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.”

I fling the door open so hard it smacks the wall. My body is shaking and the plan is not well thought out. I rush down the stairs and out into the cold, cold night. I zip my coat, pull on my hat, and walk to the bus stop on the corner. I want to walk it off—standing still is enough to drive me crazy—but it’s far, and it’s dark, and out here by myself it no longer feels like a good idea to have left.

I huddle in the corner of the bus hut with my back against the glass. The street is deserted. Zeke lives far from the action, but not far enough. Sirens wail in the distance. Smoke rises over the buildings. The acrid smell of it comes wafting through now and again.