I knew it already, but now it settles hard in my heart: Senator Sloan is a person who takes. He takes up all the accolades, the affection, the spotlight, the light in general. Over and over.

My knees meet the concrete steps, followed by my gloved hands. The cold seeps up through me. Just breathe. I stare at the upside-down heart formed between my thumbs and fingers.

Upside-down broken heart, that is.

A policeman looms over me, out of nowhere. “No sitting on the steps,” he orders.

My heart was already pounding and now it is bursting.

“Sorry. I know.” I scramble to my feet, at once rushing to obey and trying not to make any sudden moves. I’m hot and cold, flushed with a sudden icy sweat, trapped inside my winter coat, trapped by the crowd, trapped beneath the cop’s stern gaze. “I know. I know.”

WILL/EMZEE

It feels good to be in it. To open my lungs. I thought I liked being on the sidelines, with a can of paint, but this is a whole other level.

The four of us hang together: me, DeVante, Robb, and Tyrell. It’s a little odd seeing Tyrell. It’s been a long time since we were in school together, but he remembered me. Said my name when we bumped fists. Robb is mostly a white guy trying to act down, but whatever. It’s kinda nice to have a posse for a minute, even if it’s only temporary.

No justice, no peace! I’ve painted it. Shouting it is powerful in a different way.

When the chant switches, DeVante gets nervous. “If this goes bad, we can’t be here,” he shouts in my ear.

I nod, but in my heart, I’m thinking Screw it. We’re here.

Tyrell, too, looks itchy. Glancing around for a way out. Itchy because he knows, like I do, we’re deep in it. Way too deep.