I disentangle myself from Levi’s arms—not an easy feat, as he’s reluctant to let me go. I pull on my jeans and hoodie and carefully open the door, relieved to see a couple of my friends still asleep on the couch. Pru’s in the kitchen, brewing coffee that looks stale but better than nothing. Maude waltzes out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower. Neither of them lets on they know where I was last night, even though I’m sure they noticed. This is why we’re friends, because when I need them to, they let me be, and vice versa.

“Are we ready?” I ask my friends, getting straight to business. The clock on the microwave says it’s eight thirty. We need to hustle.

“Everyone up!” Maude shouts, rousing her friends and kicking Jago lightly with her bare foot when he covers his head with a pillow.

“Five more minutes,” he moans.

“Not a chance,” Maude mutters, drawing the shades on the windows and pointing to a bag on the counter. “Bagels. Eat and get dressed. I brought us these,” she continues, pulling a couple of signs out of her backpack. They say slogans like HUXLEY FOR PRESIDENT, WE’RE WITH BIANCA, and SHE’S THE ONE.

We all stare at her. Really? We have to hold these?

“What? We have to blend in,” she explains, then gathers them up and shoves them in her bag.

Everyone’s scurrying around, finding clothes, locating extra socks, stuffing themselves with bagels, and getting ready to leave. When Levi emerges from the room we shared last night, I can’t help but reflexively meet his eyes. He smiles, a little, in a bashful way that feels so different from our strained rapport of the last few months. His expression right now is anything but aloof. He’s almost shy. Which sends tingles up and down my spine. What we shared last night was special, almost sacred. He feels it too.

We’re hurrying out the door now to catch the subway. Jaeger buzzes Pru that he’ll meet us there, up front. When we arrive at Central Park, at least fifty people are already milling about, finding spots and holding signs like the ones Maude brought us. She was right; at least with the signs, we fit in. We snake our way to the makeshift stage, craning to see if Bianca’s here yet.

“Where’s your dad?” I ask Pru.

“He’s here,” she tells me, checking her plum. “He says we should sit tight. He’ll find us.”

It’s hard waiting, with nothing to do but observe all these people who are here to support Bianca—and her anti-clone agenda. It’s ironic, thinking that we’re here to save her, when in reality, her politics defy our very existence. But we can’t let her be replaced. That would give Gravelle a level of control and power that’s untenable.