2 José started a library of his zines. There weren’t a lot, but he figured that if he was getting information about how to do things like street defense from them, everybody should have access to the same ideas he had. The thought behind it was twofold, he said. Horizontal information sharing was important, but what was even more important was that others might read the stuff and come up with ideas that he didn’t. It worked, too. People started reading them and passing them around and talking about them. One day even Makayla came up to our apartment to borrow some. She had gotten thinner, and looked like she wasn’t sleeping much. She didn’t say more than five words when she came knocked on the door, and didn’t stay long. She left with four zines. As she was headed out the door, I put my hand on her arm. She nearly jumped a fucking mile.

“You okay?” I asked, peering at her. I maybe didn’t care; she could be a real jerk. But maybe I did, too.

“I feel safe here. I do,” she said, answering a question I hadn’t asked. “It’s just hard to sleep sometimes.”

“Are you eating? Doing things to relax?”

She shook her head. “Eating when I’m hungry, which isn’t all the time. I try to read a lot, but I go over the same sentence over and over. Maybe I can read these, though.”

I tried to call to mind the picture of her snapping at Jaden, or the day she threw Drusilla out. But she looked so fragile right then. I almost wanted to give her a hug. But that would have been weird, right? I’m not a huge hugger. I was pretty sure she wasn’t, either. I patted her on the shoulder, once, awkwardly, like a bro. She closed her eyes like she was barely able to stand someone touching her.

“You’re strong,” I said. I wanted to add more, about what she did for the building, about what a badass it was obvious she was. But in the end I just shrugged and she went back to her apartment.