I took off. My breath burned in my throat, but I didn’t slow down. One long hallway. Another.

The door came up, and I knocked it open with the heels of my hands.

Patrick, Alex, and Cassius moved frantically through the flower beds. Patrick’s head snapped up. “Chance! Where the hell did you go?”

He ran over, snatching me up and hugging me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Or talk.

I shoved him off.

“You’re still mad at him?” Alex said. Her red-rimmed eyes showed that she’d been crying. “You’re gonna waste his last ten minutes alive being angry with him?”

I was still panting from all that running. “Not angry … No time to explain.… Just … come.…”

Patrick said, “Chance, we don’t have time for—”

“I have a plan!”

Something in my face must have convinced them, because they ran back with me. Cassius galloped next to us, tongue lolling, tail wagging. He probably thought it was some kind of game.

Seven minutes.

Six.

We careened into the gym. I leaned over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I pointed at the mask. “Put it on.”

Ben stood behind the tank, his burly arms swaying at his sides, the stun gun glinting in his waistband. “This’ll never work. And besides—”

“Kindly shut up, Mr. Braaten,” Chatterjee said.

While we were gone, Chatterjee had connected the tube to the tank.

Patrick looked at me. “Is this your idea?”

“Just do it.”

“What do we do when the tank runs out?” Alex asked.

“One thing at a time,” I said. “Get it on.”

Four minutes.

All the kids were up now, forming a giant ring around us.

“How will I eat?” Patrick asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” I was practically yelling. “Just do it.”

“If I put that mask on, I won’t be able to take it off,” Patrick said. “Not ever.”

“That’s right.” I grabbed the mask from Chatterjee and shoved it into Patrick’s chest.

Patrick looked from me to Chatterjee to Alex. Then he slid off his cowboy hat. Something about the gesture made him look humbled, defeated. Taking the mask, he pulled it over his head. It was transparent like the ones football players use on the sidelines. Thick straps, firm seal, a one-way valve to clear exhaled breath without allowing any outside air in.

Patrick looked trapped inside it, and I couldn’t blame him.

Three minutes.

“Wait.” Alex’s eyes were brimming.

Patrick looked at her. Understood. Sliding the mask up onto his forehead, he pulled her in. They kissed. For the last time. Eyes closed, her hands pressed to his chest, his arm looped around the small of her back. She was on her tiptoes, face tilted up to his.