The padlock lay broken on the top step that led to the roof. A cold breeze blew in through the half-open door, and beyond it, moonlight lit the cold world.
Celia peered out of the doorway and saw the sad boy surrounded by a circle of kids in the middle of the roof. They wore hats or had the hoods of their sweatshirts pulled over their heads. Their clothes were baggy and they wore clunky shoes, like none of them could afford anything that fit right. The kids stood in a circle and held hands. There was something strange about them, something wrong, but the longer Celia stared at them, the more she had no idea what it might be.
Celia opened the door a couple of inches wider. The sad boy raised his hands and said something Celia couldn’t make out. He threw his yo-yo forward and did a complicated trick before it flowed back into his hand. The others swayed from side to side, raised their hands, and said something back to him. Sirens from the earthquake drowned out whatever words they said. Some of them were hunched over and had shaggy hair poking out of their hoods. Others bounced on their toes and had toothy smiles that stretched across their shadowed faces. In the moonlight, Celia couldn’t make out more details than that.
The door made an audible squeak as Celia pushed it all the way open and stepped onto the gravelly roof. The kids froze. All eyes turned to her. She pulled her coat around her and shoved her hands into her pockets.
“Hey,” Celia called out. The whiteness of her breath curled up into the night air. “Is everyone okay up here?”
The sad boy snapped his yo-yo up into his hand. He stared at her with his hard-angled face as he frowned and pulled his knit cap lower on his head. For a second, his eyes caught the moonlight and glowed. A couple of the other kids took a step toward her. One of them smiled with a mouth full of crooked teeth.
“Go. Now,” the sad boy said to his friends and pointed to some large pipes jutting out of the roof.
“There’s no law against saying hello,” a girl said.
“Go,” the sad boy said more forcefully.
The kids turned and ran away from Celia, moving in unison like a flock of birds. One of their hoods blew off and showed wild, spiky hair. They disappeared behind the pipes on the far side of the roof.
The sad boy walked closer to Celia, putting himself between her and the others. He placed his hands on his hips. “This is private property.” He spoke with a soft accent. Russian, maybe.
“I know,” Celia said. “I live here.”
“This is a private meeting.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“But . . . what are you doing up on the roof? Are you in some kind of trouble? Can I help?”
One of the kids peeked out from behind the pipes. Dark curly hair sprang from her hood. She had some kind of birthmark on her face. “That’s her! The girl from my dreams.” The words echoed across the roof.
Celia shivered and stood up straighter. “You dreamed about me?”
The girl grinned and nodded.
Celia smiled back. It didn’t seem possible that someone she didn’t know would dream about her, but she liked it anyway.
“Shut up, Daisy.” The sad boy stepped between them so Celia couldn’t see the other girl. “It’s not safe up here,” the boy said to Celia. “We’re just here because . . . we’re kids whose parents aren’t home. We’re having a meeting about it and it’s private.”
“Really?” Celia grinned and bounced on the tips of her toes. “My parents aren’t home either,” she said, before realizing a second later that she had just broken a rule. “So does one of you live here?”
He nodded and kicked the gravelly ground. “I do.”
“You must be new. Apartment 7G, right?” Celia asked.
“Yeah.”
“Cool,” Celia said, except now she knew he was lying—none of the apartments in the building had letters. She took a step closer and a smell wafted off him, like apple pie and . . . sunlight? That wasn’t right, but it was as close as she could get to describing it. “So what are you all doing? I can hold hands and chant with the best of them.” There was something about the earthquake and the weirdness of tonight that made Celia feel like she could make friends with them. It had been a long time since she’d even bothered trying.
A panicked look covered the boy’s face. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You can’t—”
“She could help us! We could all become friends and do stuff together,” a boy’s voice called out from behind the pipes.
“I’d like that,” Celia said quickly.
“No!” the sad boy said. He stepped away from her. “No. You have to leave right now.”
Celia swallowed over a lump in her throat. Why do I even try? She wondered. Why did I even think for one second that anyone could like me?
“It’s not you,” the boy added. Gentleness filled his voice. “But you do have to go.”
“Fine.” Celia bit her lip. “I’m gone already.” She turned to go, but stopped when she got to the door. “What’s your name?” she called back. “In case I see you later?”
“You won’t. I’m . . . Demetri.” His face had long shadows and dark pits for eyes.
“I’m Celia. I live right below here.” She pointed to the part of the roof that was her bedroom’s ceiling.
Celia turned and walked away from them. Something strange was going on up here. Something that involved a group of poorly dressed kids, yo-yoing, and a middle-of-the-night rooftop meeting. But whatever it was, she wasn’t invited.
Back in her apartment she listened to their footsteps overhead and the rhythm of various sirens going off across the city. It felt like she would never fall asleep.