Note: Apologies to any coin enthusiasts who find any inaccuracies in this story. I just made stuff up. I'm Australian, so I know nothing about American money : )
Pete's POV:
The police station seemed to maintain its buzzing momentum around us. A cop shouted to a prisoner. Phones rang. Sirens flew away. Vandals rattled their cages and hostile footsteps marched the corridors to a drum-less beat. I went to sit beside Olive. I wasn't really sure how to cheer her up. I never had a sister and I hardly ever talked to the girls at school. But she just looked so distant, like nobody had ever really looked into her eyes before.
"Hey, you want to see something cool?" I asked her. Her eyes flitted towards me and she nodded with a shy smile. I searched my pockets and pulled out my lucky coin.
She giggled. "It's a quarter."
My face displayed mock offence. "You did NOT just say that. This isn't just a quarter. It's my lucky quarter."
I tossed it and she caught it deftly in her palm. I watched the way her eyes focused as she studied it, running her fingers around the edge. "Why so lucky? It looks normal to me."
I leaned over and held her hand still so I could point out the details. "See this date here? This coin was minted in 1943. That's the year my Grandpa came to America. He was from Germany. There were only a few hundred of these coins made that year because the country was trying to save costs for the war and use the metal to make army supplies instead. Out of those, only about twenty have ever been found."
She watched my hand pensively, digesting the information. "How do you roll it over your fingers like that?"
"It's easy," I said. I gave her the coin and positioned it between her fingers. "You just push this finger up and push that one down, then you do the same thing with the next finger." She rolled it successfully all the way down her hand, but when it got to her pinky, it fell to the ground. She giggled and I knelt to pick it up. "You see, when it gets to the end is the hardest part. You've got to use your pinky to push it underneath so your thumb can catch it." I demonstrated and then got her to try. She rolled it all the way down and back up time and time again. Her eyes gleamed. I realised it was the first time in our short meeting that she had ever truly smiled. It was infectious. I couldn't help but beam back at her as the coin ran along her hand.
"I wish we had some cards," she said. "I can do really good card tricks."
She dropped the coin again and I laughed, picking it up. "Careful, that coin's worth a lot of money."
"How much?"
"Millions!"
She laughed. "Millions? I don't believe you. Why would anyone pay that much money for a quarter? That's stupid."
I grinned sheepishly. "Well, it's not worth millions yet."
"I knew it!"
"Yeah, but someday, when it's a lot older and it's really, really rare, I'll sell it and be rich forever. I'll never have to get a job or anything. And I'll get to live in a big house again."
I began to twirl the coin over my knuckles, and her eyes followed it as it went up and down between my fingers. "So it's like the Golden Ticket?"
I was puzzled. "You mean like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?"
"Yeah," she said. "You know, how Charlie's really poor and then he gets a Golden Ticket to see the chocolate factory and after that he never has to worry about his family having no food anymore. I always wished I had something like that. Something that made everything perfect again."
I cast my eyes to the floor. "Yeah. I used to live in a big house in Cambridge, but then my Dad had to go to a hospital far away and we had to move to a tiny apartment. I hate it here. My new school sucks. All my friends still live far away. And my Mum's sad all the time. I bet whatever your problems are, they're not as bad as that."
I knew immediately I'd said something wrong. Olive was completely still, glaring at me. Her eyes were like ice, her stare like ants nipping at my skin. Then she averted her eyes like I wasn't even worth looking at. I stopped rolling my coin and tried to look her in the eye, even as she avoided me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to make you sad."
"I'm not" she replied sharply. I could see her trying to be brave. I realised then that I had met her at a very unusual time in her life – a time where she was vulnerable, where she seemed younger than her years. As I noticed her mentally rebuilding those walls, I discerned that she now looked significantly older than nine. Her eyes were dark and lined from lack of sleep, her skin was pale and marred with the occasional bruise. Her hands were clenched, her jaw tight. I saw now that inside this innocent, victimised little girl there was a fire - a part of her heart that had grown tough, like scar tissue, and could maybe never be normal. Part of me was surprised, perhaps glad to see the fighter in her, but then I felt a pang of shame in my gut as my mind ran through all the horrible things somebody had to have done to her to make her this way.
Joe, the officer who brought me in, walked over to us. He glared at me. "Bishop, what did you do?"
"Nothing, man. I was just trying to talk to her-"
"Don't even try it, kid. I told you to stay over there. Now look what you've done. This little girl's all upset. It'd be nice for you to stop trying to find girlfriends every time you come in here. You're ten years old."
"I wasn't doing that! I was trying to cheer her up with my coin tricks!"
Joe told me to save it and knelt down beside Olive. "Sweetheart, is he bothering you?"
She shook her head and sent a cold glance my way. "I'm fine," she said, just as Phil walked back in with some McDonalds. I remembered Phil from the first time I was arrested. I felt glad Olive got such a nice cop to look after her. But I'd also forgotten how scary he could get when he was mad.
"What's going on here, Pete?" Phil asked, his body tall and rigid, like a tree that doesn't bend.
"Nothing, Officer. Just trying to cheer up Olive." Even though Olive wouldn't look at me, I tried to communicate to Phil that I really was trying to make her feel better. He reflected understanding in his eyes.
"We'll, I'm sure you tried very hard, Pete, but Olive's had a rough day and I need to have a talk with her in my office, OK? Come on, Olive." He knelt down and took her gently by the hand. Olive paused at the door and looked back at me. She showed nothing as she eventually turned away, and the door shut behind her, leaving me to wonder if I'd ever see her again.
Olive's POV:
Phil's office was warm and smelled like coffee. With a rich smile, he sat me down in a chair that was too big for me and handed me some French fries to eat. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until I started eating. It's weird how sometimes you get so caught up in feeling scared or sad or lonely that you forget you have a basic need to eat. Phil had bought me a Happy Meal with a little toy cow inside. As I reached out to play with it, I realised Pete's lucky quarter was still in my hand.
Thanks for reading! The reviews so far have been really encouraging. Please let me know how you are finding the story and I'd love any suggestions you might have.
Peace : )
