out of physical pain or something else. “Look at this, it loaded before the signal went down. People say the police are coming. People are saying they have to get us out, and now they’re actually listening.”
“But they can’t, right?” Kenji asked. “They couldn’t on lock-in night.”
“The doors can’t be busted down by a locksmith. But cops have a lot more gear than I could prepare for,” Marisa said. “If they want to blow a hole in the side of the building, there’s nothing I can do to stop them. It’s not like a hostage situation where I’m threatening to hurt people if they come in.”
“What do we do?” Amira asked. She hated lingering on what had caused a problem or why, cared only how to resolve the situation, cared only about what she could do. “Fix the power?”
Peejay shook his head. “I’m telling you, Jordi did this. He’s a destroyer.” He stood, the pashmina falling to his elbows. Without another word he went off to hunt down Jordi, the others staring as he left, wondering if they’d seen him move with that much determination since the party, but unable to feel happy at the purpose in his movements, facing, as they were, this new obstacle.
“Right when shit was starting to happen, too,” Marisa said, her voice almost breaking.
“Don’t start giving up on yourself now,” Amira shot back. “This hasn’t changed anything. We can still get the demands done.”
“How?” Marisa asked. “We can’t call anyone, can’t email. Not the board or our parents or that goddamn actor who’s someone’s uncle. We can’t tell our ‘fans’ to stir up some shit. We are completely isolated, boxed in—” she grabbed the chains around her and shook them “—locked in, as it were. At least for now.” She gave the chains another aggrieved rattle, and though she was too defeated to shake with gusto, the motion was still too much for her exhausted, broken body.
Despite her efforts at hydration, despite the stretches Amira had taught her, despite the painkillers still flowing through her bloodstream, another cramp seized her lower back, and the tensing muscles worked their way into her leg. She cried out, not knowing how to stretch her body now, not knowing how to help herself. She gritted her teeth and begged for it to stop, unwilling to move for fear she would make things even worse.
Unsurprisingly, Amira was there in an instant to guide her. A hand on her back, gently but firmly pushing her body into relief. “Breathe,” Amira said.
Marisa did, then opened her eyes, her muscles already starting to calm, though her leg was still this throbbing black hole of pain. She breathed again, in through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth, her eyes fixed on Amira’s. “I’m just out of steam,” Marisa said. “I don’t have any ideas. Do you?”
“Do you want to do a scene together?” Kenji asked. Celeste rolled her eyes. “What? It worked last time.”
Amira and Marisa shared a private smile, still looking into each other’s eyes, before all four of them started chuckling. “Sure,” Marisa said, “why not?”
“Actually,” Celeste interrupted, “I think I have an idea.” She turned to Kenji. “Sorry, we can play later.”
“It’s okay.” Kenji shrugged, though he knew with these new developments there would not be a later, at least not here, not with them, not like this. “I want Marisa to cross them all off, too. What’s your idea?”
It would go like this:
Marisa was right, they were locked in as far as their outreach while the power remained out, the networks down and the doors locked. Luckily, one of those things was in their control.
“Wait,” Kenji interrupted before Celeste could really unveil the plans. “I just remembered the keys. You swallowed them.” His eyes shifted toward the bucket. “Are...are they still...”
Marisa chuckled. “No, man. Those weren’t the keys. Just a little showmanship. They were made from sugar. Funny, isn’t it, how no one even tried to go through my bucket looking for them? As far as I know, anyway. No one’s asked about the keys since, or how I intend to open the locks. Not Mr. Gigs, not Ms. Duli, not the board, not even you guys.”
“My guess is it’s not even locked,” Celeste said.
“I bet you have some bolt cutters in that Mary Poppins duffel bag,” Amira said, although she already knew the answer, having seen the glint of silver when she hid Marisa behind a bedsheet every night and every morning so she could change. She’d turned