Salvador says, “So you’re in it for revenge.”

Yes? Maybe. Distilled down to its most basic parts, yes, but the word feels too heavy. Revenge has lost its weight. Everyone wants someone to suffer for something. “Yeah, kind of.”

“So much anger packed into such a little body.” Salvador laughs. “How very trans boy of you. All right, intriguing, I like it. What do you want to know?”

“There’s this one guy,” I say. “Also trans, a little taller than me, shitty stick-and-poke tattoos. What’s his name—Carl? Clay? You know him, right?”

“With the bad haircut? That’s Calvin.” Xe eyes me. “Please tell me you don’t have a crush on him.”

“God, no. He’ll barely give me the time of day. What’s his problem?”

“If he’s just not talking to you, you’re getting off easy.” Xe watches the door as if Calvin could walk in any second, which he technically could. “He nearly beat the shit out of Aisha earlier, calling her a liar and bunch of other nasty stuff. He’s the worst. Like being a dick will make up for his lack of one.” I barely suppress a laugh. “Let me guess what he was throwing a fit about. You’re white, so…oh, was it because you don’t bind?”

It’s not obvious I don’t. It’s not like I have much to work with, but once you know what to look for, it’s impossible not to see it. I cross my arms over my chest anyway.

That must be all the answer Salvador needs. “Look, he’s awful. He bought into a bunch of gatekeeping rhetoric before That Day, and all he does is lick boots. Said I was making a mockery of the trans movement for using ‘fake pronouns,’ and I nearly strangled him. Pink-washed colonialism and all that.” A long, angry breath. “Feel free to deck him if you want. I’m sure Aisha would appreciate it.”

I don’t need any ideas.

The night before we head to Reformation, Micah catches a deer. It’s small and withered, tongue hanging out of its mouth. He says we’re lucky it’s small. We’re running low on sugar and salt for curing, so we’ll have to eat as much as we can tonight to keep it from going to waste.

When the sun goes down, we light a fire in the courtyard with plywood pulled off windows across the street. The deer is laid out on a tarp, and pieces are put over the flames, sizzling and spitting. The sniper guard breathes in the smell of cooking meat and turns back to the streets, just in case the smoke attracts attention. Someone runs up the stairs to give them the first pieces.

There’s not enough room for everyone to gather in the courtyard with the fire and Trevor’s fresh grave, so most people stay in the ALC lobby. But Calvin is by the radio, getting too close to it for Alex’s liking and causing a snarling match, so I wander out to the yard and sit by the fence.