Within moments they were joined by Kenji and Celeste, both of whom had run out of their classrooms. Kenji, one earphone still dangling from his ear, motioned for a high five after wiping some muffin crumbs off his hand.
Celeste, surprising herself, leaned down to hug Marisa, gingerly but warmly. She didn’t know if it was her place to do so, and something in her stomach churned at the thought that she felt closer to Marisa than Marisa felt to her. Still, she couldn’t help but whisper, “You are such a badass.”
Marisa chuckled, relishing the warmth of the hug and wishing it had come from Amira. They all stared at the list of demands, wondering which would fall next, hungry, now, for the moment when Marisa crossed out the last one.
“Wait,” Marisa asked, seeming to just now notice the excited chatter in the halls, the way people were looking in her direction with much less animus than before. “How long have I been asleep?”
* * *
From the second-floor banister, Jordi watched the Protectors celebrate. But he smiled, too. While his classmates took to their parents and the internet, rallying around Marisa and the environment, Jordi, too, had been at work.
In the many unsavory, dark corners of the internet, and plenty of its surfaces, there were people who hated Marisa, just like he did. Who said: she’s a criminal, she’s a terrorist, she’s no good. They said: she has no right, she isn’t right. Jordi Marcos Sr. was still muttering to himself, and to anyone in his vicinity, still whispering it into his son’s ears, even from across the distance that separated them. There’s no problem except for kids throwing fits, he was saying, kids who knew nothing but what was spoon-fed to them by agenda-spreading professors, artists, media, scientists. Jordi Jr. agreed with all of it, and so he made it his mission to let the world know what she was doing.
He posted that it was true students were hurt, but Marisa wasn’t one of them. She was faking in order to win people over, to make it seem like she was strong instead of just a bully. She was playing the media and she knew it, and everyone on the outside, it seemed, was buying it.
At first he was taken as a troll, or was agreed with only by actual trolls. Then, as people realized he was actually inside the school, that he had been quoted in Zaira’s original lock-in night article, they started paying attention. They started listening. All that time watching Peejay attract people’s adoration, all that time striving to be like him, nipping at his ankles, had taught Jordi a thing or two about how to at least fake charm. Maybe anyone who watched Peejay long enough (or Hamish, Peejay would argue) could gain some of his attributes by mere osmosis.
There were angry, strange people in the world, and he’d found some eager to include themselves in the narrative. They asked Jordi how they could help. They were hungry to help, eager to pull the carpet from beneath Marisa’s feet. Like him, they didn’t want to see her succeed one bit.
That the board and the world had met three more of Marisa’s demands was a bitter pill to swallow, but Jordi contented himself in knowing no more would be crossed off.
* * *
Some simply spread the news on Jordi’s behalf, so that, by the time the city had announced its new ordinance to be net-neutral, the news networks already had experts arguing against the move on television. They were loud enough to make it seem like exactly half the people at CIS were on Jordi’s side, like only half the world was on Marisa’s, like the number of scientists who believed the dying reefs were a problem equaled the number who believed it couldn’t be proven the problem was man-made (which were not opposite sides of the same argument).
They were loud enough, in fact, that they caught the ear of politicians who, simply because their enemies agreed with Marisa, stood against her, not having to hear anything else. They fought back against the parents and celebrities who’d raised their voices.
On lock-in night, the school had refused to get the police involved. While everyone remained safe, local politicos decided that was the school’s prerogative and they could do as they please. Now, though, these politicos were hearing from the influential parents. Calls were made, and the cops assembled riot gear and loaded into armored trucks, headed toward CIS.