“Clean energy to save the planet!” Mercedes’s voice projects above the shouting. But I’m afraid my voice won’t carry. I think about the riddle—if a tree falls in a forest and there’s no one to hear it, does it make a sound? Does my voice do anything if no one—not even me—can hear it? How will I know if braving this crowd has been worth it? What story will I tell about this day?

The marchers circle the parking lot and take up the whole road. A maroon car is caught in the crowd, inching along with the people walking. The back bumper is plastered with stickers. FOLLOW ME TO THE LIBRARY. MYSTERY SPOT SANTA CRUZ. PEACE BEGINS AT HOME. RESPECT NATURE. DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU THINK. A trail of fingerprints in the dust has left stripes on the shiny doors. I reach out and touch the smooth metal, adding my own fingerprint. “What do we want?” I hear from up ahead. There’s something about the crowd, the man’s voice, the stickers on the car. Somehow, while touching the smooth steel of the car, I feel brave. Strong. I feel the energy bubbling up from my toes, up to my knees, my chest. And I yell.

“Clean energy to save the planet!” I chant. And then I yell again and again along with the crowd. My throat gets raw with shouting. Mercedes’s voice next to me is an echo, her words coming just a fraction of a second behind mine. Together, but different. It feels good to hear my own voice.

And then I hear another.

“Great job, kids. Glad to see you taking action.”

It’s the driver of the car. Her window is open and she’s grinning at us. The woman’s gray hair is cut in a short, straight style. She’s wearing huge sunglasses—even though it’s not that sunny—studded with sparkly, rainbow-colored gems. We’re surrounded by student protesters, but the woman is looking right at me and Mercedes like she’s our fairy godmother or something.

“Good for you, girls. If you want something bad enough, you have to believe in it and then work really hard for it. You can’t let it out of your focus.” She winks as she sneaks her car forward, escaping through a break in the crowd.

Mercedes and I both stop walking and watch her drive away. The marchers weave around us like we’re rocks in a stream. Pretty soon we’re standing alone in the middle of the road. When a car honks, we scurry to the sidewalk.

You can’t let it out of your focus. The words echo in my head. I look at Mercedes. I’m pretty sure they’re echoing in her head, too. The thread between us tugs on a place deep in my heart.