“Look at me.” When he’s done, he pulls my mask up over my nose. “Keep that there, no matter what. Am I clear?”
The pain has settled into a throbbing ache like a bad period cramp. Bad, really bad, but nothing I haven’t felt before. Nothing I haven’t survived before.
“Clear,” I say.
A shout: “Nick!”
“No matter what,” Nick repeats and stands. “Aisha! Here!”
For a moment, the world is quiet. No gunfire. No screaming. Just footsteps on concrete. The cautious tweeting of birds.
A Black girl with tear streaks down her face steps into the café. I see her through the pastry case. Her black outfit is dirty at the knees, and her knuckles are raw. She sees Nick, stops, and jabs a trembling finger at him.
“You,” she whimpers, “were supposed to stay with us.”
It’s been so long since I’ve seen somebody cry. Her voice hitches, and tears hesitate at the corner of her eyes before finally falling, soaking the edge of her mask.
“You said you’d be right behind us,” she says. “You said.”
“I’m okay,” Nick says, impossibly calm. “You and Faith made it without me.”
“Fuck you!” The girl—Aisha—stamps her foot. “We thought you were dead too!”
Nick says nothing. Aisha’s lashes flutter pitifully as the tears come faster.
“I’m sorry,” she sobs. She can’t be any older than me. Her fingers still have a little bit of baby fat below the knuckle. “I’m sorry, I just…I need to find the others.”
“They can handle themselves.”
“No, I need to.”
“Okay. When you find Faith, bring her back here.”
Aisha’s bloodshot eyes go wide. “What’s wrong? I can’t handle anything else being wrong, I can’t.”
“Nothing else is wrong. Just bring her back.”
Aisha hiccups and leaves. As soon as she’s gone, Nick is back on the floor with me, his hands keeping me upright.
“Listen to me closely,” he says. “Do not call them Graces. Do not call it Judgment Day. And do not take this mask off. Okay?”
I say, “Okay.”
Nick says, “Breathe.”
A few minutes later, Aisha comes back with another girl in tow. Faith. She’s a white shaved-head butch, taller than any of us and a few years older. Aisha’s pinkie is hooked through hers.
“Was told you wanted me,” Faith says, voice hoarse.
“You okay?” Nick asks.
“Oh,” she says, “of course not.”
When they round the counter, they freeze.
Faith sums it up. “Shit.” She crouches, tilting her head. “Hey, bud. What’s your name?”
When I can’t answer, Nick cuts in. “This is Benji.” Not my deadname. Not Sister Woodside. My real name. “Help me get them up.”
The girls bring me to my feet as Nick deftly moves my jacket to hide the black stains on my shirt. One of my knees gives out, and I slump against Faith’s chest.
Aisha’s voice cracks when she speaks. “All right, we got you.”
I manage, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Faith says. “It’s okay.”
“The Angels are gone,” Nick says. He’s so close, I could rest my head on him if I wanted. I want to. I’m so tired. “You’re safe now. I promise.”