“Come on. We have to be there.” At least, I do. I have all this privilege, everyone is always saying. Because I’m white and male and my parents have money. So I want to use my power for good.

It’s just, I’d rather not go alone. Plus, what’s the point of protesting to support your black friends if your black friends don’t even show up?

“I don’t know.” DeVante sounds less excited than I expected.

“Come on. What’s the point of campus organizing? We live in a bubble.”

DeVante cuts me side-eye. There’s something he’s not saying, like usual. Apparently there are things I don’t get because I’m not black. Whatever. I’ve studied the issues. I do get it. Black people are oppressed and racism is alive and well in the twenty-first century, which sucks. But personally I think everybody’s equal and I don’t judge people on race. What else am I supposed to do?

“It’s a weekday,” he says. “That means missing class.”

“One day of class, maybe. Who wants to be cooped up in a classroom talking theory when we could make a difference in the actual world? No-brainer.”

DeVante moves behind me to let the bikers pass. We are subsumed by their wind. “Let’s wait until we get to the Black House,” he says. “We’ll have to talk together about what is the best plan.”

Blah. All they ever do is talk. Someone has to step up and take some action. It might as well be me. I know what’s right.

DeVante comes side by side with me again. He grips his backpack straps in his fists and stares at the pavement ahead of us. In this moment, he looks like Tyrell to me—calculating the logistics. But it’s not that complicated. I can do my part to help.

“I don’t care,” I tell him. “I’m going. I have a car. You can come if you want.”

BRICK

I’ve gotta get smarter about things. Sun streaks in through a gap in the blackout curtains. Melody cozies up against me, still half asleep.

I’m slipping.

This bed has a “no overnights” policy. Or, it used to. Can’t get comfortable with this kind of arrangement. I like sleeping alone.

But I liked waking up next to Jennica more. That night, the morning after, those memories are planted in my mind like a flag. Every thought is a breeze, stirring it. I can’t be awake, can’t move, can’t think without stirring it up.

I don’t mind waking up next to Melody, either. Any warm body is better than none, it turns out. But I can’t go making promises to women I can’t keep. I’m not into leading people on. My usual dates know how I roll. We screw, we snuggle, then we go our separate ways. No hang-ups. I sleep careful. I sleep smart. No drama.

“Morning,” Melody mumbles. “You good?”

Till now.

“I’m good. You?”

I reach for my phone on the nightstand. Two missed texts from Jennica.