While I watched from an old rocking chair in the corner, Kenny grabbed the blanket out of Lucas’s hands. “Ha!” he gloated. “Got it.” Then he saw the warning look from his dad. “Sit by me, Lukey, and I’ll share.” Kenny patted the spot on the couch next to him. Lucas, from his slump on the floor in front of the TV, eyed his brother like he didn’t trust him. At last, Lucas got up and snuggled next to Kenny under the blanket. Bob smiled at my mom like he was parent of the year. It seemed like the sharing was going to work.

But just when Moana heads out to sea, Lucas started pinching Kenny. Then Kenny punched Lucas on the thigh. Then Lucas cried. Kenny swatted his head and told him to cut it out. And then both of them were sent to bed. They both missed out on the ice cream after the movie, which Bob says is part of the family movie night experience. As I ate my mint chip, I thought about how it seemed like it would be easier if they would just get along.

“Come on, Mattie,” Mercedes says, her eyes sparkling. “It’ll be fun.”

“What about finding Francisco Gómez? We’re supposed to go wait for him at the Humanities building.”

“We’ll find him,” Mercedes says confidently.

“I thought we needed to focus!”

“A little detour won’t hurt. We have plenty of time before the 4:20 bus.” She raises her voice to be heard above the crowd. “Come on!”

There’s something about her that makes it very hard to say no to her.

I get swept along with Mercedes and the protest. College students and their cardboard signs surround me. “Wait up!” I loop my elbow through hers. I’m not losing her in this crowd.

We follow as the protest marches along the sidewalk past the library. The stolen book slaps against my back like a code saying, Guilty. Faces peer out at us from the windows above like an audience. I’m grateful that Mercedes doesn’t let go of my elbow. We pass the student union, where we earn a few whoops from the onlookers. We turn the corner past the science building and the planetarium. Guilt knocks against me again as I think about my mom, who has no idea I’m at a protest at Northern Madrone College.

All around us, the chanting of voices makes me feel like I’m stuck in a wind tunnel of noise. “What do we want?” the man with the megaphone shouts. “When do we want it?”