“I’m so glad you all came out today so you can see that firefighting is a profession for women as well as men. It’s hard, grueling work, but there’s nothing I’d rather do. And let me tell you, if youwantto do this, youcando this.” She paused.
Dhillon glanced around. The girls were hanging on her every word. She split them into two groups, one with her and Lieutenant Meringue, the other with Hetal and Lieutenant Ambrose. Dhillon considered following his sister and Ambrose, because the lieutenant was friendlier to Hetal than he needed to be. He ended up following Riya’s group because—well, he was weak. He was careful to stay in the back and out of the way. She showed them the rig and the ladder and went over how they responded to a call. The girls asked pointed, thoughtful questions and were completely engrossed in her answers. She showed them the kitchen and explained how every firefighter had a duty in the house and how they rotated the chores. The two groups met up at the last stop. The locker room.
“This is where we shower and keep our clothes, since we do have twenty-four-hour shifts,” Riya explained.
They started to walk past the locker room when one girl asked, “Can’t we go in and see?”
Riya tightened her mouth into a small smirk as her gaze swept over the girls and her lieutenant. “Actually, no. That’s the men’s locker room.”
The girl nodded. “So, can we see the women’s locker room, then?”
“No.” Riya sighed.
“Why not?”
“Because there isn’t one.” Riya let her gaze fall over the girls as well as over all the other firefighters there, the captain included.
Dhillon felt a grin creep over his lips. Leave it to Riya to find a way to make a point.
A hush fell over the girls, and then the indignant chatter began. These were young girls who had no idea what Title IX was because they had always been allowed to play all sports. Their mothers were doctors, lawyers, nurses, police officers, soldiers and supreme court justices. These girls were racing to shatter whatever glass ceilings remained.
Nina spoke up. “What do you mean, there’s no women’s locker room?” She directed her question not to Riya but to the good lieutenant.
Ambrose scanned the room, looking slightly like a cornered animal, who knew he couldn’t come out fighting. He rested his gaze on Hetal, but she simply waited for his response along with the girls.
“Um, well...” He let out a breath, looking deflated. “That’s a good question. Desai is the first woman firefighter we have ever had at this house. You’re right. It’s something that needs to be remedied.”
Nina stared him down for a minute, and Dhillon could almost feel the lieutenant’s discomfort. His sister used to stare him down like that. Nina turned back to their hero. “So what do you do?”
Riya cleared her throat. “I wait until they’re done. Or I go home and shower.”
Dhillon watched the lieutenant. This was news to him. Just then, the alarm sounded. Saved by the bell, as it were.
Riya called out, “All of you can gather in the kitchen with your coaches. Sorry, but duty calls.” She nodded at Hetal and Katie, and they got the girls together. Dhillon followed. Riya brushed by him, catching his eye for a moment. He couldn’t read her expression. Then she ran.
nineteen
RIYA
Schultz had them running through tires, pushing tires, putting on turnout gear, taking off turnout gear and—the best part—sliding down that pole. Riya felt great. She was going to pass out any minute, but she felt alive and strong. It felt like they always had to train at the hottest time of day, but sweat and heat were part of her now, so it didn’t really matter. That may have been the point.
In the middle of the drill, the alarm sounded. Riya ran into the locker room, strapped on her oxygen tank and grabbed her SCBA and helmet. She was on the engine two minutes after the alarm had sounded.
“Looking good out there, Desai,” Schultz said and grinned at her. “Getting stronger.”
Riya gave a grateful nod, and Schultz moved on to Evans. “You, too. I’m going to have to make drills harder for you two.” Riya had never seen that wicked gleam in Schultz’s eyes, as if he was going to enjoy working them until they dropped.
Alvarez piled in next to her. Schultz was the driver, as always. Ambrose was the last on, after he made sure the company on the ladder was set.
Ambrose grabbed the radio and got the details of the call. He directed Schultz. Multiple-vehicle collision on a highway. Injured and trapped civilians. Schultz parked the rig, blocking traffic, a slight distance from the scene. A point of command had arrived and set up and was already assessing the scene, assigning duties. Ambrose jumped off the rig, Schultz behind him.
Another firehouse had arrived first. The rest of them unloaded from the rig and began following instructions. Sirens blared, and people were shouting orders, firefighters and paramedics rushing to fill them. Organized chaos. Riya’s heart pumped as she calmly absorbed the scenario, waiting for her assignment.
“All right. We’ve got four vehicles involved,” Ambrose said, his ear to his radio. “Two still have people in them. Desai, you and Evans take the Jaws to the front car.” Ambrose was barely done speaking when Schultz handed the tool to Riya and set up the generator.
“You’re putting the rookie on the Jaws?” Alvarez was incredulous.
“She’s practiced, but she needs to do it on scene.” Ambrose fixed Alvarez with a stare. “And last time I checked, I made the assignments.”
