“No.”
“I’m smarter than your father.”
From the hallway, Caleb shouted:
“Blasphemy.”
Neither woman had heard him enter.
He dropped his backpack.
“What happened?”
Amara groaned.
“No.”
“What?”
“Go shower.”
“Why?”
“You smell.”
“Still want story.”
Rochelle said:
“Your sister saved somebody from a car crash.”
Caleb stared.
“What?”
Amara covered her face.
Rochelle continued:
“Then missed the scholarship test.”
“What?”
“And some little rich boy tore her paper.”
Amara’s head snapped up.
“I didn’t tell you that.”
Her mother looked at the folder.
“You taped the form back together.”
Of course.
Nothing escaped Rochelle.
Caleb’s eyes widened.
“He tore it?”
Amara sighed.
“Yes.”
“Did you hit him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Rochelle said:
“Excellent question.”
Amara looked at her mother.
“You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“I am.”
“I’m responsibly wondering.”
Caleb dropped into a chair.
“What did he say?”
Amara told them.
People like you.
Scholarship applicants.
Public transit.
The kicked folder.
By the end, Rochelle sat completely still.
Amara knew that stillness.
Her mother used it with doctors who ignored symptoms.
Insurance companies.
Supervisors.
People who mistook calmness for surrender.
“He knew about the emergency petition?”
“Yes.”
Rochelle nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“That ‘okay’ sounds violent.”
“It is peaceful.”
“Mom.”
“I said peaceful.”
Caleb asked:
“Can I fight him?”
“No.”
“Mom?”
“No.”
“Could Dad?”
Rochelle almost smiled.
“Your father would have embarrassed all of us.”
They laughed.
For thirty seconds, the day became survivable.
Then Amara sent the petition.
5:01 p.m.
One minute late.
Her stomach dropped.
Rochelle looked at the timestamp.
“The email app probably reports server time.”
“Mom.”
“One minute is not civilization.”
“Mom.”
“Go eat.”
At 6:42, a reply arrived.
PETITION RECEIVED.
Nothing else.
Amara slept badly.
She dreamed about locked doors.
At 7:11 Sunday morning, Caleb banged on the bedroom wall.
“Amara!”
She pulled the blanket over her head.
“Go away.”
“Someone’s outside.”
“Then let them stay outside.”
“It’s a Rolls-Royce.”
Amara sat up.
“What?”
Caleb burst into the room.
“There is a Rolls-Royce outside.”
“You don’t know what a Rolls-Royce looks like.”
“It has the little silver lady thing.”
Amara stared.
He was right about that.
Rochelle shouted from the kitchen:
“Both of you get dressed.”
Amara went to the window.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom stood along the curb.
Not merely expensive.
Unreal in the context of their street.