“We’re just black in public,” Cherise answered, making Apollo snicker and the other girl frown. “Seriously,” she continued, “we exist just because we can. Some of us do other stuff with Black Lives Matter and other larger organizations, but AASU is like Al Sharpton. We’re around because we’ve been around, not because we need to be around, you feel me?”

Apollo nodded, trying not to laugh in the face of the other girl, whose cheeks were turning an ornery red.

“This is not recruitment, Cherise!” the girl exclaimed. “If you think we’re so backwards, why do you come to the meetings? Why do you pay the dues? Why are you here over the summer, recruiting?”

“Because allegiance isn’t delusion,” Apollo jumped in, happy to find a kindred spirit.

“Because things can change,” Cherise corrected him. “Including me.”

The girl seemed satisfied, but Apollo felt betrayed. “But what if they can’t?”

“Even if they can’t, there’s levels to this shit. Not everyone can be out in the streets or on the highway or in the classroom, but everyone has to keep in contact. Because the moment we think our one battlefield is the entire war, we lose.”

“But aren’t some battles more important than others?”

Cherise’s face shifted in multiple directions, her mind processing his question. “Nigga, I’m not your spiritual advisor,” she said after a spell. “Figure that shit out on your own. Just don’t be reckless out here, sabotaging other people’s battles on some Blue Lives Matter or class first shit.” Then she left.

Apollo stood with the other girl, who remained silent. She offered him a pen and pointed toward a mostly empty spreadsheet that was lying on the table. Apollo wondered how she would have recruited him as he leaned over, considering whether he really wanted to join AASU. Cherise seemed cool, but her politics unsettled him. She had all the same dispositions as him but didn’t seem to come to the same conclusions. He glared at the list, indignant. Only one name was scrawled in: Zed Pang.

Apollo didn’t sign. He didn’t need an organization, especially one that didn’t prioritize countering government surveillance and secrecy. Even Solara’s thick head understood what was at stake. He’d have to convince Zed to renege, he decided as he reached the end of the hall. They were too woke for such middling affiliations.

There were no more tables to investigate, so Apollo turned and watched the growing activity in the hall, which was becoming densely packed as families streamed out of the auditorium. Zed waved at him from a few yards away, pointing at a table to signal that she was still browsing. Apollo smiled back, mouthing “Take your time” and sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. He never refused solace.