students noticed him standing by the bleachers on the soccer field and approached to say hi, maybe get some inside scoop. “What is she planning?” they asked. Reporters who’d done their homework and knew who Diego was cocked an ear, too. They’d all forgotten what he was like, though.
“Who?” he asked. His former classmates stared slack-jawed at him. How stupid could he be?
“Marisa. Your sister.” They motioned toward the building, which ninety-five percent of people were currently looking at, despite the fact that almost nothing of interest happening inside would be visible.
“Oh, right. How would I know?”
“She never talked to you about this? Not even once? Texted you today with, like, what could be interpreted as a goodbye?”
Diego turned to look at the girl talking to him, whom he vaguely remembered from class. “I really like that necklace.” He reached out to touch it, pausing a few inches away from the simple gold and cloth ornament, waiting for permission to take it in his hands.
“Oh, thanks,” Diego’s former classmate said, grabbing at her necklace and putting it in Diego’s hands. “I got it in Laos.” She suddenly remembered how much she had liked looking at Diego last semester when they’d had art together, how she’d glanced over the edge of her canvas at him, the focus in his eyes so rarely broken, unlike the rest of her classmates. Lost in this memory, all the questions about what he knew flitted from her mind.
* * *
Celeste’s parents were out there, trying again and again to call her, even though their phones had lost signal an hour ago when they’d arrived. They’d taken turns all morning sneaking away from their work to call people they knew back home, working to get Marisa’s demands met. When they hadn’t heard back from Celeste after their latest check-in, they gathered their belongings and came down to the school.
They were glad to see other parents there, glad to see nothing was on fire or under fire. As oblivious now as anyone else on campus, they hoped their friends in Chicago were chipping away at the demands.
* * *
This time, Arthur Pierce had come armed with his own megaphone. He shuffled through the crowd toward the front of the building and waited for the wailing mother to calm herself before speaking, since it was unbecoming to shout over a mourning lady. Eventually, Dov’s mom tired herself into silence, and Arthur saw his opening. He motioned for his assistant, Asher, to hand him the megaphone, and placed the umbrella he’d been holding into Asher’s hand, angling Asher so he stood protecting Arthur from the blasted weather.
He raised the megaphone to his lips. “Kenji, son,” he said. Many jumped at the sound. All over the field, other parents had been in the process of raising their own megaphones to their lips, meaning to call out to their children. But Mr. Pierce had beat them to it, and though they’d all brought the megaphones to avoid a repeat of lock-in night when they had to wait to shout, they figured it would be rude to interrupt, so they waited for him to finish. “This is your father.”
Inside, Kenji made a face, as if a headache had just shot through his temples, coupled with a particularly unpleasant smell. “Oh, no.”
“There are a lot of people gathered here who agree this has all gone on a little too long. I’d like you to come to the window and tell us what’s going on.”
“Why does he think I would know?” Kenji said to Celeste. They rose to their feet, making their way into a nearby classroom to look out the window. All they could see was the plethora of people gawking at them. “Shit, Marisa’s going to find out.”
“You should go tell her.”
“That’s a really good idea. But how about this other one: I don’t.”
“Kenji.”
A whine worked its way through his chest. “I don’t wanna.”
“Yes, you do. I’ll come with you. I’ll be your moral support.”
“Can we go back to when I was avoiding this with podcasts and you were too shy to give me good advice?”
Celeste laughed, blushing. “I’d rather not.”
Kenji took his glasses off and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “Fine, let’s go make Marisa hate me.”
While they walked to the foyer, Arthur Pierce kept speaking into the megaphone, convinced his words were all it would take for the shenanigans to finally come to a halt. The calls to his office had been increasing all week, and that