The eleven years old girl didn't have any friends. It wasn't something that saddened her, not anymore. It was just a fact of her life, like her red hair and how so little Italian she was, despite her last name. She was used by now to eat alone and to spend her time in school alone. Sometimes, wandering alone through the school's yard wasn't that bad. She was happy with just talking to the teachers, really. She didn't mean to be a teacher's pet, but when nobody talked to you, you just held into those who did.
By the time the bell rang, she was ready to go home. She was since the start of the year, to be honest.
It wasn't all that fun, walking alone to an empty house, but it was much better when nobody talked to you because nobody was there, than to be in a room full of people your age with nobody noticing you.
Before leaving, she goes to the library and asks for a book. The librarian gives her one with a kind smile and she tries to return it, but by this time of the day she just feels tired.
The way home is the same as always, streets with older people going on with their lives. Three years ago, people wouldn't look so poor, but the Depression had hit hard and it was only becoming worse instead of better.
She unlocks their front door-not technically theirs and not technically a front door, since the place where her and her mammy live is not theirs and what she's opening doesn't lead into the house, but she likes to refer to it that way- and goes straight to their bed, the only one in the room. They're lucky Ms. Brennan gave them the basement room. She does her homework in silence and then grabs her book.
Their window doesn't have a good view, but it gives her light so she sits on a pillow under it until her butt goes numb. By that time, she has made good progress with her book and it's near the time her mammy comes back from work, so she gets up and tidies up the little mess she's made in that time. When the clock strikes eight, she goes up and greets the other ladies living there.
Ms. Brennan wasn't that much of a nice old lady, but she was the closest thing she had to a grandmother with the two of her own dead and buried in Ireland and Italy. Ms. Brennan got her nice if old clothes and always asked about her day, so she wasn't all that bad, even if she yelled at the other girls living there. Ms. Brennan had known her mammy since she had first come to the United States to work and live with her, and so she hadn't really hesitated to welcome them in her home after her father died.
So far in her ten years of life, this place was the only she had called home. Other girls came and went as they arrived from Ireland, but this two years they had stayed the same. People couldn't really afford to pay to live.
Her mammy comes out of the kitchen, still in her work dress, and smiles at her, kissing her forehead before sitting by her side. Today, there isn't much in her plate, but there was even less yesterday, so she won't really complain, even if she goes to bed hungry. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time it would happen.
She takes a bath before bed in the bathroom the eight of them share, scrubbing her skin well even if she doesn't have soap, because her mammy always said they may be poor, but they weren't poor enough to go dirty.
The bed she shares with her mother is big enough to fit them both, but she's not sure it will last that much longer. She's not really growing fast, but she is growing.
"Sweet dreams, baby" her mammy says, kissing her forehead again, because her mammy always liked to do that, before she lifted the covers up until they covered everything from their neck down.
Winter wasn't being all that kind, and even if there was a heater, the cold sometimes seemed to seep into her bones.
The next morning, she dresses into her worn down skirt and wears two undershirts, her coat a little too tight. She knows coats are not cheap, so she just sucks it up a little and goes out without breakfast.
Her backpack is light with her lunch of plain bread, a little too stale, and her few notebooks.
The way to school is pretty much the same as the way home, so she doesn't really think as she walks. She gets into her classroom, still cold from the night before, and sits in her seat in the front. She doesn't see well from the back, but they can't really afford glasses, so she just squints when it gets too bad and if it doesn't help much, well, it's not like she can do anything about it.
The boy that sits beside her doesn't really talk to her unless he wants her to pick up something he dropped or to ask the answers for a test, so she doesn't really mind him through the day. By the end of it, she's still kind of hungry, but Mrs. Evans was kind enough to give her half her sandwich after hearing her stomach in class. She keeps half of it for later.
She doesn't go to the library that day, because she still hasn't finished the book, so she just goes out and stops before leaving. It's a little too cold for her coat, and when she goes to raise her hands to her mouth to blow some warm air into them, she hears rather than feels the tear in her back.
"Oh, no" she whispers, shrugging off her backpack and unbuttoning her coat. She's still outside, it's still cold, but the dread she feels is even colder. There is a tear big enough her hand can go thought it, and she's sure that while her mammy can sew it back together, it won't really last.
She feels like crying, but even for that she feels almost too tired.
"Are you okay?" she hears a voice from behind her "What are you doing without your coat out here?"
She raises her eyes and sees two boys coming up to her, one skinny blond and a better off brunet.
"Nothing, it's okay" she says, looking back down. Most people would be fine with that answer, but apparently not them.
"Are you sure? It looks torn" the brunet says as he kneels down beside her.
"It's okay, my backpack will cover my back on the way home" she says, hurrying to put it on again. She doesn't really need people worrying about her.
"What about after? Do you have another coat? Even that one looks a little too thin for this weather" the blond says, offering her a hand to stand up. She takes it but doesn't look at him.
"It's okay, really" she says, taking her backpack and not even bothering with putting it on before she's running away from them.
At least running keeps her warm, even if by the half of the way her sweat goes cold and leaves her shivering.
By the time she gets home, she just shrugs it off and puts on another sweater. At least inside it's not as cold as outside.
That night, her mammy mends her coat the best she can, promising to look for another one the next day.
She doesn't have much of a choice, so she puts it on again the next day, careful not to lift her arms too high so it won't rip again.
It's recess and she's sitting in her place because it's a little too cold outside and because she doesn't want to get sick wandering the school's yard, when the two boys from yesterday peek their heads through the door.
"Hey, we found you!" the blond one says, smiling and coming inside.
"You are one hard to find dame, I'll give you that" says the brunet. He has an easy smile on his face and looks older than her, maybe fourteen "Here, this is for you" he says, and only then does she notice the coat he has on his arms. It's a pretty, red thing, with buttons going down the front and pockets in the sides.
"What?" is the only thing she can think and say, because that coat is too good to be given away, still capable of holding for maybe two more winters, if not more.
"Yeah, it's for you. My sister Anne outgrew it and my ma said it's okay if I gave it to you, Izzy's too little for it anyway" he shrugs, pushing it into her hands.
"I…you want to give me a coat?" she asks, still confused. Her brow furrows, the coat in her hands weighting enough for her to know it must be warmer than anything else she owns.
"Well…yes? I thought I said that? Stevie?" the burnet looks confused as well, turning to his friend.
"You did say that, just give her time, Buck" Stevie says, looking at her with kind eyes. She can see in his worn shirt and worn scarf that he's not as well off as his friend and that maybe he understands her.
"I…I can't!" she says, trying to back away, but she's sitting against the wall so there's nowhere for her to go.
"Course you can!"
"No, coats are expensive, I can't afford it! You should keep it, save it for your other sister!" she tries to push it back into his arms but she steps away just in time and her efforts only make her stumble forward.
"C'mon, just accept it!"
"I can't pay for it!" she shakes her head, her red curls shaking with her.
"What? I'm not giving it to you for money"
"You…are not?" she cocks her head to the side.
"No! C'mon, the thing you are wearing is far too thin for this weather. I know these times are really hard, okay? Just let me do this for you" he begged, clasped hands in front of his face and everything.
"I still don't even know your name" she mumbles, tracing the buttons with her finger.
"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky" the boy smiles, giving her his hand to shake.
"Alright, James Barnes. I'll pay you back, one day" she says, shaking his hand with all the conviction her eleven years old self could muster up. She then turns to his friend, Stevie, James had called him "What is your name?"
"Steve Rogers" he said, nodding to her and offering his hand. Despite how skinny he was, his grip was strong, warm.
"My name is Lucia Fiorello" she says.
And maybe, just maybe, she hopes they will be her friends.
