“Then he saw them, the red and blue bolts of light, and that’s when the dread filled him, overflowed, squeezed his heart to dust. His hands started to sweat, and Moss backed away from the windows, nearly tripping over Esperanza. She grabbed his right arm to steady him as he stumbled.” 

In the opening chapter, as throughout the novel, Oshiro shows the visceral effects of trauma, highlighting how police brutality has vast, debilitating consequences not only for the direct victim but for friends, family, and loved ones. He also uses this to show how important Esperanza is to Moss, foreshadowing how difficult it will be for him to admit that she does not understand the realities of his life. 

“It’s like people want me to be this version of a person that isn’t me. Like, always ready to fight and march and rally, and I don’t even get to be myself.” 

It is not only the ever-present threat of further police violence that triggers Moss’s anxiety and panic attacks. He gets anxious whenever people expect him to respond to his father’s murder in a certain way, to take up his father’s mantle and fight oppression. In some respects, Moss’s whole story is a process of coming to terms with this and growing into his own role as an activist. 

“‘So what are you going to do about it?’ ‘Me?’ Moss said, surprised. ‘Nothin’, I suppose. What can I do?’” 

Throughout much of the book, Moss does not believe that communities, let alone individuals, can do anything to fight back against the corrupt power of institutions. He has allowed his grief and his anger to convince him that it is hopeless and pointless to resist.