In my dark room, I lie in bed thinking about how to get us out of this predicament. I can’t believe Ma wants to just ignore it and hope it goes away. When has that ever worked?

I rack my brain, trying to remember the law exactly. I remember the basics of it as though I’ve only just learned it:

No two persons shall maintain physical contact of any kind for more than three seconds.

There are a bunch of exceptions, though. What are they again? Maybe I can make one of those work for us. I just don’t remember any of them. I really should have paid more attention in school.

The only exceptions I remember are a bunch about children and the elderly. There are others, though. What are they? Is there one about being sick? Maybe I can say I was sick.

I sneak over to my desk and open my two-year-old civil code book. It’s from my final year of public school, but it should still give me a good idea. I don’t think much has changed in the last couple years.

The small amount of light streaking through a crack in my curtains is all I have as I search for the public affection laws. I angle the book so I can see the table of contents.

I have to squint to see the page numbers as I search for page fifty-three. I swear this book is written for bugs! The writing is so small. Who designed this thing?

I find the law and flip through a couple pages of exceptions that apply to the young and elderly. Finally, I come to one category I hope can help me: illness.

I use my finger to scan each exception in turn, careful not to miss any: broken bones, missing limbs, pregnancy.

None of these apply to me. And I’m pretty sure being pregnant would be way more against the law than holding hands, so I keep reading.

Finally, I reach the last exception: fainting. Can a person claim it was to prevent fainting if said person is already sitting down at the time of the incident?

The more I try to twist it, the clearer it becomes that I cannot. It’s right there in aged black and white. According to the law, Alexei had no reason to hold my hand.

But he had every reason to hold my hand.

I feel the fire burn up inside me from the pit of my stomach. This law is so unfair I could scream!

This book is useless! My arms move without me as I almost slam the book shut. Fortunately, I catch myself in time and the book closes with the faintest thunk. I hold my breath, listening for any signs I may have woken my family or the neighbours.

If I can’t find a loophole, what’s the other option? I can do what Ma says and leave it be until the police come knocking. Or I can try to make sure the police never find out it happened in the first place.

But how?

When I open my eyes the next morning, I cannot remember closing them. I can feel the indent where my book pressed into my cheek as I slept. The small crack of light that was so useful last night is shining straight into my eyes as I blink back tears.

The clock says 5:45, so I have at least an hour before my parents expect to see me downstairs for breakfast. I can’t risk reading anymore books, but I do have time to formulate a plan. I set about tidying my room while I think it through.

The obvious problem is that there is video evidence of the situation. So how do I get rid of that before it falls into the wrong hands?

I fold the small pile of clothes I failed to put away after yesterday’s laundry. As I put them into the drawers, I cannot help but notice how similar all of my outfits look. I’m not sure if it’s a rule or just custom, but everyone I interact with seems to stick with the same colours and styles.

Too bad I go to that cafe so often. If they didn’t know me, maybe I could get them to delete the tape. I guess I could break in and steal it, but I’d need to figure out where it was first.

That left only one option: I had to find someone who knew how to get that tape.