“Can you just drop it?” I ask. “Please? I haven’t had a chance to ask you about whether you convinced your dad to let you work at Gloss instead of at City Hall this summer.”

“Did you see the new issue? Mom said she sent one to your account. She wanted to know if you have ideas for the logo redesign. She wants something more youthful and striking and thinks a younger designer’s point of view will help.” Rose shakes the smile off her face and settles back into a frown. “But no fair changing the subject. We can talk about me and my summer job later. After you—”

The first bell rings, which cuts off whatever Rose was going to say because in order to make it to our class before the second bell sounds, we have to run. Side by side, we race across the street and down the sidewalk, dodging the other stragglers and the large outdoor screens that flank the front door entry like sentries. The one to the right is dedicated to a running display of times and dates for school- and student-appropriate city events. The other is set to local news, as are the two screens in the cafeteria. As Principal Velshi has said in every assembly, the only way we can be sure what we want to do when we go out into the world is to first understand what is happening in it.

The truth, however, is that no one really cares what the chirpy anchor with the plastic-looking hair is saying about the stepped-up recycling effort as students shove their way to the front entrance. Assistant Principal Schmidt is near the door, shouting over the din for everyone to hurry up.

Breathing hard, Rose pushes her way forward. I’m about to follow when a bus pulls away from the curb. Out of the corner of my eye I catch the flash of red lights. I turn, thinking the light must be from one of the announcement screens, but it’s not. The flashing is coming from atop a police car in the distance. I stop walking as men in charcoal-gray suits shove a struggling person with magenta-and-black-streaked hair toward an open police car door. One of the suits backhands the man he’s escorting across the cheek. I flinch and hold my breath as I keep watching. The suit yells and points toward the street. He’s too far away from me to make out what he said, but several navy-blue-uniformed officers nod and race toward some bushes near the edge of the street.

“Meri, come on!” Rose tugs on my arm, and I start moving again toward the front entrance. I glance back in time to see the suited men shove the cuffed, shouting perpetrator into the police car and slam the door. Just before I step into the school, a uniformed officer pulls something out of a bush.

As I race down the hall trying to beat the next bell, I picture the scene from across the street and the item the officer waved in triumph at the suits.