Standing on the chair, all eyes turned in my direction: it builds something up inside me. My shoulders are broader, my fists more powerful, my chin higher. I feel like I can do anything.

I'm ready to march out of this building and directly to the dorms right this second. To demand equality. Justice.

And to burn down the whole fucking city if I need to.

If I raised my arm into the air and shouted the orders, everyone would listen.

We are a loaded spring, sick of being kicked around. Of running. Hiding.

The sense of urgency is palpable.

Christopher and Sequoia can feel it too. They glance at each other. Wary. Nervous. My anger was a spark, and now the fire's spreading. Threatening to get out of control.

I take a deep breath, scanning the crowd.

As much as I want to scream and break everything, I know that won't work. I saw the chaos the bomb caused. The frenzied panic that the city quickly dissipated.

Instead of rushing in, flying on nothing but pure adrenaline, we need a plan. A way to harness this frantic energy into something productive. Something that will actually leave a mark.

As I remain standing on my chair, I point to Sequoia and Christopher. "When we fled to this meeting point, what happened to the people we have on the inside?"

I haven't seen Amanda since relocating. Was she at the Choosing Day Center doing her job when the city attacked? Where would she be now?

"We have a safe house inside the city," Christopher says, glancing at Sequoia before saying more. "And ways to communicate."

"Harry mentioned people in the dorms?" I prompt, my mind racing. Trying to weave threads of ideas into a rope strong enough to hold it all together.

Christopher nods.

"Could they be our scouts? Let us know of any increased guard presence?"

Christopher and Sequoia look at each other again. She nods at him.

"Yes, that can be arranged," Christopher answers.

"Good," I say, "and maybe they can rally more support from the inside."

He shrugs, bottom lip jutting out.

I look around, my mind racing. "We need to map our route. Those of you who travel to the city often would be the best to help with that."

Someone raises their hand. A woman in her late-twenties with long, light-brown hair and a dimpled chin. "I can help with that."

I smile in appreciation. "Good. And we will need signs. Right? Like in those photos that Sequoia showed us. And maybe chants, or flags, or..."

"We gotta look fabulous," Tyree calls out.

I laugh. "Yes, and our message needs to be clear. We are fighting for our right to exist, but also for everyone's right to exist. A message of love," I say, thinking of what Harry's intentions were before everything went so wrong.

Things can't go wrong again.

"How about an escape route?" Alex asks, next to me.

With our last retreat so recent, of course that's a priority. "Yes, and maybe we need to gather some protection from the inevitable blowback? Maybe even a team of medics?"

I look back to Christopher and Sequoia. To see what details I'm missing. I've never done anything like this before, but they have.

"I think you've covered the most essential things," Christopher says approvingly.

"But you must understand what you are risking," Sequoia adds. "Is this something you are willing to die for?"

A sobering calm falls over the room. Some people stare at each other, others gaze down at the floor. An icy grasp clenches at my gut. I know this is the right thing to do. Marching on the dorms will have the most impact. If I die, my life will have mattered.

But I can't speak for anyone else.

So I wait.

And then Alex speaks up next to me. "Yes," they say, voice unwavering.

"I'd rather die in the open than live in the shadows," Tyree hollers.

Jenelle shakes her head at his dramatics. But then she announces she agrees.

More people join in, cementing our resolve.

***

Over the next few days, things come together. Sequoia and Tyree spearhead the group working on messaging. They make bold signs with catchy messages: Choose Freedom, Not Fear; Every Day is Choosing Day When We're Free to Be Ourselves; Nonconformity is Not a Crime.

Mitchell and Alex wind up working together, studying maps, planning escapes. Jennelle joins the group planning the route. I mostly bounce around, keeping morale up, making sure communication is consistent.

Christopher leads a group back to the compound. When they return, their eyes are stoic, faces grim. The building was leveled. A smoking pile of rubble and ash.

But they found a staircase still accessible and the lower basements seemed structurally sound. As a reward for their time and energy, they have several NanoPens and a few dozen pieces of wearable tech that will help with disguises, especially for those not young enough to pass as students.

In two days, we are ready.

My stomach churns with nerves and excitement as we depart. There aren't enough cars for everyone, so Christopher, Sequoia, and a few other experienced drivers shuttle groups to one of several points along the city's border.

Christopher drives Tyree, Mitchell, Alex, Jenelle, and me to a road that dead ends in sand. "This is the closest entry to the dorms," he tells us as he puts the car into park. "But you'll need to walk to the fence from here. The dunes have taken back this stretch of highway."

In the distance, I see the rusted iron fence that crosses the beach and extends into the ocean. Our freshman bonfires often took place on the other side of that border, so we all know exactly where we are.

"We'll have eyes on you, and if you need to run, come back to this spot. Okay?" Christopher tells us, one hand still on the steering wheel.

The five of us step out of the car. "Thank you, Christopher," I say.

And then we shut the door and trudge over the sand towards the fence. The car reverses and turns around, and soon the engine's sound is lost under the constant drone of the waves and ocean wind.

Without a sidewalk, our progress towards the fence is slow. But the sun is out and I'm grateful for the cool wind running through my short hair. Although, I could do with less sand getting into my eyes.

Even though I have a holo-mask ready to go once we get into the city, I pull a bandana up over my nose and mouth. Everyone else does the same.

After a few more minutes, we reach the fence. Mitchel motions for us to walk further away from the ocean, over the invasive ice plants, and towards the line of wind-bent Cyprus trees.

"Here," he says with a large gesture.

He is pointing to a section of the fence where the bottom has eroded away. One by one, we crawl under the fence, careful not to crush the signs we have tucked under our shirts, and we enter the city.

I stand up and brush the sand off of my black hooded sweatshirt and from my dark blue jeans. Then I empty my shoes. There must be a pound of sand in each one.

As I look around, I see a row of roofs just beyond the trees.

Alex and I nod at each other and take off our bandanas. Then I click on my mask.

"Dude," they say, "you look like a complete stranger."

"That's the point," I say with a laugh, hoping they're not jealous I was one of the lucky few to be given one.

Then we navigate towards the dorms.

As we step onto a sidewalk, I feel a surge of adrenaline. This is it, the beginning of something transformative.

We keep to the side streets and avoid known security cameras and areas where the authorities patrol. We keep our heads down and don't talk until we reach the wide expanse of the campus green. When we arrive, it's early, and the area is tranquil, unsuspecting of the storm that's about to break.

People trickle in, each group arriving from different points, until all our scattered forces converge. Students notice the crowd, a few look around suspiciously.

Then, at exactly noon, we unfurl our signs simultaneously. They're bold, bright, and instantly catch the attention of everyone who is milling around or transitioning between classes.

People without holo-masks pull up their bandanas or cover their faces with surgical masks. Anything to obscure their identity. And then our voices rise in a chant, the words echoing off the dorm buildings. "Choosing Day is a lie! Olek says conform or die!"

Several people, including Tyree, have bright pink flyers that they distribute to students. The fliers outline everything we know about the truth of the choosing day procedure.

At first, we just get a few curious glances. A girl in a teal windbreaker clutches a textbook to her chest and hurries by, pointedly looking away from us. Two guys with gym bags swung over their shoulders, point at us and shrug.

But others stop and ask questions.

"Who is forcing anyone to conform?"

"But everyone does get a choice. What are you talking about?"

Conversations are happening, and while many people don't want to believe what we are saying now, they've at least heard our message. Read out signs.

And some people... some people join us.

There is a girl with pink streaks in her hair. A boy with a buzz cut and an eyebrow piercing. A few friends who are all wearing ripped black jeans and tight black shirts. They pick up signs and join in. Their voices add to ours.

But as the clock hands inch closer to the top of the hour, a different sort of anticipation settles over me. The authorities—they will come.

And when I hear the distant wail of sirens, a sound that slices through the chants and murmurs of the growing crowd, I'm surprised it's taken so long.

My heart skips a beat, then pounds furiously.

I turn to Alex and then look over to Jenelle, Mitchell, and Tyree and see my tension mirrored in their faces.

This is the moment we prepared for, but dread coils in my stomach like a live wire.