I glance around at the other new faces. No, no one has blood on their shirts, but through the caked-on dust I see a few bruises, a few puffy lips. The bruise on Latu’s cheek…it’s about the size of Bishop’s big hand if that hand formed a big fist.
Bishop seems annoyed, exasperated, like he can’t fathom why everyone doesn’t understand basic facts.
“I made decisions,” he says. “If someone doesn’t make decisions, then no decisions get made.”
In that instant, I know Bishop and I are more alike than we are different. Someone has to make decisions—but that someone shouldn’t be him.
Gaston points at me. “She has a plan. You have us wandering around, but everyone is too afraid of you to say anything.”
I see some of Bishop’s friends nodding. Only some, though—there are several with circle-stars like his, like Yong’s, like El-Saffani’s. None of those people agree.
I glance at O’Malley, my eyes asking him if I should say something. O’Malley shakes his head ever so slightly, barely a twitch left, then right. His blue eyes stare hard into me. He wants me to let everyone keep talking.
So I remain quiet.
Bishop gestures down the hall. “All Savage is doing is walking straight. Where’s the adventure in that?”
Now the other circle-stars nod. They want adventure, too. I count quickly: including Bishop, El-Saffani and Latu, eight people have circle-stars. There is one girl with the circle-cross, like Brewer, one more boy with the jagged circle like Gaston and Spingate, two half-circles like O’Malley, and six empty circles like Bello and me. Aramovsky is the only circle-in-a-circle—I wonder which way he’ll vote.
Bishop turns to face his friends. His shoulders draw back and his chest sticks out. He talks to them, not in a shout but not far from one.
“Who wants to walk straight? That’s dumb. The more we turn, the more area we cover. Come on, we’re going to find something soon. We missed something is all. We’ll go back and turn a different way.”
The members of Bishop’s group who do not have circle-stars stare down, glance around the hallway, cast their gaze anywhere but at him. They won’t meet his eyes.
I finally understand why O’Malley wants me to keep quiet—Bishop is losing the vote all by himself. But I can’t rely on that, I have to say something. If I can get these people on my side, I can end this without a fight. If, that is, Bishop actually accepts the vote.
“We don’t need adventure,” I say. “We need to get out of this place.”
I see faces change instantly, I see wide-eyed admiration.
Gaston raises his hand. “I vote for Savage,” he says, still glaring at Bishop. “Who else votes for Savage?”
Bello, Aramovsky, O’Malley and Spingate raise their hands. So do Latu and everyone in Bishop’s group that is not a circle-star.
Gaston points at each, counting slowly and loudly. Too loudly, as if he’s enjoying what is an already obvious result.
“That’s sixteen for Savage. Now, raise your hand if you want Bishop.”
Seven arms go up, including Bishop’s. He has lost, but all the circle-stars except for Latu voted for him. They glare at me: four boys, two girls. The circle-star boys are taller than most of us, thick with muscle. The girl circle-stars are toned and lean—they look like they could probably beat O’Malley or Aramovsky in a fistfight.
Without the knife, I wouldn’t stand a chance against any of them.
If the circle-stars ignore the vote and follow Bishop, it’s going to be a problem.
I realize that I didn’t vote, but it doesn’t matter.
Gaston nods. “Sixteen votes for Savage, seven for Bishop.” His mouth twists into something that is half smile, half sneer. “Savage won. She’s the leader. Bishop, give her the spear.”
Bishop’s eyes narrow. His cracked lips flatten, his nostrils flare. At that moment, he is even more frightening than when he ran at me, screaming. Violence bubbles under the surface. For a second, I wonder if he’s going to stab the spear into Gaston’s belly.
“It’s mine,” Bishop says. “The spear is mine.”
O’Malley points at it. “You said the leader carries the spear. Em is the leader, so give it to her.”
O’Malley’s words sound far different from Gaston’s. There is no malice or arrogance in O’Malley’s voice, just an infuriatingly calm delivery of what everyone already knows.
The spear shaft starts to shake: Bishop is squeezing it so hard his arm trembles. He likes being the leader.
And, I realize, so do I.
For a long moment, I am sure this will erupt in a battle that ends with our bones scattered across the hallway. Then Bishop closes his eyes. He tilts the spear toward me.
I take it. I can do this. I can lead us.
I hand my knife to O’Malley. O’Malley hands the scepter to Spingate. Gaston seems to see the scepter for the first time; his eyes go wide with recognition.
Bishop shakes his head, then nods. He lets out a big, cheek-puffing breath. The pending violence inside him evaporates. He’s already over it. His face shows whatever he is feeling as plainly as if he’s speaking it out loud.