“If the chimera-haters meet some chimeras and their supporters, maybe they’ll realize we’re not so bad.”
She nodded slowly. “It’s possible, although I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
“No, but I figure I should do whatever little thing I can to help support the effort.”
She shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
“Not quite.”
“Then what else is there?”
I bit my lip, trying to think of a way to say what was on my mind that wouldn’t sound pompous or stupid. “Well…I know some other people from E4E have been invited.”
“Yes, I’m aware. Myra Diaz and Davey Litchkoff. The national vice president and the regional chair. They’re great. Do you know them?”
“Not at all.”
She shrugged. “So, what’s the problem?”
“Well, I didn’t go looking for this or anything. And I worry that people might, I don’t know, resent me going, like I’m trying to be something I’m not, or trying to represent E4E, or something like that.”
“I see.” She nodded slowly, thinking. “Well, I must say, I’m impressed that you considered that possibility. But did Calkin say anything about you representing E4E?”
“No.”
“So he asked you to attend because of things you’ve done and seen, right? He wants your perspective as an individual, right?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. But people aren’t going to know that. What if they think, I don’t know—”
“Jimi,” she said, leaning forward and cocking an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you were the type of person who does what she thinks is right regardless of what other people think.”
“I guess. I mean, I hope so.”
She sat back again. “Seems like you have your answer.”
I didn’t, but I was closer. I nodded. “Thanks.”
Then she reached behind her with both hands and hoisted a thick stack of manila folders. “Happy to help,” she said as she held the stack out to me. “Now, can you log these by date and file them in the archives?”
The filing and logging was almost, but not quite, the kind of work you could do while your mind pondered larger issues. I pondered anyway, but it did slow me down. DeWitt was right, as she usually was, but when I walked out of her office four hours later, I still wasn’t entirely convinced.
After work, I talked it over with Rex some more on our way to the coffee shop. I was looking forward to hearing what some of my other friends thought about it, too.
Reactions varied.
Pell and Ruth were sitting at the counter when we walked in. Pell actually worked at New Ground, but she was apparently off the clock, because Jerry, the owner, was behind the counter and he wasn’t giving Pell grief for not being back there with him.
Jerry wasn’t a chimera, but he was a solid supporter. His pale white skin was decorated with piercings and gauges and lots of tattoos—including a prominent E4E logo on his forearm.
Ruth and Pell were best friends, and they’d become two of my closest friends, too. They had gotten spliced together, with the same bird splice, so they looked alike, with the same fawn-colored feathers framing their faces. They were similar in a lot of ways, but different in others. When I told them about the call from Reverend Calkin, their differences became more pronounced.
Ruth beamed, her eyes wide. “That’s great, Jimi!” she said. “I mean, surely if these anti-chimera people would just get to know some chimeras and their supporters, they’d see the error of their ways.” She squeezed my hand. “This could be the dialogue that changes everything, and you could be a part of it!”
Pell snorted and rolled her eyes. “Or,” she said, “it could be a fat waste of time for Jimi and E4E, and a giant public relations boost for chimera-haters.”
Jerry laughed behind the counter and shook his head. “Why the hell did they invite you?” It wasn’t like I hadn’t been wondering the same thing, but it stung a little to hear him say it.
I pretended to ignore him.
Luckily, at that moment, Doc Guzman walked in, looking dazed.
He held his back as he eased himself into a chair.
“You okay there, Doc?” Rex called over to him.
“What?” Doc said, vaguely confused. “Oh, yeah. My back’s acting up. But that’s not it. I just got the strangest phone call.”
When it turned out that Doc had also been invited to Calkin’s luncheon—and was planning on attending—people began to think differently. Pell acknowledged that maybe the whole thing did make sense. Jerry said that if Doc were invited, then something might actually get accomplished.
Doc felt the way I did—if there was a chance to engage and try to change people’s minds, you had to at least try. Besides, he said, Calkin was far from the worst of the H4Hers. He was right. In fact, thinking about the worst of them—Stan Grainger—was probably what cinched it for me. If there was a chance to be a part of something that might prevent tragedies like Del’s murder, I had to attend.
And the fact that Doc would be there helped a lot. Doc was smart and savvy, and if he thought it was a good idea, it probably was. Plus, I was hugely relieved to know there would be a familiar face there, and I’m pretty sure Rex was, too.
So I was pretty disappointed a few days later when Doc called—an hour before the luncheon—to tell me his back had gotten worse instead of better, and he wasn’t going to make it after all. I’d be there completely on my own.
I thought about asking Rex to come with me, or even my mom, but they both had work, and my mom was my mom. If I was already expecting to feel out of place there, I could only imagine how much worse it would be if I showed up with a parent.
Mom was still dubious about the whole thing, anyway. I had played it down, said it was no big deal, but she only relented when I suggested that, combined with my internship with DeWitt, participating in the luncheon would look great on college applications.
In the end, I figured if I was grown up enough to have done the things that got me invited—helping to end the horrors in Pitman and Omnicare, making a spectacle of myself so Rex could escape the police, being on the news, and even ending up on a T-shirt—I was old enough to go on my own. It was just lunch.
Or at least that’s what I told myself as I emerged from the underground Levline hub and stepped out into the sunlight and the oppressive heat rising from the asphalt.
The Lev hub was underneath the Convention Center, and the steps let me out half a block from the protest areas. Tomorrow, when the convention officially started, the anti-chimera H4H people would be cordoned off on one side of the street, and the pro-chimera E4E folks would be cordoned off across from them. I would be there with Rex and Ruth and Pell, and a bunch of other people I knew.
For the moment, the only visible sign of what was to come were the stacks of dismantled police barricades leaning against light poles, waiting to be assembled and put into place. But there was also a vibe on the street, a kind of nervous energy, excitement and trepidation. The calm before the storm. The convention was a big deal, and not in a good way.
Or maybe that was all in my head.
The sun beat down as I headed down Market Street, toward the Seaport Museum. I edged closer to the shade and tried to picture myself at the luncheon, being confident and eloquent instead of awkward and out of place. But I couldn’t conjure the image. So instead, I focused on what I planned to say, if I got a chance to say anything: Coming together was all well and good, but if we were looking for common ground, we weren’t going to find it anywhere near the idea that chimeras were nonpersons. And if Calkin and his pals actually believed that they were, then we were all wasting our time.