"What's ya name?"
The little boy with the over-sized cowboy hat had a smile that could melt butter, in spite of the dirt smudges on his cheeks, and he stood in front of her with the casual air of a boy much older than his apparent six or seven years, hands in his pockets, rolling back and forth from the balls of his bare feet to his heels. She'd seen him around, a few times, recently. He, and his parents, had moved into the building next door, one of the few Andy, her mom's boss, owned. She'd only really noticed because his mother was so pretty, with thick, dark hair she wore up, with a bronze clip, and lips that seemed red without the rogue she was used to seeing women wear. The boy in the cowboy hat had his mother's good looks, her sparkling brown eyes, and lips that curved upwards into a sly, charming smile.
"Goldilocks."
And it was her name. It was the name her mother had given her, after months of calling her 'baby', according to Carmen, one of the other women who had been working at the Dancing Dove for as long as her mother had. Goldilocks, because she was blonde, and it was easy for her mother to remember, even in her drug-addled hazes.
"Goldilocks ain't a real name. It's a story. I've got a real name. Francis."
The boy seemed to puff up like a bird when he announced his name, clearly proud of it. Something about his face angered her, and she got to her feet, eyes narrowing, fingers balling into fists. She was several inches shorter than the boy in the cowboy hat, which wasn't surprising, since she was short for her age, underfed, and often neglected. She got by on what she could scrounge, unlike the clearly well-fed boy.
"What's so good about Francis? I think Francis is a rotten name."
The boy's cheerful smile fell away, dangerously fast, his own eyes narrowing right back at her, puffing up again, this time in anger. He took a step towards her, and almost seemed surprised when she didn't back down, her chin thrusting up so she could look up at him.
"Francis is my dad's name. Ya take it back."
Her arms crossed, teeth gritting a bit, and she stood her ground, the way she always did. Some day, maybe she'd stand her ground with the wrong person, and get swatted aside like a fly, but with this boy, barely older than she was, seemed to be cowed by her behavior, unsure of what to do when a girl, a smaller girl, wouldn't back down.
"Ya can take back sayin that Goldilocks ain't a real name first, and I'll think about it."
The boy, taking a step back, seemed to think about it, scowling slightly, his own arms crossing, mirroring hers, his body language just as stubbornly set now that he'd fallen back a bit. He remained silent for a very long moment, angrily trying to come up with a decent counter-argument to her demand. In the end, he couldn't.
"Fine. It's a fine name."
She smiled, accepting his apology, her shoulders untensing a bit, and a little of her bubbly behavior returning, tossing blonde curls out of her face. Her arms uncrossed, and she held out her hand, a peace offering, one she just assumed he'd take.
"Francis is actually a nice name, cowboy."
The boy stared at her hand for almost a minute, apparently torn about shaking hands with her. But he finally gave in, reaching across and gripping hers, his cocky smile finally making it's way back onto his face, his own tension slacking as he shook her hand, firmly.
"Good to meetcha, Goldie."
"Good to meetcha, cowboy. Francis."