Zihan’s eyes widened. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to laugh again—perhaps to brush it off as a wild idea. But he didn’t. “And Jay agreed?”
“Getting there.”
“And you need me to help,” he said.
“More that I don’t want to leave you behind.” Zihan was one of the few people who ever accepted both Jay and me. He was a rare true friend in a world full of judgment. “But I wouldn’t turn down the help either. Jay and Daisy will be busy entertaining guests, so I’ll need someone to cover for me, to run interference if Buchanan notices I’m missing or watch my back in case anything goes wrong.”
He looked at me, like he was pleased to hear the words, but perhaps not in this context. Then he looked down, tapping his fingers against the iron railing. “Nick, you’re talking about breaking into Buchanan’s place. That’s very dangerous. Are you sure this is worth it?”
The question hung in the air, heavy as the Harlem night, whose sounds echoed through the narrow alleys around us. Buchanan existed to step on people. Who else was going to do something?
“I can’t look the other way,” I said. “People like him make the world unfair because they can. Because there are no consequences. He’ll keep doing it as long as he thinks no one will stand up to him.”
Zihan nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I understand. All West Egg ever did was keep me in one spot. I owe the man nothing. If you and Jay really need to do this, I will help.”
Relief flooded through me—Zihan was so brave! I let out a breath—did I know how heavily that one was sitting in my chest?
“Thank you,” I murmured. “I’m glad you’re with us. You’ve made much of my time here in Harlem better.”
“I would say the same about you,” Zihan said, smiling. “But make a promise to me,” he said, his voice softer now. “That this is about justice, and not revenge. We are not stooping to his level but making the ground equal.”
I met his gaze, absorbing his words. There was peace in them, and I knew he was right. Justice equaled the playing field. It brought things from negative peace to true peace. It made life fair for innocent people who’d been wronged.
But oh, how I wanted to hurt them back. To see the evil men pay. To burn all their houses down so they knew what it felt like. My pain had become something so dark and angry I had to hide it from Zihan to assure him this was all in the spirit of good.
“Justice,” I said, with a level voice. “Of course. That’s all I want.”
Zihan nodded with assurance. And then, we sat in silence, listening to the city below, the faint music, the chatter, the heartbeat of Harlem. Even if it all went south, I would be happy. I’d be happy as long as I had friends beside me who understood my point of view. Deep down, even with the magic around me, an anger still writhed, something bigger planted by the cruelty of the world, which showed me the worst version of myself—the one who’d never be able to leave this city without getting some kind of payback.
I found the stoop outside Daisy’s house illuminated by the single bulb, which was on its way out, buzzing in the night air. Jay was standing at the top of the stairs like a ghost, his presence dimmed, his energy drained. Something was wrong.
I climbed the steps quickly. “What happened?” I asked, while opening the door to let us in.
Jay didn’t answer. He walked past me with hollow determination, eyes scanning the interior of the house. “Where is your room?” he asked.
I pointed him to my door, and he walked inside and sat down on the edge of my bed. The streetlight came in from the windows, casting dramatic lines on his features, making him look older.
“I spoke to my father,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, watching the floor. “He would barely look at me. Just sat by the fireplace the whole time, staring into it like I didn’t exist. He toldme I’m old enough to make my own choices but if I want to live a life with you, I’d have to do it somewhere else.”
I froze at the words. “He threw you out?”
Jay nodded, finally looking at me. “I think so. I live by his rules or I don’t live under his roof. So I told him what he wanted. I asked him if he’d throw a party. I told him I’d bring Daisy and said I’d marry her.”
In that moment, I could see that Jay’s final act in New York became all the more clear to him. All the things we had said to each other, the future we dreamed of, feltrealfor the first time. There were no other paths forward now that Gatsby had drawn this line in the sand. All Gatsby wanted Jay to do was have a perfect wife, who could help ensure their place in high society, and Jay would give it to him.
I sat down on the bed and took his hand in mine. “Okay, so that means that you’re pushing your father to orchestrate a party.”
He looked up and gave me a somber nod. “So that you and Daisy can orchestrate a robbery.”
I felt this rush of exhilaration as the dream found its way to reality. “I spoke to Zihan about it too. He said he’d be up to join us, so I have backup at Buchanan’s place.”
“That’s good,” Jay said, still sounding a bit unsure. “I was sick at the thought of you going in alone. In fact, it was the main thing that put me off of it. The thought of you getting hurt.”
This close to his face, I couldn’t help myself, so I kissed him, wrapping one hand around his neck, and he kissed me back, hishands forming a desperate, strong grip on my arms as if I were a kite that would drift away if he didn’t hold me hard enough. The world seemed to both quiet and buzz around us in perfect time with the rhythm of our lips.
22.
We coordinated the scheme for weeks, each of us stepping firmly into roles as final details fell into place. Daisy, with her ability to charm her way past doors in Buchanan’s house, had been scouting out any more potential safes, taking note of where he stashed his ledgers and cash. Her findings shaped our plan, pinpointing the exact places I would hit while the party kept everyone distracted.
