“We can’t be downwind of that stuff,” one of the cops says as he rubs his eyes. “Damn, that’s strong.”
Another cop pours water into his eyes from a plastic drinking bottle.
“Wash your hands and arms as soon as you can,” another one says. “This chemical is sticky. It’s probably in your hair and clothes, so don’t touch anything, and definitely don’t touch your face.”
My father steers us down a street, away from the pandemonium. We scurry through a maze of roads and alleys until we are safe, then huddle against a fence and wait for the person on his radio to tell us what to do next. A half hour later we get word that six hundred protestors have been arrested. The MTA sends some of their long-delinquent bus fleet to haul away the troublemakers, many of whom will be sent as far away as Pittsburgh. Every available jail cell in New York is at capacity.
“Is it safe?” my father asks.
The radio crackles. “It’s Fish City, Walker. Safety is a sliding scale.”
So we head back, pushing our way through cops instead of thugs. Irish Tommy meets us at the barricades. There’s a trickle of blood starting in his ear and rolling down to his second chin.
“Tommy, you’d better get that checked,” my father says.
The chubby cop looks flustered, even more than usual.
“Some kid hit me with a bottle.”
Shadow approaches, pointing his camera phone in every direction at once.
“Where’s Bex?” I say.
“Inside.” He shrugs. “She’s mad at me.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Interesting. What did you do?”
“I asked the wrong questions.” He turns off his phone and hands it to my dad.
“It’s probably an estrogen thing,” I fib.
He shakes his head. “Lyric, I’m not dumb,” he says.
I’m not sure what to say. Bex has never let Shadow see her real life. He knows almost nothing about Russell and her mother. I might not even know if I hadn’t just shown up at her house and caught her stepfather in a rage. Still, this isn’t my secret to tell. I wish she would let him in, but that’s got to be something she decides for herself.
“Just be patient, Shadow. She’ll tell you eventually.”
“No, she won’t,” he says. “I know better than that.”
Mr. Ervin’s classroom is a graveyard. It’s so quiet that when the bell rings, it makes people jump. They keep their heads down. No one wants to be noticed. They’ve all turned into me overnight. The only one smiling is Bex.
“How did it go with Tammy?”
She beams. “Good.”
“Really?”
“Really. He’s gone. She packed his stuff. I think she’s serious this time.”
Tammy has been “serious” before, but I’m not going to dump my skepticism on Bex’s smile. Let her have her hope.
“Shadow has questions,” I whisper.
She looks at me and gives me the “I don’t know what you’re talking about” grin.
“I think you can trust him. He has put in the time, after all.”
Mr. Ervin looks out at us with a grave face, then takes attendance. There are a lot of names he no longer has to call, and not having to shout to be heard . . . well, I can tell it feels unnatural to him.
Suddenly, he calls Fathom’s name. He’s not in his seat, which sends a jab of panic poking into my belly. Visions of him injured or dead hover in front of my face.
“I am present,” a voice says from the back of the room.
I turn and see him huddled in the far corner, as far from me as the room will allow. When he catches my eye, he looks up at the brown paper on the windows like it’s some intricate work of art. I can’t believe it. Why is he avoiding me? We were finally getting along, a little at least. Why would he want to wreck that? Maybe he’s playing with me. Gabriel used to do this too. He would lure me in and then ignore me. It worked like a charm! No, it can’t be some stupid boy thing. Fathom wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t think about me like that. But more important than why he’s acting like a butt is why I care. A couple of days ago, I would have been thrilled that he was trying to keep his distance. Today my stomach is doing backflips, and there’s a nervous energy crackling in all the worst places of my body. Am I . . . is this . . . Why am I crushed?
“Lyric?” Bex asks.
I turn to her, and she tilts her head to the other side of the room. Gabriel is there, sitting erect, burning holes into me with his eyes. He shakes his head and stares at the opposite wall.
Bex leans over and giggles in my ear. “He’s jealous.”