“Bello’s right,” I say. “We don’t know what’s out there. But we know what’s not in here—food.”
We look at each other in unspoken understanding. Waiting is not an option.
“There’s no water here, either,” Spingate says. “Water is even more important than food.” She looks up and to the left, her nose wrinkling. “I think that’s right.”
Aramovsky tugs at the sleeves of his white shirt. He fidgets with it constantly, as if on guard against a crease sneaking up on him.
“Why don’t you go, Em?” he says. “You can find food and water, bring it back for us. We can wait here in case the grownups come.”
Yong makes a pfft sound with his mouth.
“You’re a brave one, Aramovsky,” he says.
Aramovsky glares at Yong. “It’s not about bravery, it’s about practicality.”
Yong rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what it is. Practicality. Then how about you go, Aramovsky? The rest of us can stay and be practical.”
Aramovsky draws himself up to his full height. He is much taller than the other boy.
“Don’t you tell me what to do,” he says.
Yong’s arms uncross. His hands drop to his sides, curl into fists.
“You volunteer others, but you won’t go yourself? Then how about I make you go?”
Yong smiles. It’s a beautiful smile, the kind that would make me want to follow him around all day from a distance, just to see what he does, see who he talks to. But his eyes…they radiate something else altogether. Aramovsky is taller and both boys are packed with muscle, but Yong wants to fight—Aramovsky does not. Maybe Aramovsky tried to use his size to intimidate, but it backfired on him and now he doesn’t know what to do.
“We stay together,” I say in a rush. “We aren’t making anyone do anything, okay?”
Aramovsky nods quickly. “Em’s right.”
Yong again stares at me. I get the impression I’m annoying him.
O’Malley tries for the tenth time to pull his top two shirt buttons together, even though he has to know by now his chest is too big for that. He gives up, instead keeps a hand pressed near his neck, as if he’s embarrassed so much skin is showing.
He looks at me.
“Em, why do you get to choose what we do? Are you in charge?”
There is no malice in his voice. He’s not accusing me of anything; he’s asking a question that needs to be asked.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Aramovsky points at me. No, he points at my forehead.
“Em can’t be in charge. She’s a circle.”
He says that like my symbol has significance. It does, I know it does—all our symbols have significance. We can feel it. But from the searching looks on everyone’s faces, none of us know what that significance is.
O’Malley shrugs. “If Em doesn’t make the decisions, then who does?”
No one speaks. We’re kids: someone is supposed to tell us what to do. That’s the way things are.
Finally, Yong breaks the silence.
“I’ll do it.”
His arms are crossed again, his head is tilted slightly to the right. He is a walking challenge, daring anyone to contradict him. Something about his presence promises pain.
“I’ll run things,” he says. “You all do what I say and we’ll be fine.”
I don’t think he should be in charge. Or Aramovsky, for that matter—something about the tall boy makes me nervous. But who am I to say Yong shouldn’t lead? Someone has to get us out of here, someone has to make decisions.
Yong stares at Bello, who looks down instantly. He stares at Spingate; she clears her throat, blushes again, then shrugs. Yong tries to stare at Aramovsky, but Aramovsky won’t even meet his eyes. I’m the next target for Yong’s burning glare. I try to match it, try to wordlessly stand up to him, but I can’t—I look away. Those fists of his…would he hit me?
I don’t even know if I’ve ever been in a fight.
Finally, Yong stares at O’Malley.
O’Malley stares right back; calm, not threatening, but not reacting to Yong’s intimidation, either.
“Em got out of her coffin on her own,” O’Malley says. “No one else did that. Then she freed Spingate. The two of them got the rest of us out. Without Em, we all might still be asleep. Or, worse, awake and trapped in the coffins.”
Yong frowns. He seems confused, as if he expected any disagreement to involve shouting and pushing, not simple reasoning. O’Malley isn’t even arguing with Yong, he’s simply presenting facts.
“So she got us out,” Yong says. “So what? She has no idea what’s going on. Getting us out of the coffins doesn’t mean she’s a good leader.”
O’Malley thinks on this for a moment, really considering it, then nods.
“That’s true, it doesn’t mean she’s a good leader,” he says. “But she didn’t panic. When Spingate called for help, Em helped her. Em told all of us what was happening and didn’t pretend that she knew more than she did. Don’t you think those are qualities we’d want in a leader?”
Yong says nothing.