I don’t know if I agree with that, but I also know we shouldn’t be talking about this. Not tonight.

“I think he wanted a riot,” Kimberly says. “I think he was hoping for one.”

“That’s nuts.”

She shrugs. “It’s better press, isn’t it? You notice he didn’t stay for the actual announcement. He knew what would happen.”

My brain swirls and glitches over the coldness in her voice. “That’s unfair.”

“Whatever.”

I pull out my phone. There is much still to do tonight, apart from tending our own wounds. Let us not make new ones.

“We have to work,” I say. “I’ll check in with legal aid, you do social media?”

Kimberly nods. We open all the tech. Between our phones, my tablet, my laptop, and the TV, we can keep tabs on the conversation across platforms.

The coverage on TV is more chilling than usual. Maybe because we were there. One shot they keep returning to is the steps where we stood, which now is lined with people seated in rows with their hands bound.

On the split screen, Senator Sloan, already back in DC somehow, sits in the studio offering commentary. I run the timeline in my mind. He spoke at our event in the late afternoon, hopped a flight home, and got himself on TV from a safe distance. All in a matter of hours.

He knew what would happen. Kimberly’s words float back to me. I push them away. Our cause is being covered on national TV because of Senator Sloan. We have an advocate who people respect. Why doesn’t she see that?

“He sounds good, don’t you think?”

“He always sounds good,” Kimberly says softly. “He seems like a good person, but he’s not.”

“Why are you so down on him?” My voice snaps in my throat. It hurts a little.

She glances at me. “You don’t really want to hear about it,” she says. “You’ve already accepted the job, haven’t you?”

KIMBERLY

“I can’t talk about this now.” Zeke tips his phone toward me. “We have to work.”

“You only care about the work!” I cry. “How did I not see that?”

Zeke sighs. “There’s—I mean, everything is on fire right now. Can we not do this?”

Easy for him to say.

“This is my life, too.”

Zeke’s phone rings. “I can’t hold myself back, just because…”

“Just because of me? I hold you back?” The knives just keep on coming.

I move to gather up my purse, except I don’t have one. No bags allowed at the protest. So I grab for my coat instead.

“You can’t leave,” Zeke says. “It’s not safe.”

“I can leave,” I thunder. “You’re not from around here. I keep forgetting. But this is my neighborhood. I belong here.”