning single-use plastic.”
“Yes. None of my demands are going to be satisfied with a declaration on a piece of notebook paper. I’m here for actual change, and these doors will not open until I receive it.” Heads sank back between knees, into the sweet embrace of phone screens.
* * *
Not long after, the PA system came on and formally announced the new CIS-wide rule. Ms. Duli, too, made the announcement to the parents outside. Some applauded as if a hostage had been released, others only shouted louder. Giving in only legitimized the protestors. Others stood in their bathrobes, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, huddling close to each other as if a fire alarm had pulled them from sleep and any second now they’d be cleared to return home. Marisa checked the website, which after a refresh or two reflected the change.
There was such a long way to go, but Marisa couldn’t lie: this felt good. It mattered. Less plastic used meant less plastic produced meant less plastic floating in the ocean, photo degrading and killing the fish that kept the reefs alive. It was a blip, in the grand scheme of things. But it was a blip she’d caused. She leaned gingerly over to her duffel bag and pulled out a dry erase marker. Uncapping it, she turned again toward the door where her list of demands was taped up.
Another lower back spasm shot through her, this one too painful to hide. Amira, who was so tuned in to her body it made her knowledgeable about others’, at least knowledgeable enough to recognize muscle spasms when she saw them, leaned down to grab Marisa’s water bottle from the floor next to her foldable stool. “You need to drink a lot of water,” she said. “It’ll help with the cramps, which you’re definitely gonna get more of.”
Marisa breathed sharply until it passed, then took the water bottle and gulped. “Thanks. I do remember reading that.” She found Ban single-use plastic on her list and crossed it off. Afterward, she returned to her trusty duffel bag, slipping the marker back into its pocket, and from another zipper she pulled out a miniature champagne bottle. One of the teachers taking part in Marisa’s Protectors noticed it, but decided to play dumb. There were larger fish at stake here. Namely, fish.
“Sorry, I only have one glass,” Marisa said. “You can drink from the bottle if you want.”
Amira chuckled. “Thanks, but I don’t drink.” She wasn’t religious, sure, but that aspect of Islam was one she didn’t care to set aside, even at CIS, away from her family’s eyes. She looked over her shoulder. “You’re just gonna pop that open here?”
At that moment Ms. Duli walked by with Master Declan, talking as they passed behind the crowd. Master Declan seemed to be taking notes on a clipboard, nodding pleasantly along, smiling. He much preferred being second-in-command, the responsibilities delegated to him, the weight of responsibility, loaded onto some other back. Master Declan preferred legwork, he realized. He had strong legs and weak shoulders.
“What are they gonna do, expel me?” Marisa laughed. She twisted the golden foil from the bottle, not knowing exactly what she should be doing, just that at some point there should be a—
Pop. The cork did not shoot spectacularly into the air like Marisa had expected, but it did get a little bit of airtime. Enough to catch some eyes. Instead of wondering what a champagne cork was doing in the air at CIS, they merely followed its trajectory for