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raised into the air, but was now waving it back and forth as if the bandits had asked a question and she just couldn’t wait to be called on to give the answer.
    â€œAna!” Emily said in a low voice. “Stop. Waving. At. Them.”
    Emily turned back and saw one of the waitresses pulling all of the money out of the register . . . slowly. Too slowly for the woman in the long leather trench coat, it seemed, who waved her gun in the air and screamed, “Hurry it up!”
    Tattoo Guy yelled, “Nobody move!” and Emily saw Trench Coat Lady begin to do wide sweeps of the restaurant with her gun pointed out in front of her. As the crazy-eyed lady with the spiky hair swung the pistol through the air and took a step forward, Emily flinched. It suddenly crossed her mind that she had never been in the same room as a gun—let alone witnessed a robbery, live and in progress. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and things seemed to slow down all around her, sort of like bobbing under water for a few moments and everything is muted and muffled.
    As the waitress dumped wads of bills into the bag Tattoo Guy was holding, Trench Coat Lady was getting closer andcloser to their table. Emily looked at Ana, who had now frozen, both hands over her head, and didn’t appear to be breathing.
    Emily could smell the leather coat as it brushed by their booth and she held her breath, waiting for the moment to be over, but the woman paused right next to their table, her mouth set into a thin line.
    Emily bit down on her tongue and continued to hold her breath, trying to figure out what they’d done to grab the woman’s attention, and what they could do to make sure they didn’t keep it. Then, just as Trench Coat Lady was turning to walk away, Ana’s phone sprang to life—loud, obnoxious, jump-out-of-our-skin life.
    Never before had Emily felt so much hate toward Ana’s insistence on having the most current pop songs as a ringtone on her phone. And Trench Coat Lady apparently felt the same way. She whirled back to the table and brought the butt of her pistol down on Ana’s iPhone like a sledgehammer, sending tiny splinters of glass ricocheting in all directions across the table.
    For a moment, the entire restaurant froze.
    Emily felt like she was underwater again, floating in an endless second that suddenly snapped back to life with a piercing shriek from Ana, who grabbed the woman’s wrist and screamed, “You BITCH!” Faster than Emily had ever seen anyone move, Ana pulled the gun out of Trench Coat Lady’s hand and slid it across the table toward Emily, who caught it as she watched Ana’s body sail from the booth and tackle the woman with the pointy black hair.
    Just for a second Emily felt like she was watching a television show about a plucky teenage Latina vigilante who’d just decided to take matters into her own hands. This moment was interrupted when Brandon leaped onto the table, sending glasses of Strawberry Tsunami crashing in all directions. He jumped from the table to tackle Tattoo Guy, who had been just a yard to two away from reaching the spot where Ana and Trench Coat Lady were wrestling on the floor.
    Almost without realizing what she was doing, as Ana and Trench Coat Lady screeched at each other and Brandon tried to pull the gun from Tattoo Guy’s fist, Emily found herself standing on the seat of the booth, which was now covered in Strawberry Tsunami. When she realized that she was standing on the seat, a few other things also became clear to her:
    1. She was holding a handgun.
    2. She and her friends could very well die if she didn’t do something right now .
    3. If they were all dead, there would be no way to get to the party.
    With barely any hesitation Emily jumped off the booth seat, landed next to where Tattoo Guy and Brandon were grunting on the floor, and swiftly kicked the gun from Tattoo Guy’s hand,