On my other side, Tyrell doesn’t even want to be here. He glances around like a scared rabbit, which is nothing new. He’s been like that since we got here. Only, now it’s justified.

“We gotta go,” I say. “It’s gonna turn.”

Tyrell nods. He leans toward Robb, who’s on the other side of him, bouncing and pumping as loud as anyone. I can’t hear what he says, but I can see Robb shrug him off. Damn it.

“Hey, Will. Will!” I shout. “We gotta go.”

“Hell no,” he says. “This is my town. This is my fight. I ain’t leaving.”

Light it up! Light it up!

Well, crap. Tyrell is ready to go. He edges away, even as a swelling shift in the crowd strikes all of us and we’re knocked slightly apart. But I can’t go, not without Will. We’re not so little anymore, but I’m still older. He’s my responsibility. He’s not even supposed to be here.

“We agreed,” I shout. “Any hint of violence, we bug out. It’s not safe.”

Will stops bouncing. “Nowhere’s safe,” he answers. “Isn’t that the thing?”

I don’t have an answer for that, but when the storefront glass shatters behind us, when the heat of the flames rushes our backs, it no longer matters.

TYRELL

“Let’s get out of here,” DeVante chokes out. I don’t need to do the math on this one. The crowd dissolves around us. Screaming. Coughing. Running, except we can’t. We’re all penned in. Smoke pours out of the building that was behind us, and is now in front of us. It turns out, you can’t help but turn to look when something is burning.

Bodies slam into me, from every side at once. Smoke billows around. My feet freeze against my will. Which way to run? Which way to run?

A voice from somewhere orders us to disperse. Can’t they see we are trying?

“This way!” DeVante steps behind me. His hand is on my arm. When I turn my head toward him, I can see the opening he’s spotted in the crowd. People are running, shouting, railing against the night. The cluster of bodies is thinning enough to make our escape.

Time to go.

A clump of police officers with their batons up charge across the street in front of me. They begin shoving protestors aside from the edges of the crowd. They fan out, circling the scrum, as if hunting the person who threw the bottle.

DeVante moves away, toward the gap. I glance back. “Robb, come on!”

One of the officers charges toward us. Two petite young black women stumble out of the throng right in front of us—and right in front of the officer. The first woman falls to her knees. Her arm is bleeding.

“I’ve got you.” Robb reaches down and helps her to her feet. The second woman is scared, she’s trying to get out of the way of the jostling crowd. You can tell by her tears. You can tell by the way she holds her green-gloved hands up to protect her face and chest. Someone behind her knocks her forward. She staggers into the cop.