Friday Lunch, February 28, 2025 - Student Union Cafeteria

Marcus lets his pen fall, flexes the cramp out of his fingers, and reads the last sentence he wrote–"Selective enforcement turns procedure into punishment"–before sliding the blue book to the edge of the desk. Across the U, Nisha exhales like she's been holding her breath for six weeks. Jake hesitates, squares the corners of his exam booklet with geometric care, then stands to hand it to Dr. Brenner. Emily gathers her papers with deliberate care, eyes moving from her neat notes to Billy two seats over, then quickly away.

"Thank you," Dr. Brenner says in that low, careful way he has when he's exhausted and still policing his tone. "Go breathe. You've earned the weekend." He taps the stack against the table to make it even, sets his glasses on top, and begins straightening the blue books as if order might stave off whatever comes next.

Marcus lingers until the last exam is down. "Union for lunch?" he asks, pitching it toward everyone without naming them.

Jake shrugs his backpack higher. "Could use real food instead of caffeine and adrenaline."

Emily slides her backpack up to her shoulder, careful not to look at Billy. "I'm in."

Nisha scoops her scarf from the back of the chair. "Fine. But if we're decompressing, nobody gets to pretend Saturday isn't happening. Mind if Alexis meets us? They're at the Union already." She gives the group a quick look. "They use they/them, and yes, they're my partner instead of some mysterious guest."

Billy stands, adjusting his MAGA hat. "Partner?"

Nisha meets his eyes, calm. "Yes. We're together. Dating."

Billy blinks, holds for a beat, then nods once. "Got it."

Jake nods as well, Sarah shrugs. Emily catches Billy gathering his things, the deliberate way he moves, and feels heat creep up her neck. She looks away.

Alexis is already there—denim jacket draped over a chair, climate justice zines stacked beside their tray. They greet the group with an easy "Hey, folks" and squeeze Nisha's shoulder before taking the seat at her left. Nobody objects. The rest claim spots around the high-top near the big windows—Nisha and Alexis on one side, Marcus and Sarah flanking opposite corners, Jake to Sarah's left.

Emily arrives with Jake, and Billy gestures to the empty seat next to him before she can scan the table. "Seat?" It's casual enough, but his eyes meet hers a fraction longer than necessary. Emily nods, sets her tray down, and pulls out the chair. Their legs are close in the confined space, knees nearly touching under the high-top. She's hyperaware of every inch of distance between them.

Trays clutter the table with burgers, falafel, and whatever institutional version of pho the steam table is attempting today. Outside, snow has retreated to dirty piles along the walkway; inside, neon flyers for Saturday's ceasefire rally layer the bulletin board.

Alexis settles in with a black coffee and a container of shakshuka, already scanning the room. "So what's the vibe?" they ask. "Exam day bliss or already spiraling about Saturday?"

"Question three was brutal," Sarah says, sliding in late with a salad and a stack of index cards she refuses to stop consulting. "Coordinated purge plus legal aftercare? I almost wrote an essay instead of short answer."

Alexis lets out a sympathetic whistle. "I skimmed the study guide with Nisha last night and still couldn't track all the tribunal jargon. You all survived a gauntlet."

Emily picks at her wrap, hyper-aware of Billy's arm brushing hers as he reaches for ketchup. She pulls back slightly, then catches herself—the retreat is obvious. She forces herself to sit normally, though her heart rate spikes.

Marcus peels the lid off his sweet tea. "He wanted to see if we could use our own grid without him prompting. Personnel plus tribunal equals elimination. It's all the same muscle."

Jake leans on his elbows. "I thought the trick was not just naming the mechanism but showing the threshold. When does removal power become partisan purge? That's the line."

"Depends on who you think the state is for," Nisha replies. Her tone is lighter than yesterday's The Portal posts, but it still carries an edge. "If it's designed to protect a hierarchy, consolidating that hierarchy looks like order."

Billy spears a fry. "Order beats chaos. People voted for that."

Emily's jaw tightens. "People voted based on messaging, not policy details." She speaks carefully, aware of Billy beside her, aware of how easily this could slide into yesterday's lunch—the argument, the intensity, the way he looked at her when his certainty cracked. "Most Trump voters don't actually read the executive orders."

Billy turns to her, and their eyes meet for a moment too long. "You did?"

"I did." Emily keeps her voice level, professional, even as Billy's proximity makes it hard to concentrate. His arm is close enough that she could feel the warmth of it if she leaned a fraction closer. She doesn't. "EO 14190, the Dear Colleague Letter, all of it. The language matters."

Billy returns to his fries, but there's a slight smile at the corner of his mouth—like he's remembering yesterday. Emily's face burns. She looks down at her wrap.

Marcus's phone buzzes on the tabletop. He flips it over.

Breaking News: DOJ task force to visit Columbia, UCLA, Michigan, and seven other campuses next month to review alleged antisemitism response failures.

Breaking News: DOJ task force to visit Columbia, UCLA, Michigan, and seven other campuses next month to review alleged antisemitism response failures.

"Great," Sarah mutters. "So the people writing the test are also proctoring campus politics now."

Jake reads the alert, jaw tightening. "If schools can't keep Jewish students safe, somebody has to step in."

"You really think this is about safety?" Nisha asks. "They're using immigration law to scare international students off the Quad."

Alexis sets down their coffee, energy shifting. "It's not about safety. It's about chilling speech. You can't march for Gaza without the feds showing up now—they've made that clear. That's the point. Create fear. Suppress dissent."

Billy lowers his voice. "Maybe the Quad needs clearing if it's full of people chanting for intifada."

Alexis leans forward. "Intifada means uprising. Palestinians have that right. If you occupy land, deny resources, wall people in—they resist. That's not terrorism. That's survival."

Emily shifts in her seat, and her knee brushes Billy's under the table. She pulls back, but not before feeling the contact. Billy doesn't move away. Instead, his leg stays close, creating a border between them neither quite crosses. Emily's mouth is dry.

Marcus watches the words hang between them, feels the table tilt toward the argument that's been circling them all week. He decides to lean into it before it blindsides them Saturday.

"Set the test aside," he says. "Gaza, forty-some thousand confirmed dead, over sixty thousand when you count the missing. That's the number we're arguing around."

Nisha nods, eyes sharp. "Which is why 'genocide' isn't rhetorical for folks. The elements are there: intent plus mass death, plus dismantling the structures keeping people alive."

Alexis speaks up, steady. "It's colonial erasure. Full stop. They want the land. They don't want the people. So they're displacing them, bombing them out, cutting off food and water—" They tap the table. "That's not war. That's ethnic cleansing dressed up as security."

Jake doesn't flinch. "Israel's fighting a group that murdered civilians on October 7. They withdrew before; they got rockets and terror tunnels for it. Self-defense doesn't become genocide because the casualty numbers are horrific. You still have a state protecting its people."

"Protecting would mean ceasefire, not leveling entire neighborhoods, deporting students who talk about it, and floating plans to empty Gaza into other countries," Nisha fires back.

Billy taps the table twice, a warning to himself.

"You act like there's no context. Hamas hides behind civilians. Israel gives warnings. That's not genocide. It's war."

Alexis's voice hardens. "They give warnings to civilians they've already blocked from leaving. Where are they supposed to go? The siege is the weapon. Starvation is the weapon." "People are dying from disease and malnutrition now. That's intentional."

Marcus inhales slowly. "The Genocide Convention cares about intent plus acts that destroy a group in whole or part. Killing tens of thousands, blocking aid, defunding UNRWA—it's evidence people will use. Israel says it's destroying Hamas, not Palestinians. That gap is where the fight is."

Sarah clears her throat. "What about rhetoric? Ministers saying 'no such thing as a Palestinian'? That piles onto intent."

Jake stares at his untouched burger. "I'm not defending Smotrich or Ben-Gvir. I'm saying the state's right to exist comes with a right to self-defense. If Hamas stays armed, Israelis die. What do you expect them to do?"

"Stop pretending domination is the only safety plan," Nisha says. "Equal rights between the river and the sea. No expulsions, no missiles, no blockades. We said the words in the flyer for a reason."

Sarah frowns slightly. "But that phrase—people read it different ways. Right-wing Israelis use it to mean 'no Palestinian state.' Progressives use it to mean coexistence. Which is it?" She pauses, glances around the table. "We should have invited Amir to join us. He'd have something to say about all this."

Alexis nods sharply. "Exactly. We're saying one secular, democratic state. Equal rights, equal citizenship. Palestinian refugees get return or reparations. Settlers leave or accept Palestinian law. No ethnostate, no occupation."

"That's not going to happen," Billy says flatly. "Jews aren't going to accept living under Palestinian majority rule. That's asking them to give up the one state where they have power."

Jake's voice tightens slightly. "And if you say 'between the river and the sea' to an Israeli, they hear 'Jews will be a minority.' They remember pogroms—violent riots in Russia and Eastern Europe. Synagogues burned, people killed just for being Jews. They remember 1948 when Arab countries tried to push them into the Mediterranean. The phrase has history."

Nisha leans forward. "But that's exactly why it needs to mean something different now. Yes, it used to be about ethnic cleansing. We know. We're reclaiming it. We're saying: one land, all the people, equal rights. Not ethnic majority. Not minority vulnerability. Actual justice."

"Actual justice would mean Israeli Jews never have to fear being ethnically cleansed," Jake says. "The flyer says that?"

Alexis is quiet for a moment. "No. We focused on Palestinian rights because that's the urgent thing. But yeah—safety for everyone. Israeli Jews don't get expelled. Palestinian refugees get to return or choose compensation. Mixed cities, shared governance, constitutional protections for minorities."

"So you're asking Israelis to trust Palestinians after decades of terror attacks," Billy says. "To believe in institutions that don't exist yet."

"And Palestinians are supposed to trust Israelis while bombs still fall and occupation continues," Sarah says softly. "Neither side has reason to trust. That's what a third-party framework is for. International enforcement. Neutrality."

Marcus nods. "Exactly what happened in South Africa. Apartheid ended because the alternative—endless violence—became worse than sharing power. But it took outside pressure. Sanctions. Isolation."

Jake stiffens slightly. "So you want to starve Israel into submission?"

"I want to make occupation unsustainable," Alexis says. "BDS—Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions. Economic pressure until the cost of occupation exceeds the benefit. That's not violence. That's leverage."

Billy shakes his head. "That's economic warfare against a Jewish state specifically. If you did that to any other country—"

"We do," Marcus interrupts calmly. "We sanction Russia, Iran, North Korea. Economic pressure is a tool. Using it on Israel isn't antisemitic just because Israel is Jewish."

Nisha sets her cup down hard. "That's the weaponization of the term that scares me. Is being against Israel bombing children antisemitism? Is mourning dead kids in Gaza hate speech? Because that's what the administration—and the media—keeps implying. That if you criticize the slaughter, you hate the people doing it."

Jake shakes his head. "It's not the criticism. It's the focus. You don't see this outrage for Syria or Yemen. When the world screams 'baby killer' only at the Jewish state, yeah, it feels like antisemitism."

"It's focused because we're paying for it," Alexis counters. "My tax dollars aren't funding Assad. They're funding the bombs falling on Gaza. That makes us complicit. That's why we scream."

Billy looks like he wants to argue, but Marcus holds up a hand. "The point is the conflation. If we can't distinguish between anti-Zionism and antisemitism, or between humanitarian concern and hate, we lose the ability to talk about policy at all."

Alexis pushes back harder, returning to the core issue. "And they could have safety tomorrow if Israel chose it. But they don't. Because the goal is displacement." "You want to know what safety looks like? Palestinian self-determination. An end to the occupation. Land, resources, freedom of movement. Not settlements creeping into the West Bank while Gaza's under siege."

Billy barks a humorless laugh. "Equal rights sounds cute. Hamas doesn't want coexistence. They want Jews gone. That's why support for Israel matters—because it's the only Jewish homeland."

Billy's hands shake once. He flattens them on the table. Marcus watches him, nods. "You're trying to stay in the room. Stay."

Billy nods, exhales. "Fine. You want to know why evangelicals back Israel? It's covenant, prophecy, the Bible. Genesis promise, blessing those who bless Israel. And yeah, Revelation. Israel standing is a marker for the Second Coming."

Nisha tilts her head. "So Jews are political props?"

"No," Billy snaps, then pulls it back. "They're God's chosen. Christ comes back when Israel stands. That's Scripture."

Jake folds his hands. "Not every Christian reads it that way. My church prays for Israel because God used them to bring the Messiah, and we owe them solidarity. But Jesus is the fulfillment. Supporting Israel doesn't mean we excuse every policy."

Sarah frowns. "But the same circles preach that Jews killed Christ. How do you square backing Israel with blaming Jews for deicide?"

Billy shrugs, shoulders tight. "Sin's universal. Romans says everybody put him on the cross. The leaders in Jerusalem rejected him then; modern Israel's different. They're still part of the story. Doesn't mean they get a free pass on salvation."

Emily sets down her wrap carefully. "That's still supersessionism. Whether you're blaming them for deicide or just saying Christianity replaces Judaism, it's the same hierarchy."

Billy glances at her, surprised. Emily feels the weight of his attention and keeps her eyes on her plate, hyper-aware of his reaction. Under the table, she can feel the heat radiating off his leg, barely inches from hers.

"I'm not—" Billy starts, then stops. "Fine. Point taken. But supporting Israel doesn't equal hating Jews or Muslims."

"No," Emily agrees, and her voice is softer than before. "But it can mean ignoring what occupation does. And that's a choice."

Billy's quiet. Emily risks a glance at him and catches him watching her with an expression she can't quite read. There's something like recognition there, or respect, or maybe just desire wrapped up in the debate. He turns back to his food.

"So Israel exists so your prophecy chart lines up," Nisha says. "That's instrumentalizing a whole people."

Jake lifts a hand, steady. "Look, prophecy aside, Israel's a state with citizens under threat. That's enough reason for support."

Marcus leans forward. "But when that support erases Palestinian humanity, you get blind to mass death. The theology becomes policy. That's why people call it genocide—because the power imbalance is astronomical, and the safeguards are gone."

Billy's voice thickens. "Genocide is Auschwitz. Gas chambers. You cheapen that word when you throw it around."

"Tell that to families digging bodies out of rubble with their hands because aid got cut off," Nisha says, no louder but harder. "Words matter because they trigger obligations. 'Genocide' forces the world to act."

Jake presses the edge of his tray. "And 'self-defense' isn't a blank check. I get it. But if Israel stops, Hamas rebuilds. The hostages—"

Sarah interrupts softly. "The ceasefire fell apart because phase two never started. Both sides broke the deal. That's the problem: nobody trusts the mechanism."

Marcus lets the table go silent long enough for the cafeteria noise to take over. Students laugh two tables away. Somewhere behind them, a blender whines.

"Here's what I know," he says finally. "Tomorrow we march. Some of us for ceasefire, some to watch, some to argue. Wednesday we're back in 204 parsing how regimes eliminate opposition. The words we choose between now and then matter. They're either shields or weapons."

Nisha nods. "No expulsions. No terror. Equal rights."

Jake meets her eyes. "And no more headlines about Jewish students needing escorts across campus. That has to be part of it."

Billy looks between them, something like exhaustion settling on his face. "I'll show up. I'll stand back. But if anyone turns it into a Hamas rally, I'm calling it out."

"Do it," Nisha says. "And if someone harasses a Muslim student, you call that out too."

The silence after the Israel-Palestine debate is fragile, held together by the clatter of silverware and the low hum of the cafeteria. It doesn't last.

Sarah taps her phone, her brow furrowing as she scrolls. "Speaking of definitions," she says, her voice tight. "The guidance on EO 14168 just dropped for federal contractors. It's not just about sports anymore. They're standardizing the definition of sex across every agency receiving federal funds. 'Immutable biological trait identified by gametes at birth.'"

Nisha groans, dropping her head into her hands. "Of course. Because why stop at the border when you can police bodies too?"

Billy wipes his mouth with a napkin, looking genuinely confused. "I don't get the controversy on this one. It's just clarifying the law, right? Men are men, women are women. That's not hate. That's just… biology."

"It's 'Restoring Biological Truth,'" Jake adds, quoting the order's title. "The government shouldn't be in the business of affirming ideology over science. If you have a Y chromosome, you're male. If you don't, you're female. That's how the species works."

Alexis sets down their coffee. They turn in their chair to face Jake.

"Is it?" Alexis asks.

Jake blinks. "Is what?"

"Is that how the species works? Simple binary, X and Y, gametes determine destiny?"

"Yes," Jake says, confident. "Exceptions exist, sure, but human beings are a sexually dimorphic species. We produce large gametes or small gametes. That's the biological reality."

"Okay," Alexis says. They lean forward, elbows on the table. "Let's talk about biological reality. Let's talk about Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome."

Billy frowns. "Andro-what?"

"Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. CAIS," Alexis says, ticking it off on a finger. "Chromosomally XY. Testes present internally. But the body's receptors don't respond to testosterone. So the external phenotype—the body structure, the genitals—develops as female. These women grow up, go through puberty, look like women, identify as women. They often don't know they're XY until they try to get pregnant and find out they don't have a uterus."

Alexis holds Jake's gaze. "Under EO 14168—the 'biological truth' order—are they men?"

Jake hesitates. "That's a medical condition. It's an anomaly. You don't build laws around the 0.01%."

"It's about 1 in 20,000 births," Alexis corrects. "But let's keep going. Swyer syndrome. XY chromosomes, but the SRY gene—the switch that triggers male development—is missing or mutated. They develop as female. Some have even given birth with donated eggs. Are they men?"

"If they have a Y chromosome…" Billy starts, then trails off, looking at Emily. Emily is staring at Alexis, her sandwich forgotten.

"Or let's try 5-alpha-reductase deficiency," Alexis continues. "Babies born with ambiguous genitalia, often assigned female at birth. Then puberty hits, testosterone surges, and the body masculinizes. The voice drops, muscles grow, the clitoris enlarges into a penis. In the Dominican Republic, they call it güevedoce—'penis at twelve.' Biology didn't pick a lane at birth. It waited."

"You're talking about intersex people," Sarah says softly. "That's what the 'I' in LGBTQI is."

Billy leans forward, looking genuinely unsettled. "Wait. So is it true? That sometimes a doctor looks at a baby and… can't tell? Can't write 'boy' or 'girl' on the certificate?"

"Yes," Alexis says. "It happens. And usually, doctors panic. They force a choice. They perform cosmetic surgery on infants to make them look 'normal' just to fit a box on a form. That's the mutilation nobody talks about. They ignore the fact that the penis and the clitoris are the same organ—homologous tissue. Every fetus starts with the same structure. It just develops one way or the other. When it stops somewhere in between, doctors cut it to make it fit the binary.

"The result? You can have a biological male—XY chromosomes, masculine hormones, masculine brain development—whose penis didn't fully develop. If doctors cut it down to look like a clitoris, you have a man trapped with a female-appearing sex organ because of a surgical decision made at birth. If they didn't cut it, he'd have what society calls an 'unknown' sex organ—something unique. But because that ambiguity terrifies them, they choose the surgery. They choose the erasure."

"But back to 'biological truth,'" Alexis continues, turning back to Jake. "You want to base the law on gametes? What about people with mosaic genetics? Some cells XX, some XY. What about Klinefelter syndrome—XXY? What about Turner syndrome—X0? Biology isn't a binary switch, Jake. It's a bimodal distribution with a massive, complex middle ground. Hormones, chromosomes, receptors, gene expression—they don't always align."

Jake shifts in his seat. "Okay, but those are medical issues. Real medical issues. That's different from someone who is biologically male, healthy, no condition, just deciding they're a woman."

"But the law doesn't distinguish," Nisha cuts in. "That's the point. This EO defines sex as 'immutable' and 'determined at birth.' It erases the medical reality Alexis just described. It forces those people into a box that literally doesn't fit their bodies."

"And it assumes we know," Alexis says quietly. "That's the arrogance of it. You think you can look at someone and know their chromosomes? You think you can check a birth certificate and know their biology?"

Billy looks uncomfortable. He shifts his MAGA hat, not looking at anyone. "But for most people… for 99% of people… it is simple. You're born a boy or a girl. Why do we have to change the whole system for the exceptions?"

"Because 'the system' determines who gets healthcare," Alexis says. "Who gets a passport. Who gets to use a bathroom without getting arrested. Who gets to serve in the military. When you legislate 'biological truth' based on a fourth-grade understanding of biology, you hurt real people. You legislate them out of existence."

Emily speaks up, her voice tentative. "So… what is gender, then? If biology is that messy?"

Alexis looks at her, and for a second, the intensity softens. "Gender is who you are in your head. Biology is the hardware. Sometimes the hardware varies. Sometimes the software doesn't match the casing. And sometimes," they gesture vaguely at their own body, clad in a loose denim jacket, "we fix the casing to match the user."

"That's mutilation," Billy mutters, almost reflexively. "That's what the other EO says. Protecting kids from mutilation."

"Is a cleft palate repair mutilation?" Alexis asks sharply. "Is fixing a heart defect mutilation? We use medicine to align the body with the person's needs every single day. Why is it only 'mutilation' when it involves gender?"

"Because a heart defect kills you," Jake says.

"So does dysphoria," Alexis says. The words land heavy on the table. "41% suicide attempt rate without support. That drops to near national averages with affirmation. That's a medical reality too."

Billy rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, but hold on. You started with intersex—medical stuff, chromosomes. I get that. But being trans… isn't that different? Isn't that just… confusion? Or who you're attracted to? Why do we need federal laws about who people sleep with?"

"That's the biggest misconception," Nisha says, leaning in. "Sexual orientation is who you're attracted to. Gender identity is who you are. You can be trans and straight, trans and gay, trans and ace. They aren't linked."

"Ace?" Billy asks, the word unfamiliar.

"Asexual," Nisha clarifies without missing a beat. "Someone who doesn't experience sexual attraction. It's an orientation, just like gay or straight. Being trans is about your gender, not who you sleep with."

"But the politics are linked," Jake argues. "That's why the EOs are grouped. EO 14187 isn't about adults. It's 'Protecting Children from Chemical and Surgical Mutilation.' It's saying a minor shouldn't make irreversible medical decisions. That's the government's job—protecting kids who can't consent to losing their fertility."

Alexis leans in. "Puberty blockers are reversible. They just hit pause. But forcing a trans kid to go through the wrong puberty? That's irreversible. That changes their bone structure, their voice, their face—things that require painful, expensive surgery to fix later. The EO calls it 'protection,' but it's actually mandating trauma."

"It's mandating caution," Jake counters, his voice steady. He's not angry, just certain. "We don't let kids get tattoos. We don't let them drink. Why would we let them alter their hormones? And the other one—EO 14201, keeping biological males out of women's sports. That's just fairness. You can't identify your way out of bone density and lung capacity."

"After a year on estrogen, trans women lose that muscle mass," Alexis says. "Their hemoglobin drops to female levels. But you're not looking at the data. You're looking at a scarecrow. You see a 'man in a dress' invading a locker room. I see a girl who just wants to play soccer with her friends without being inspected by the state."

"But where does it stop?" Billy asks. "If gender is just what you feel, and biology doesn't matter… then what's a woman? If anyone can be one, does the word mean anything?"

"It means someone who identifies as a woman," Nisha says.

Billy shakes his head, looking down at his tray. "See, that's circular. It doesn't mean anything. To me, to Jake… to most people… 'woman' means biological female. Adult human female. If you erase that, you erase the reality of half the population."

"We're not erasing cis women," Alexis says. "We're saying the category is big enough for both. But Trump's EOs—14168, 14183 banning military service, 14187 banning care—they are erasing trans people. They're saying: 'You are not real. Your medical needs are fake. Your existence is a lie.'"

"The military ban is about readiness," Jake says. "You can't be deployable if you need weekly injections and refrigeration for meds. It's not hate. It's logistics. The military isn't a social experiment."

"It's a volunteer force that's missing recruitment goals," Sarah points out. "Turning away willing, capable soldiers because of 'logistics' that we manage for diabetics or people with other conditions seems… selective."

"It's about the standard," Jake insists. "We have standards for a reason. You start carving out exceptions for feelings, the standard collapses."

Alexis looks at Jake, really looks at him. "You think it's just feelings. That's the gap we can't cross. You think I woke up one day and decided to make my life harder? To be a target? This isn't a whim, Jake. It's a fundamental truth of existence for millions of people. The government trying to legislate it away won't stop people from being trans. It will just stop them from surviving."

Jake meets their gaze. "I believe you believe that. But I also believe that objective biological truth exists, and a society that denies it is heading for a cliff. We can't build laws on subjective identity."

Billy nods. "It's like… if I say I'm six-five, I'm still not making the NBA. Reality has to win eventually."

Marcus, who has been watching the exchange with the same stillness he uses in class, finally speaks. "The EO isn't about medicine, is it?"

"No," Alexis says, leaning back, the energy draining out of them. "It's about order. Like Nisha said. Ambiguity scares people. It suggests the categories aren't God-given. So they use the law to force the world back into two boxes, even if they have to break people to fit them in."

Jake turns to Marcus, ignoring Alexis for a moment. "You've been writing this down in your head the whole time. What's the thesis take? Is this just culture war noise?"

Marcus sets his cup down. "It's not noise. It's a stress test."

"For who?" Billy asks.

"For the Constitution. For the scope of the office." Marcus looks at Jake. "I don't think Trump cares about chromosomes. I don't think he loses sleep over women's sports. But his handlers know it's a power zone. It's a way to demonstrate reach."

"Reach?" Jake asks.

"If the President can issue an order that overrides medical consensus and dictates personal identity, he's established that the executive branch has jurisdiction over private life. That shouldn't be the province of the White House. But by doing it—and by framing it as 'protection'—he expands the definition of what the President can control."

Marcus taps the table. "It's democratic backsliding 101. You pick a vulnerable group. You claim a crisis. You use emergency powers or executive orders to 'fix' it. And in the process, you annex new territory for the state. Next time, he issues an order that would normally be seen as way beyond his duties, but nobody blinks because he's already established he can regulate bodies."

"So it's a power play," Jake says, summarizing. "He doesn't care about the issue. He cares about the authority."

"Exactly," Marcus says. "He's training the public to accept that the President decides what is true. Today it's biological sex. Tomorrow it's something else. But the mechanism—the unchecked executive decree—is the same. That's going in Chapter 4."

Jake considers this, looking less defensive than he was with Alexis. He respects the structural argument. "I think he actually believes in the biological part. But… I see the point about the expansion of power. If a Democrat did it to enforce the other side, I'd be screaming tyranny."

"You would," Marcus agrees. "And you'd be right."

Billy looks at his fries. He doesn't argue, but he doesn't agree either. He just looks… tired. "It just feels like the rules keep changing," he says quietly. "Everything I thought was a fact—history, biology—now you're telling me it's all… fluid."

"It's not fluid, Billy," Alexis says, and their voice is surprisingly gentle. "It's just more complicated than they told us."

Jake checks his watch. "We done?"

"We're done," Nisha says. She reaches out and squeezes Alexis's hand. Alexis doesn't pull away, but their eyes are fixed on the neon flyer on the bulletin board: MARCH FOR GAZA: CEASEFIRE NOW. SATURDAY 12 PM.

"Tomorrow," Marcus says, following their gaze.

The word hangs there. Tomorrow, the theoretical becomes physical. The DOJ task force isn't just a headline; it's a potential presence on the Quad. The "intifada" chants Billy fears and the "genocide" accusations Nisha claims will occupy the same square footage of concrete.

Jake stands, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "See you there," he says. It's not a threat, exactly, but it's a promise. He looks at Billy. "Ready?"

Billy nods, standing up. He glances once more at Emily, a complicated look that mixes invitation with warning, then falls in step beside Jake. They move toward the door—the counter-weight, the restoration of order.

Nisha, Alexis, and Sarah remain seated, a tight knot of resistance preparing for a collision. Marcus sits between them, the historian who knows that tomorrow, he can't just take notes.

"If the feds are actually there," Sarah whispers, "and things go wrong…"

"They want us to be afraid," Alexis says, their voice hard. "That's why we have to be loud."

Emily stands slowly, caught in the physical space between the departing men and the remaining group. She looks at the door where Billy is walking out, then back at the table where the flyer seems to pulse under the fluorescent lights. Opposite sides. Same campus. And a government that has just signaled it is watching.

For a moment they sit suspended. Not agreement, not even truce. Just the shared recognition that when they return to Room 204 next week, the history grid won't just be a diagram on a whiteboard anymore. It will be the ground they're standing on.