We get yelled at by our parents when we arrive all scruffy and unkempt after a day of missed school. We endure the grounding. We put on our makeup and go to school after that. But we continue not paying attention. But this is different. This time our minds are planning and scheming. 

We drive to the abandoned stretch of Wall in the evening. Our cars are loaded with fireworks and shovels and hammers and picks and wooden planks and large buckets. We bought them from our savings accounts. We even took out loans from the banks. Millions of dollars. In small pieces from many different banks. They're not loans we'll ever be able to pay off. They're not loans we'll be around to pay off either. We'll leave town and the banks won't be able to track us down. 

We park our cars inside one of the empty, abandoned parking lots. We hug each other. We watch the sun set and once it does we begin. 

Fireworks. The plan is to detonate fireworks. Up in the sky and down under the ground. We will dig down towards the base of the Wall and insert bundles of fireworks inside them and detonate them. To cover the loud sound we will detonate some fireworks into the air as well. Nobody will think anything is amiss. People explode fireworks all the time throughout the city. And this abandoned empty space is perfect for an urban fireworks show. 

It's a good plan. One we all made together over text messages while we were grounded. It was a good thing that we got grounded after all, it seems. The world is working on our favour it seems.

We know that this is a dangerous plan. We know that we are risking everything. But we go forwards anyways. We have to go forwards anyways. 

The edges of my soul are as dark as the edges of the horizon when I arrive at the abandoned section of the wall. My boyfriends both have determined, resolute, stormy eyes. They are as dead set on our liberation as I am. 

"I feel ... I feel so light," Marcus breathes, "I feel like my soul is flying." 

"I feel like we're on the verge of something," Elliot answers, "this anger that burns within my chest, that always burned within my chest, I feel like it has somewhere to go now." 

"I feel so brave," I tell them, "like I'll never be afraid again. Though I know that's probably not true. Still, I'm high off of this feeling. But incredibly grounded as well." 

"Well we're here." Elliot looks around at the rows and rows of worn down buildings, boarded up windows and doors, cracked streets and garbage. "We're past the point of no return." 

"Are we really?" I ask him. 

"Well we can return now if we want to," Marcus replies, "but I don't want to. Do any of you?" 

"I don't," I answer him.

"Me neither," Elliot softly declares.

We get armfuls of fireworks, heavy and dangerous, from our cars. We set three of them up on the road. Ready to be ignited when needed. We then get our shovels and start digging. 

It's hard work, digging into the dry, dead ground at the base of the Wall. But all three of us dig together. And we sweat together. And we are together. Making our hole just deep enough. 

Marcus hands out the safety glasses and Elliot hands out the big, heavy hammers that we bought at the hardware store. We look at each other for a long moment. It's still a deep blue shade of twilight outside. We carefully arrange the fireworks in the hole, working in perfect unison. 

We've always worked together so well. We're the only ones who understand each other and even though none of us understand ourselves we work like three different parts of the same whole. A trinity. 

I silently, carefully tie all the fuses of the fireworks in the ground together into one twisted braid. This is so that we can safely set them off from a distance. We put a lot of thought into this. A lot of thought and a lot of research. Of course, no-one told us how to break the Wall. But the internet did tell us how to handle fireworks, how they work, and how to be safe around them. 

Not that any of us care whether we die. It's just, just that we want to live long enough to see the other side of the Wall. Or maybe we're cowards. I don't know. 

When it's finally time to light the fuses all three of us take a small, fragile-looking wooden match into our hands. My chest is buzzing with excitement. I don't think I am capable of even breathing right now. 

Marcus gives everyone a shy smile. 

"Are you guys ready?" he asks. Vibrant and sparking. 

"As ready as we'll ever be." Elliot's voice is warm and soft and flowing. 

"Yes," I reply, "Let's go." 

Marcus and Elliot each set off one of the three decoy fireworks. I set off all the bomb fireworks. We run towards each other and meet in the middle, a good distance away from the explosions. We all look at each other. And only each other. We don't say anything. I don't think we can bear to look at anything else. 

We give each other strength. 

The resounding explosions which reverberate through the ground and the air and through our bodies and our hearts make my heart stop beating for a second. I can barely hear it. And I know that that's a good thing. It means the other inhabitants of the city can barely hear it. But I can feel it. Not just in my heart. But in my soul. 

They're not explosions. They're escape. Elliot goes to light the third firework and the three of us hug as it shoots into the sky.

These few minutes feel like eternity. It feels like I am standing forever with my boyfriends amidst explosions. It feels as though my whole world is exploding. No, exploding it the wrong word. It feels as if my world is melting away to reveal another, secret world underneath. 

When it's all over we are brought again to another moment of truth. Marcus looks up at us with wide, unsure eyes. I'm sure my eyes also betray my fear. Did they work? That is the question. Did they chip through a bit of the Wall? 

We get out spades again and start digging. We clear out the ruined husks of fire cracker and loose dirt. 

And there, we find ... bits of broken concrete! And there are a large cracks in the Wall!

"Yes!" Elliot screams into the sky, throwing his hands up into the air. 

I smile more brightly than I've ever smiled before and Marcus looks up at the sky in exaltation. 

We remove the concrete and we get our hammers, work setting into us like ants setting out on their forage. We get our hammers and our picks and we bore into the cracks we made on the Wall, hitting again and again and again and again until our joints and muscles hurt so much. 

It's miserable. It's almost unendurable. We end up covered in sweat and bleeding through our minds. But it's worth it. If we can die to escape the city to freedom then we can do this too.

Halfway through we have to turn on some lanterns so that we can see. 

Finally large chunks of the Wall crack apart and break, creating a rough, uneven, jagged-edged little hole. It does not go all the way out to the other side yet. Not even close. But still, it's a hole. It's something. And one day that hole will become a tunnel. And we will crawl through it and emerge on the other side. 

We ready three more fireworks on the pavement of the road. And we carefully put a bundle into the hole we created. I get the wicks ready. And then again we stand together, looking at each other, as explosions rock our world to its core. 

We spend hours hammering and chopping away at the concreted. And we can tell that we'll need longer straight picks to hammer on soon. It's okay. We have them. 

By the time it's three am we are caked in sweat and dirt and we are exhausted. We have to go home now, or risk another grounding. So we change clothes, we exchange kisses, and we drive away in our cars. 

Before we do that, we carefully gather the concrete bits into buckets we put in our cars, and we arrange wooden planks over the hole we dug into the ground. 

The following morning we have to put makeup on that we hate and wear expensive, fine clothes that we hate and we have to sit through school and do so many sickly-sweet activities after school with our friends where we pretend to have fun. 

And we have to do that the next day. And the next day. And the next day. Bars and dances and shopping and window shopping and movies and sports and video games and immersive games and all kinds of novelty attractions and amusement parks and museums and art galleries and restaurants and theatres and shows and laser tag and archery and the water park and neon lights and haunted houses and concerts and festivals and bungee jumping and skiing and skating and arcades and mini golf and so much stuff. Too much stuff. 

But at night it's just Marcus, Elliot, me and the explosions. Explosions we don't see. Can barely hear. But explosions that reverberate in our souls nonetheless. 

The hole becomes a tunnel and we have to go into the tunnel one by one to keep chipping away at the concrete. One person on lookout and one person gathering the chips into a bucket. It's cramped in there. Hard to breathe. The concrete digs into our knees and legs and leaves us bleeding. But still, some hurt in a lifetime full of cloying, smothering comfort is a good thing. It's a thing that keeps us grounded. 

It's hard. It hurts. So much. But that's okay. 

We've been told so so many times to turn away at the slightest, tiniest discomfort. Letting ourselves bleed and hurt and suffer such misery seems like a way to rebel. And if there's anything we want it's rebellion. 

Rebellion and freedom from the city. Which is rebellion in and of itself. 

So every night we work late into the night. I kiss Marcus and Elliot long and deep before we depart to our homes. And then the cycle begins again. 

———

It's been a year. We're all exhausted from sleep deprivation. But it's worth it. The tunnel to the outside is almost done. And we haven't gotten caught. A year of terror and excitement and hope so strong it stole our breath. One year of purpose the likes of which we've never known before. One year of feeling like finally, finally we were beginning to understand ourselves. One year of our parents chiding us for partying all night and being drowsy at school. 

And now we are lying on the roof of the high school. One drowsy, cozy, terrifying day of rest when we allow ourselves to simply drown in each other. Elliot is beside me and Marcus is leaning against the wall, his legs sprawled over our own. The rough concrete digs into my arms and legs. And it's so worth it. 

"So are we going to say goodbye to our families?" Elliot asks into the sky drowsily. 

"I'm not gonna say goodbye to mine," Marcus replies. "They might try to stop me and I can't have that. They've spent my whole life trying to make me into something I'm not anyways." 

"That's understandable, Marcus," I tell him. "Just because they were the ones that pushed you out of their vagina doesn't mean you owe them anything. Especially since they've constantly tried to take your freedom." 

"How about you, Taylor?" Marcus asks, "are you going to say goodbye?" 

"I'm going to send them a note that I ran away but I won't tell them where I went. We can't have anyone knowing where we went." 

"That's right," Elliot echoes, "we can't tell anyone where we are. Unless ... unless we bring them along." 

"Where are you going to leave your note?" Marcus asks me.

"Under my pillow. Elliot, are you going to say your goodbyes?" 

"Only to my older sister. Reflecting ... reflecting back on it she gave me a lot of the values I have today. She always acted like a model citizen. But ... but when it was just the two of us she would tell me these stories. Stories of something more. I can't even really remember them. I was so young. I just remember how they made me feel." 

"I bet there's some people who act like they don't want to leave. But they do." Marcus's voice is soft and wondering. 

"What if?" I pause to think. 

"What if what?" Elliot asks me. 

"What if we bring more people along with us?" 

They both startle and look at me for a while. I scramble to explain myself. 

"What if there are more people like Leia, who want to leave, secretly? We spent so long on this tunnel. We have to share it with other people. Or else what point is there?" 

Everyone goes silent for a while. Before finally, finally, Marcus speaks. 

"You're right, Taylor. If we don't share it with other people there's no point." 

"I'm telling Leia," Elliot declares, "I know she'll want to escape with us. If not to escape then to make sure we don't hurt ourselves. But we have to tell other people too."

"So who do we ask?" I query.

"The people at school," Elliot states. 

"Perfect," Marcus agrees. "They're not adults but they're not little kids either."