The The Name of the Star by Maureen Johnson Page A

dark. We made a sharp left at the shuttered shoe repair shop and ran the last block to approach Aldshot from behind.
    Aldshot was the twin of our building, except that it had the word MEN carved in bas-relief over the front door. Even without that hint, you could tell that this building was full of guys. Hawthorne had distinctive and pretty curtains in many windows, the occasional plant on the windowsill, or some other decorative item. Even the light was different, because of all the lamps girls brought in, with paper shades diffusing and coloring the light. In Aldshot, no one changed the curtains, so they were all the standard grayish green. The decorations on their windowsills tended to be stacks of bottles or cans or—in fancy cases—books. The lights were all the standard issue. Weird how two identical buildings could be so different.
    I could already see our point of access—it was a fire escape door, which had been propped open an inch or so by a small book wedged in the opening. We made it across the street and pressed ourselves against the side of the building, then we crept along, under the ground-floor windows. I reached forward and carefully opened the door, and we slipped inside. We were in the cold, fluorescent-lit concrete stairwell. I closed the door softly.
    â€œWe did it,” Jazza whispered.
    â€œSeems that way.”
    â€œNow we just wait here?”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œI don’t feel very hidden.”
    â€œMe either.”
    We quietly approached the inner door that led to the ground floor of Aldshot. I could hear male voices and a television. Jazza and I huddled together, unsure what to do next, until we heard a door open on the floor above us. Jerome’s curly head peered down at us over the railing, and he waved us up.
    â€œI disabled all the alarms,” he said. “Prefect secret. Everyone’s downstairs watching.”
    He looked very satisfied with himself. He took us up two more flights, until we reached another door. This one was a lot more serious-looking, with a bar across it and a huge DO NOT OPEN: DOOR ALARMED sign in red. Jerome pushed this open with a bold stroke. The Klaxon I had been expecting didn’t sound. We were suddenly on the wide roof of Aldshot in the bright cold, nothing but the sky above us.
    â€œMy God,” Jazza said, cautiously stepping out. “I did it. We did it. We really did it.”
    We all took in the freedom for a moment. Jazza stood back, but Jerome and I went up to the edge. Below, I got a good view of our square, the halls, and all the streets around. Everything was lit—every streetlight, every window, every shop. The tall buildings of the City—the financial district of London that was right next to our neighborhood—were beacons, filling the air with even more light. London was awake, and watching.
    â€œIt’s great, isn’t it?” he asked.
    It was great. This, I realized, is what I came for. This view. This night. These people. This feeling buzzing through the air.
    â€œI suppose it’s safe up here,” Jaz said, coming a little closer and hugging herself for warmth. “The building is locked, and it’s not easy getting up here. Plus, there’s police all round. And helicopters.”
    She pointed at the bright lights of the helicopters drifting above like oversized bees. There were at least three we could see from where we were standing. The dragnet was on.
    â€œSafest place in London right now,” Jerome said. “As long as we don’t fall off.”
    Jazza backed up a few steps. I peered down carefully. It was a sheer drop down to the cobblestones. When I looked up again, Jazza had wandered off to examine the view from the other side. It was just Jerome and me facing the square and the sky.
    â€œWorth it?” he asked, smiling.
    â€œSo far,” I said.
    He laughed a little, then took a few steps back and sat down.
    â€œIt’s almost