It was only at her father’s gentle insistence that Amira was allowed to join the track and field team at school, thus giving her the excuse to sneak away to train for everything else. But her mother had been skeptical of Amira’s interest in sport, saying it was unbecoming for a girl, and she kept a close eye to make sure it did not distract from more important things.
Amira dunked with one hand. Not her nicest, flashiest dunk ever. She didn’t even hang on. But it was unequivocally a dunk, her hand pulling down on the rim just long enough for it to snap viciously back to place, the sound like a bone breaking, like jaws dropping to the floor. It was deeply satisfying, and her desire to have her mom witness what she was capable of was matched only by a deep gratitude that her mother was not in the audience.
Amira’s sneakers squeaked slightly when she landed, and that was the only sound in the gym. She didn’t even look at the crowd, who, despite their posters cheering her on, despite the sheer noise they were prepared to make on her behalf, despite their adjusted expectations for what she could do, could not believe what she had just done.
Amira walked over to Ping and grabbed his limp-wristed hand to shake “good game.”
Before the crowd could erupt into the cheers building up within them through the shock, three teachers (Mr. Jankowski, Mrs. Wu, Mr. Sanchez) jogged across the court. Their dress shoes clacked on the hardwood, a jarring contrast to the heavy silence. It was rare enough to see anyone but the PE teachers jogging, unless it was for some special student-teacher match, or in the wee hours of the morning, when the fanatics came in to exercise before their classes. These teachers, though, clearly had not expected to jog tonight. They were headed toward the exit, paying so little attention to the matter at hand that some in the audience were insulted on Amira’s behalf. Others felt a jolt of fear, sensing that something was wrong. Some just laughed at the clumsy way people in dress shoes ran.
Then the teachers stopped. A few students started to clap for Amira, feeling like much too long had passed in silence, and she was due her ovation. The rest of the spectators, though, seemed to finally notice Joy Ng and her chains. Like elsewhere in school, a murmur began to grow. Amira noticed Joy, too, but figured it was none of her business and walked to center court to await her coin flip with Omar in order to decide who would have possession first. She would have to wait a long time.
The now-anxious crowd watched as Mrs. Wu pulled out her phone and dialed frantically. The little applause that had started died out. Amira’s dunk was, for the time being, forgotten. She hoped this was at least partially due to shock. She hoped everyone had noticed. She hoped no one had.
Everyone could see Mrs. Wu talking, a hand raised to her hair as if tugging a wig into place. Then she hung up, and the school-wide PA system came to life with the sound of Master Declan’s always jolly but now rattled voice. “All students and faculty, please report to the auditorium at once.”
The crowd’s rumbling grew louder, wondering who it could possibly be meant for, given that it was lock-in night and everyone had somewhere to be.
“All lock-in events are temporarily suspended,” Master Declan’s voice rang out.
Now, finally, the gym erupted in mayhem.
4
8:39PM
The foyer in front of Marisa was empty. The hallways, too. She could see into some of the classrooms, which were empty as well, abandoned midactivity as if in an earthquake drill. There were still noises coming from outside, the people there unable, for obvious reasons, to attend the assembly Master Declan had called.
In the basement, Lolo Dufry still napped, having slept through the announcement, as well as the few knocks Diego had attempted before he reported back to Peejay that the door was, indeed, shut just like all the others. Joy Ng felt a chill in the empty gym, which still reverberated with the sound of Amira’s dunk. Joy desperately needed to pee now, and sure, she had a bucket and there was no one else around, but it felt like at any moment someone could appear while she was midsquat. Then what?
Malik, happy to have been left alone in the green room, read happily, though the noise from the auditorium next door kept breaking his concentration. He shifted against his chains, trying to get comfortable. On the roof garden, Eli munched slowly on popcorn, rationing it out since he was pretty sure no one would grant him a refill now. Blessedly, someone had forgotten to pause the movie.
* * *
In the auditorium, Kenji and Celeste sat together, watching the teachers and administrators confer off-mic. Compared to the other students, the pair was quiet. Kenji kept checking the time, hoping this would be over and done with very, very shortly. Impossibly shortly. His silence came from knowing it wouldn’t happen. It came from the fact that Lindsay and several other players were not in the auditorium, not in the building at all.
What’s happening? Lindsay texted him.
Not totally sure, he responded. He would usually have a joke by now. His silence came from her absence, from how much of a “no” this felt like, when the “Yes, and...”s should have been flying around.
Celeste’s silence came from where it had these past few months: the fact that she was observing interactions instead of having her own. She saw how Kenji kept texting someone named Lindsay. She saw the way a group of three blond kids a few rows ahead positioned themselves in the chairs so the two sitting at either end could face each other as well as the one in the middle. It struck her as such a beautiful gesture of inclusion, of intimacy. Three people could sit side by side and still feel like a group, but for them that wasn’t enough. They wanted more of each other.
She craned her neck and saw a girl in fluorescent leggings propped up on her knees, her arms folded over her chair’s backrest. She chatted excitedly with two boys who had matching tousled haircuts, sitting a row back. Too influenced by romantic comedies, Celeste wondered which of the two boys the girl would fall in love with. What was the girl’s place among them? And were they maybe looking for new friends?
These scenes notwithstanding, the mood in the theater was tense. Most students felt the way Kenji did, watching the clock approach the scheduled time for their most anticipated event, while this friend or that remained on the other side. Some shut their eyes tightly and tried to slow the clock’s progress with their minds, knowing it was silly and futile, but wanting to try all the same.
* * *
Finally, Master Declan stepped up to the podium (whose job had it been, Celeste wondered, to find a podium and set up a mic in the middle of all this?) and cleared his throat. He flashed his signature smile, all warmth and cheeks. “Good evening, Sea Cucumbers,” he said for the second time that day, the exact same way he’d welcomed them to the lock-in night hours earlier. He rubbed his hands together as if trying to wring out the bad news. “I’m sure you are all happy to see me again so soon.”
He waited for the joke to land. It did not.