Aragon shakes his head. “If this is going to work, it has to be your show, not mine. Good luck.”
Connor reaches his hand out to Risa, and although she’s not ready to face the multitude, she takes his hand and steps down into the water.
“Damn, that’s cold,” says Connor.
The reaction of the crowd is immediate. “It’s them!” “It’s the Akron AWOL!” “It’s Risa Ward!” The news relays through the crowd and down the length of the massive park like a wave of electricity. Did Risa say thousands? There must be more than a million here! It’s not just teenagers, either. There are people of all ages, all races, probably from all over the nation.
Hayden comes wading across the reflecting pool toward them. “What an entrance! You are the only people I know who can arrive by deus ex machina and pull it off.”
“Hayden, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Connor.
“As it should be.” He quickly hugs them both. “I’m glad the reports of your deaths were greatly exaggerated.” He leads them out of the pool and through the crowd, toward the Capitol steps. The crowd parts before them, still whispering their names with charged excitement. Some people actually reach out to touch them. A woman grabs Risa’s blouse, nearly ripping it.
“Hands to yourselves,” Hayden tells the reachers. “It might look like they walked on water, but the reflecting pool’s only a foot deep.”
There’s a speaker at a podium toward the top of the Capitol steps calling for justice, fairness, transparency, and all the other things people demand but rarely get from their government. Risa hears his words being broadcast throughout the rally by audio systems that seem to have sprung up spontaneously. The speaker, Risa realizes, is none other than rock star Brick McDaniel—and there are more celebrities in line to speak.
“When I called for this,” says Hayden, “I wasn’t even sure anyone was listening.”
At the base of the Capitol steps, a line of riot police blocks the way, and the crowd taunts them, daring them to attack. Risa feels like she’s just stepped into a mousetrap that’s about to spring. Doesn’t Hayden see that? How can he be so enthusiastic?
“I haven’t seen a single Juvie,” Connor notes. Risa looks around to realize he’s right. There’s the riot police, street cops, heavily armed military boeufs in camo, even special service, but no Juvies.
“The word is Herman What’s-His-Face—that lying tool who ran the Juvenile Authority—is out,” Hayden tells them.
“Sharply was fired?” says Connor.
“Had his nuts handed to him, is more like it.”
“He was Proactive Citizenry’s favorite puppet.” Risa says.
Hayden offers up his famous grin. “I thought I’d get arrested the moment I showed up, but the powers that be are all scrambling like AWOLs. No telling where they’re going to land, but I hope they all splat like tomatoes.”
As they reach the line of riot police, Hayden says, “Open sesame,” and they actually let him pass, but close their ranks again and grip their weapons before Connor and Risa can get through.
“Uh, excuse me,” Hayden says. “Can’t you see who they are?”
One of the guards looks at Connor, then at Risa, and the moment he recognizes them, he pulls his gun from its holster. She doesn’t know if it’s loaded with tranqs or real bullets, but it doesn’t matter. If he shoots them, the crowd will attack, and it will be a bloodbath. So she looks into the officer’s angry eyes.
“Are you willing to be the man who starts the war?” she asks. “Or do you want to be the man who prevents it?”
Although the anger never leaves his face, it’s caressed by a little humanity, and maybe a little bit of fear. He holds his position for a moment more, then steps aside to let them pass.
Climbing the Capitol steps is clearly difficult for Connor. He grimaces with every step, and Risa helps him as much as she can. When Brick McDaniel sees them approaching, he stops speaking midsentence and yields the microphone, a little bit awed. The entire crowd from the Capitol to the Lincoln Memorial falls silent in anticipation.
Risa stops a few steps short of the podium, hanging back with Hayden. “It’s you they need to hear from,” she tells Connor. “I’ve already been in the media spotlight. Now it’s your turn.”
“I can’t do this alone,” he says.
Risa smiles. “Does it look like you’re alone?”
81 • Connor
Gripping the letter in his hand to the point of crumpling it, Connor approaches the podium, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. He’s never seen so many people in his life. He leans forward into the microphone.
“Hi . . . I’m Connor Lassiter.”
His voice booms out over the crowd, and the collective cheer it brings forth nearly knocks him off his feet. It’s a roar that echoes back from the Capitol behind him. It even seems to sway the trees. He imagines it surging forth along the Potomac, out into Chesapeake Bay, and across the Atlantic, where it can be heard around the world. And then he realizes it will be! Everything that happens here today will be seen and heard everywhere!
“I’m here to tell you that I’m alive. And so is Risa Ward.” He pauses for more cheers, once more waiting for the crowd to settle before he says, “And there’s something I need to tell you.”
He looks down to the letter in his hands, then realizes he doesn’t have to. He’s read it so many times since Aragon gave it to him, he’s memorized it. He had to—it was the only way he could convince himself it was real.