The next day dawned bright and early, but my friends and I were already up before it even got out of bed. 

As the sun yawned sleepily over the horizon, our little group finalized our plans for today over pancakes and strong, bitter coffee.

Cold eyes flashed into my mind at the thought of coffee, but I pushed him out. It was highly likely that he didn't know what feminism meant, and was probably still sitting behind that desk of his—making more money doing who know what. It was a waste of time to hope that he would come today—

Pansy, as usual, interrupted my thoughts. She sat next to Flora, while Eve busily typed on her laptop next to me. On my other side crowded Cassy and Jill, while Elliot and Zack was their own little island next to Pansy. They had volunteered to help our foursome, and we had gladly accepted.

"A toast!" Pansy exclaimed, holding up her chocolate milkshake. "To the first Women's Rights March in this miserable city!"

"Don't forget LGBTQ's Rights, too!" Chimed in Flora, who held up her cup of tea.

Jill laughed, shaking her bright blue hair into my face. "And the Rights of Animals!"

Cassy chuckled with her friend. "Hear, hear!" The two vets clinked their hot chocolates together and drank before the rest of us.

After the breakfast, we all scattered to the park to set up our respective stations. Flora and Eve were in charge of selling the lavender, customizable signs, while Cassy and Jill placed markers on the ground that indicated where to stand and line up. Elliot and Zack paired up—no surprise there—to organize the fleet of little carts piled high with snacks that they had brought, emblazoned with Elliot's company's name on the side. Pansy printed out our speeches, and I? I ran here and there, helping Flora set up the little booth, helping Elliot figure out the prices we would sell water and sodas at—and I definitely did not scan around for a tall, muscled figure striding into the park gates.

When the first marchers came trickling in, Pansy paused in rereading her speech to look at me with tears glimmering in her eyes. I looked back, grinning and swallowing back sobs myself. It was a wonderful sight, those people lining up to buy signs from Flora and Eve, then sprawling on the ground where Cassy and Jill directed them to go—people of every color and description, men in suits and women in tennis shoes, teenagers with piercings and purple hair and mohawks, grandmothers in wheelchairs, all here to march for equality.

All here to fight for a better future.

And to think that I was here, I was here to fight with them, to lead them, to be a part of a better world—it was amazing. It was powerful and free and empowering to know that I wasn't alone, that I wasn't the only one who wanted to change the world.

We had expected five thousand marchers to show.

As more and more people trickled into the park, so many that Cassy and Jill began lining them up in the sawdust pit, in the skating park, in the picnic area, and eventually out onto the sidewalk, the park itself now running out of space. We had long sold out the lavender signs, and Eve and Flora were now helping Elliot and Zack maneuver the little vendor carts around. Pansy had gone to pick up more water bottles and little snacks, while I monitored the incoming flow of people.

The sign-in booth where I was stationed at had already registered eight thousand marchers. More kept on coming.

The march was due to start at ten o'clock. It was eight now, and we had already far, far surpassed our expectation. But still no sight of the person I had hoped might come. I pushed him out of my mind as I typed and typed, entering all the names into Eve's laptop. We had ran out of the paper sheets an hour ago, and more still came. Each marcher was supposed to get a complimentary button. When the buttons ran out, Pansy ran and bough stickers. When the stickers ran out, we resorted to stamps. And still more people came.

When we hit the ten thousand mark, Eve bursted into tears. I patted her on the shoulder as we sat in the cramped booth. After she had dried her tears and retouched her makeup, she kicked me out to stretch my legs and talk to the people who came. 

An hour before we were due to start, several blue vans pulled up, emblazoned with the Chanel Eight logo. Reporters jumped out, lugging cameramen and women with them. I talked to them for a couple minutes, while still keeping an eye on the hordes that still kept on coming. I don't even remember what I said or what questions they asked, I was still in shock that our march was deemed noteworthy enough to cover as a story on television.

Soon enough I passed the reporters onto Pansy, who would do a better job of selling the march and promoting our ideals better than I ever could, anyways. I scanned the crowd absentmindedly, until I spotted a tall figure moving through the crowd like a knife through a block of butter. Before I knew it I was sprinting for him, grabbing onto his jacket—