CHAPTER TWO: ENTER AMANDA

CHAPTER TWO: ENTER AMANDA

A week later, the dream comes back.

I cover my ears and shut my eyes tight and try to drown out my mother's screams with my own. I scream and scream until I'm the only one screaming, and he comes over and jerks me to my feet and shakes me. "I didn't see nothing!" I sob hysterically, keeping my eyes tightly shut. "I didn't see nothing!"

"Of course you didn't see nothing, you been sleeping all morning!" Kloppman's voice wakes me abruptly. "Sleep all day, if I let you! Get up! Get up! Sell da papers!" He slaps my feet and moves on to the next bunk over, continuing his morning babble. I roll over and bury my face in my ratty old pillow, trying to black out the images of my nightmare. How much had I been screaming out loud? I sigh and sit up, yawn, and clamber out of bed. I pull some pants on and head over to wash my face; that always wakes me up some.

The cold water feels good on my face, but when I look up into the mirror I meet the eyes of the eight-year-old boy who pretended he didn't see his mother die. Disgusted, I throw my towel at the mirror and turn away.

Later, when we buy our papers, Racetrack asks me if I we could sell together, and I turn him down. I'm not really in the mood for company today. He shrugs and says, "Suit yerself," and heads off to sell with Kid Blink. I shoulder my stack of papers and trudge off alone. I can't say the day improves much from there. It takes a sweet-faced little kid to really sell the papers, and 'sweet-faced' and 'little' are two things I most definitely am not.

"Buy a pape, mister?" I ask, offering a newspaper to a gentleman.

He frowns at me. "Aren't you a little old for a newsboy?" he asks disdainfully, fishing in his pocket for a penny.

I glower at him and stalk away, crumpling the newspaper in my fist. Keep your penny, old man. What's it to you if I am getting old for this job?

I've got almost twenty papers left when I decide to call it quits. I haven't sold this badly since my first days as a newsie. I stuff my leftover papers in a trashcan on the way back to the lodging house. Nobody's going to be saying Skittery's lost his touch. Not if I can help it.

My stomach growls as I enter the lodging house, reminding me that I skipped dinner. Couldn't afford it. My feet instinctively head toward the kitchen, where I find several of the guys loitering around the counter as Alice scrubs out a bowl at the sink. They all look up and acknowledge me as I enter.

"Hi Skittery," Alice says cheerfully. "Long workday, huh?"

"Let's not tawlk about it," I mutter, and slide into a chair at the counter.

"Aw," Alice says sympathetically, wiping her hands on her apron and coming over to hang an arm around my neck. "Didn't go so great, did it?"

"Careful Alice," Jack warns, grinning. "He bites."

Everyone laughs, ha ha ha, Mush repeats it in case anybody missed it the first time, and Jack looks full of himself, as usual. I'm not amused.

"Lighten up, Skittery," Race says, socking me in the arm. "It was a joke."

When I open my mouth to reply, Blink interrupts with a loud growl, and again everyone has a good laugh at my expense. Fed up, I shove the chair away from the counter and storm out. The sound of laughter follows me into the hallway until the door swings shut behind me. I start stalking toward the back door, fumbling in my pocket for a cigarette. I hear the door open again, followed by Alice's quick steps as she catches up.

"Hey, Skittery," she says, appearing beside me. "What was dat about?"

I frown and don't reply.

She frowns back, not pleased with my uncooperative attitude. "I tell ya what. You have dinner yet?"

"No."

"No? Den come with me and I'll get you something." I don't make a move. "With applesauce cake for dessert." When I still don't show my interest, she sticks out her lower lip and tugs slightly on my arm.

"Come on already, sourpuss," she wheedles. "I ain't nevah known you to turn down a good meal."

My lips twitch involuntarily. I can't resist that setup. "Good meal? I was assumin' you'd cooked it."

Her mouth drops in surprise and she hits me on the arm as I start to laugh. "One day, Skittery," she threatens. "One day you'll be sorry you said dat. You watch out, 'cause someday I'm gonna slip some poison in your food. "

"Like your food ain't poison already?" I can't resist replying. She's just making this too easy for me.

She hits me again, but she's giggling. "Oh, shuddup," she says, and I let her pull me down the hall.

Everyone's been cleared out of the kitchen, and Alice serves me a big plate, with a tall glass of milk and a thick slice of cake. "Ah, food," she says, her eyes smiling. "The cure to all da woild's problems."

I crack a grin and get down to some serious eating while Alice keeps me company. "You want ta tell me what was bothering you?" she ventures after a while.

I shake my head, the applesauce cake suddenly feeling thick in my mouth. "It's not important," I tell her. "Forget it."

"Okay," she agrees, easily enough. I'm glad she doesn't pursue the subject. "But if you decide you want ta tawlk about it," she adds, touching my hand, "just know, you've got me." Then she slides off her chair, cupping a hand around her stomach, and reaches to tie her apron back on. "Time to get dese dishes done," she says, pointedly changing the subject. "Lemme get your plate."

"Don't bother," I say, standing and taking it myself. "I'll give you a hand heah."

"Great," she says, and steers me over to the sink. "It's about time one a you bummers offered to help me out."

The last traces of my former bad mood dissolve as I help her scrub silverware. We get a little carried away with the bubbles, and when Kloppman wanders in some time later, he finds me with a small beard of soapsuds, Alice hastily hiding her soapy hands behind her back. He just raises a brow as I smile innocently. As soon as he's left with his glass of water, we look at each other and burst into laughter.

That night I sleep soundly for the first time in—well, too long. Thankfully, the next morning is Sunday, when we get to sleep in, since only the newsstands carry the big Sunday edition. I take full advantage of this luxury, not waking until nearly noon, when I wake to find that I'm the only one still lazing about the lodging house. I take my time stretching and dressing. It's sort of peaceful to have the lodging house so empty. The others are gone, visiting family or friends or swimming or hanging out in the park. I wonder what Alice does in her spare time. I guess she must still be around, because she doesn't like going out much in her condition. She thinks she attracts too much attention.

I'm heading down the stairs when I hear a knocking on the door. So, logically, I go to answer it.

"Yeah?" I say, opening the door. The guy on the stoop looks maybe five or six years older than me, which would make him at least twenty-three. I don't like his looks: his cheeks are stubbly, his shirt needs a wash, his lips are curled back in a not-too-friendly greeting.

He plucks a cigarette out of his mouth and exhales, smoke stinging my eyes. "Yeah," he says, his voice grating like he's shouted himself hoarse. "I'm lookin' for Amanda Madison?"

"Who?" I ask, wondering what kind of idiot would come to a newsboys' lodging house and ask for a girl.

"Amanda Madison," he repeats, frowning. "She heah or ain't she?"

"No, she isn't," I tell him testily. "I nevah hoid of her."

"You lyin' ta me," he growls, dropping his cigarette and grinding his heel on it. It's not a question, it's a statement.

I'm about to make some smartass remark when he steps through the doorway and glares at me. He's not really tall, not even my height, but his arms and chest are thick and muscled, and the intimidating way he's glaring at me makes my little comeback die in my throat. Or maybe it's his breath.

"Take me to Amanda," he orders.

Talk to me like that in my own house! I shoot his glare right back at him, drawing myself up to my full height. "Look," I tell him, each word slow and precise. "Maybe if dere was a goil named Amanda heah, I could take ya to 'er. But I told ya a'ready: dere ain't."

I tense as I feel a fight coming on, but suddenly something over my shoulder catches the creep's eye, and he steps past me. "Amanda!" he says, seeing the girl standing in the doorway. Only it's not Amanda. It's Alice.

"John?" Alice says, raising a hand to her mouth in surprise. Wait wait wait a minute. These two know each other?

"Da one and only," John says, grinning, and spreading his arms wide. "Don't I get a kiss?"

"Hold up!" I cry, as John advances toward Alice. "What's going on heah?"

Alice slips past John and takes my arm. Did I see her give me a quick look of gratitude? Her hand on my arm, I feel her fingers tremble, see her face all pale except for pink spots on her cheeks. She keeps her composure, though, and makes introductions. "John, dis is me new friend Skittery. Skittery, John McAllister."

Neither of us offers a hand to shake. I think if I shook his hand, I'd hock up an extra big logy, special for him. Instead, I force a tight little smile and make some sort of acknowledging nod. His expression doesn't change. Friendly guy.

"So I'm Skittery," I say, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "an' he's John. But who does dat make you?"

She drops my arm and smooths the apron over her stomach, smiling in that sideways way of hers that means she's nervous. "Well, Skit… I'm Amanda Madison."

Jesus, I am a real dumbass sometimes. Suddenly I remember how I started calling her Alice back when we put on our little show for the bulls. And we've all been calling her Alice all along?

"Soon ta be Amanda McAllister, ain't dat right?" John asks, slinging his arm around her shoulder.

I think my jaw actually drops. Alice? I mean, Amanda? Marrying this jerk? Then that means…

Amanda/Alice smiles thinly. "I t'ink," she says, "we got some t'ings to discuss, John." She pauses. "In private."

So Amanda/Alice takes him back into her room at the end of the hall, leaving me standing alone in the lobby, trying to figure out how the sudden appearance of John McAllister is going to change things around here.

I run a hand through my hair, lean one elbow against the wall, and knock on Alice's door. Amanda's. Whatever.

There's a moment's pause before I hear her ask, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Skittery," I tell her. The door clicks open and she looks up at me. "Can I come in?" I ask.

"Shoah," she responds, and opens the door all the way. I've never been in her room before, at least not since Kloppman was using it for storage, and I take a look around as I cross the threshold. It's small, with one window on the opposite wall, and of course, everything is perfectly clean. I glimpse clothes inside a trunk before she closes the lid and gestures for me to sit on it, and she takes a seat on the bed along one wall.

I sit, stretching out my legs, and try to think of what to say. "So… what do I call you now?" I ask at last. "You nevah told us your real name." It comes out sounding accusatory and I bite my tongue.

"You nevah asked," she replies evenly, and it's true. "And Alice is fine," she adds. "I shoulda told you my real name and all, but, honestly, I preferred 'Alice'."

"Makes sense," I admit, and start picking at where the sole of my shoe is coming unattached. Both of us feel the weight of the dead conversation in the air, and try to come up with something to say.

Alice speaks first. "So, you see what Crutchy's been making me?" she asks, pointing to the corner of the room. There's a half-finished wooden bassinette in the corner, a few tools spread around it.

"Hey, dat ain't half bad," I say, looking over at it. Crutchy's always been good with his hands, but I didn't know he was into carpentry. "For da baby, right?" I ask. I mentally kick myself. Like it wasn't obvious?

"Yeah," Alice says, looking amused. "And it's comin' along really good. Which is good, 'cause I'm gonna need it in about two months."

"Dat soon, huh?"

"More or less."

"So, ah, I'd say it's a pretty good time for dat fella a yours to be showin' back up," I comment, finally getting to the reason I came to talk to her. "You two are gonna, well—"

"Make a respectable woman outta me?" she suggests, her mouth turning up into a smile.

I shrug. "If you wanna put it dat way, yeah, I guess dat's what I meant."

"Well, we talked about it," she tells me, "an' we're not getting married 'til aftah da baby. 'Cause, you know, no priest would marry us wif me in my condition. But aftah, it's a shoah t'ing." When I don't say anything, she spreads her hands and asks, "What, no congratulations for da bride?"

When I don't immediately come up with an enthusiastic response, her smile starts to fade. As she looks to me for a reaction, I almost get the feeling she's waiting for approval, or something. I rub my temple and try to figure out how to respond without setting her off. "Dat's, uh, dat's great, Alice," I finally say.

The smile disappears completely as she senses the insincerity in my words. "What, you don't think I should?" she asks, making it sound like a challenge.

I sigh. "I'm just wondering, Alice… Not meaning to stick my nose in your business or anything, but are you shoah dis is da best idea?"

"And why wouldn't it be?" she demands sharply. Jeeze, I knew that no matter what I said, she'd find a way to get offended.

"Well, no offense, Alice, but from what I've heard of dis guy, he doesn't seem like someone I'd want to count on."

"You don't know 'im," she replies hotly. "I think you should keep out of it 'til you know what you're talking about."

"I know I don't know 'im," I tell her, exasperated, "but I know of him. I mean, just tell me, Alice: isn't dis da same guy who got you into dis trouble and then left ya when you needed him da most?" And I do know what I'm talking about. She's told me all about him, nights when we talked alone. She told me how her mother suspected she was pregnant before Alice had even figured it out—or more accurately, before she had admitted it to herself. And then how after her family had kicked her out, she had turned to John for help, knowing—and she made sure this was perfectly clear—that he was the child's father. But when she'd told him her situation, he'd refused to believe the baby was his, had called her names and accused her of sleeping around. And then he'd disappeared. So six months she lived on the streets, if you could call it living. Turned out by her family and by the one guy who should have been on her side.

Alice's jaw tenses and she glares out at a point on another wall, not saying a word. I raise my voice with irritation. "He treated ya like dirt b'fore an' now he decides to show up again and you just greet 'im with open arms?"

She looks up at me and her mouth is set in a firm line, her eyes are hard. When she speaks, her words are very controlled and precise. "You couldn't understand, Skit. I'd just dumped a lot on da guy. He was emotional, confused. He didn't know what ta do. He's told me, though; he's sorry now, an' he's gonna make it up to me."

"You mean you really want ta marry dis creep?" I demand, incredulous. Why am I not getting through to her?

"Yes!" she shouts, surprising me with her vehemence. "I really do! An' nothing you could say would change my mind! So would you stop nagging me about it!" I don't know what to say, so she just goes right on. "I mean, Christ, Skittery! Whenever somebody's actually in a good mood about something you always gotta kill it, don't you? Well, maybe you go through life with a chip on your shoulder, but that doesn't mean you gotta make everybody around you miserable!"

I finally find words. "I was just trying to make you actually think, Alice," I snap back, stumbling to my feet, feeling my face grow hot with embarrassment and anger. "Maybe that's not something you do a whole lot, but considering dis guy a yours dropped you once b'fore how do you know he ain't just gonna do it again?"

Her eyes flood with hurt and she opens her mouth, then snaps it shut like a mousetrap. "Forget dis," she says, standing, her cheeks flaring red and her fists clenched. "You get outta heah, Skittery. I don't hafta justify myself to you, or to anybody else. And I ain't about to waste my time trying to argue wit anybody as stubborn as you." I hesitate, and her cheeks flush even redder. "Get out!" she yells, pointing at the door.

"Well fine, sorry I evah brought it up," I growl, and stalk out, slamming the door behind me.

In the hallway, I lean my forehead against the wall and sigh. Well, that went well. There I go demonstrating my talent for keeping civilized discussions from escalating into verbal warfare. I decide then and there that I should just keep my nose out of her business. And I try. I really do try.

So for the next week, when John comes around, I'm out of there. And he comes by a lot. So that means I don't see much of Alice, either. And by Wednesday, I'm beginning to notice that I'm not seeing much of Alice even when John's not lurking around. If I'm walking into a room, she happens to just be walking out. She's hardly looked at me, much less talked to me, since we argued. By Thursday I'm convinced she's avoiding me, and I'm more than a little pissed off. That night, as I'm coming into the lodging house, I catch sight of her heading down the hallway. I've been meaning to confront her about her avoiding me, and, well, they say there's no time like the present.

"Alice! Hey, Alice!" She doesn't acknowledge me and I jog down the hallway after her. "Alice!" I catch her by the shoulder and turn her to face me.

"I know you heard me," I tell her, furious.

"I'm sorry," she says, and tries to get away.

"Alice!" I say again, and grab her shoulder. "I'm tryin' to talk to ya here."

"I really am sorry, Skit," she says again, and I pause. She's not avoiding me because she's still angry over our fight, I realize. What I see in her eyes looks more like fear.

"What's dis about, Alice?" I ask, searching her face for a clue. "I know you've been avoidin' me lately."

She bites her lip and looks away, reluctant to answer. I don't remember ever seeing her act like this, so timid and restrained.

I squint at her, taking in her actions, and venture a guess. "Does this got to do with McAllister?"

She's silent a moment, then looks up at me. "He don't think I should talk to you, Skit," she whispers, and slips out of my grasp.

"What? Alice, dat's ridiculous. You know dat's ridiculous."

She stops, and looks at me, nervously tracing the cuff of one sleeve. "I know, Skit," she says. "I know, but… John gets…He can be…" She shrugs slightly and drops her head, at a loss for words. Yeah, well I've got some that would fit. How does 'possessive, controlling son of a bitch' sound? "Don't take it personal, Skittery," she says, and looks back up at me, her face looking pinched and tired.

"Why're you listening to him, Alice?" I demand. The Alice I used to know wouldn't have taken that kind of crap from anybody.

She gives another half-hearted shrug and tries to leave again.

"Alice—" I start, and reach out toward her. She jerks her head away reflexively, as if… as if she expected me to hit her? She realizes what she's done and the guilt on her face tells me all I needed to know. She looks at me a minute, her lip trembling, and then dashes away to her room.

I clench my fists and punch the wall, feeling the need to damage something. I punch it again, and the pain spreads through my knuckles to my entire hand. Ow. Rubbing my sore fingers, I head upstairs to the bunkroom, my thoughts hanging heavy over my head like a cartoon stormcloud.

Later that night I pick a fight with Cowboy over something insignificant. By the time the others break us up, we're both worse off for it; my lip is split bad and my jaw aches from his blows. Under usual circumstances, I'd go let Alice fuss over my bruises and nurse me with apple pie, but if she doesn't want to talk to me, then I don't want to talk to her. Instead I lay on my bunk and sulk, shooting dark looks at anyone passing by, until I fall asleep.

And when I wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and feeling smothered by my nightmares, I just toss and turn without rest until Kloppman comes around the next morning.

Tired from my erratic sleep, I take an extra long time getting ready for work. When I finally head out into the hallway behind the rest of the guys, a few of them turn and give me questioning looks. I understand why when I see Alice standing by the wall. I purposely look away from her as I pass, feeling strangely hurt.

"Wait, Skittery!" I hear her voice behind me. She catches me by the sleeve. "Skit, can we talk for a minute?"

"I dunno, can we?" I counter, acid in my voice. Under my contemptuous sarcasm, though, I hear my voice catch, and wonder if she notices.

"Skittery, I…" She drops my sleeve and twists her hands, like she does when she's nervous. "Skit, I'm sorry dat I wouldn't talk to ya," she finally says. "It was… John just thought da wrong things about us bein' friends and all. So I told him I wouldn't talk to ya no more, but I've thought about it, and…" The side of her mouth twists up in a sly grin, "and what he doesn't know can't hurt 'im, right?"

I smile in spite of myself. This is more like the Alice I used to know. But a thought flutters across my mind, and my smile disappears. It's what hurts you I'm worried about. But then Alice looks so hopeful, so apologetic, that I push the thought away and smile wider.

"Right," I agree, and she beams at me, relieved.

"So you ain't mad about it, right?" she checks.

"Nah, 's'okay," I tell her. "I understand."

"Good," she says, brightening. "Now you gotta go sell your papes," she directs me, pushing me toward the stairs. I get to the distribution center just barely in time to purchase my papers, and I think everybody notices the improvement in my mood. It makes me feel much better to know that things are right between me and Alice, but I have to keep pushing away the worried thoughts that nag at the corners of my mind.

Saturday night I've got plans with some of the guys. A new act is opening at the King Street Theater, and Pie Eater has a friend who's getting us in half price. Which is good, because between some rough poker games and my recent (lack of) selling skills, I'm down to about two bucks to my name. Knowing our dinner destination is a pretty pricey joint, from my standpoint, anyway, I decide to take a detour to the kitchen and grab some food while I've got a chance.

"Where ya goin', Skittery?" Snoddy asks from where he waits by the stairs.

"I'll just be a sec," I call over my shoulder as I jog down the hallway to the kitchen. "Heya Alice," I greet her quickly, helping myself to an apple from the bowl. I turn to run out of the room but pause, noticing Alice's face. "Hey, Alice, what's wrong wit your eye?" I ask, concerned.

She puts up a flour-covered hand to hide the blue-black bruise. "My eye?"

I set down the apple and come closer, frowning. "Yeah, Alice, you got a real shinah dere. What happened?"

She keeps her hand up as a shield. "I ran into something, dat's all," she says, not looking at me.

Like I believe that. I push her hand away and hold it away from her face, my eyes serious as I look her over. "He do dis to you?" I demand quietly, some instinct alerting me.

"He who?" she asks, not meeting my eyes.

"You know who I mean, Alice," I snap. She pulls her hand away.

"I told ya, I hit—"

She breaks off as I cautiously touch the large dark ring around her eye. I don't even have to say that I know she's lying; she looks down, ashamed, her lashes brushing my fingers.

My touch is gentle on her cheek but my words jerk out harsh and cold. "If he does it again, I'll break his arms off."

"Skittery…" She pulls away and looks up at me. "Dis is between John and me. Don't do anything, okay?" She touches my sleeve beseechingly. "Okay?"

She jerks her hand back as Blink and Mush come bursting noisily through the door. "You comin' or what?" Mush asks, grabbing an apple for himself and tossing mine to me.

"Yeah, Skittery, we'se been waitin'." Blink suddenly does a doubletake. "Woah, Alice, nice shinah."

"Where'd you get dat?" Mush asks, and bites into his apple.

Alice hesitates, so I jump in. "Clumsy heah walked into a shelf," I tell them, improving her lie a little. Hey, I do it for a living.

They laugh, but not unkindly. "Good going, Alice," Blink teases. Alice laughs nervously.

"Yeah, next time try watchin' where you're goin'," Mush chimes in. "Now c'mon already, Skittery!"

They grab me by the arm and pull me out of the room, but not before I see Alice turn her back to us and hug herself tight. I feel a lump in my throat but I try to shake it off and enjoy the evening. She's right; it's between her and McAllister. So why do I feel like this involves me, too?

Back from the theater later that night, everyone's rowdy and loud and—let's admit it—slightly drunk. Or maybe slightly more than slightly drunk, I observe, as I watch Blink, Mush, and Race lurch down the street with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, belting out the chorus to one of the show's big numbers. Me, I stifle a yawn and shuffle along behind. Not drunk—not compared to some, anyway, I think, looking at the singers—but tired. When we troop back into lodging house, still shouting and horsing around, the clock over the counter reads 2 am.

"Will youse keep it down?" Alice's voice demands from the hallway, where she has emerged in her nightclothes and robe, a candle in her hand. "Some of us was sleepin' in heah."

There's a chorus of casual 'sorrys' and Jack starts herding us up to the room. "C'mon, c'mon, you hoid da goil," he says, waving us toward the staircase. I hang back to talk to Alice.

"Hey, how's the eye?" I ask her.

"It's just a black eye, Skittery," she says, tossing her head. "I've lived t'rough 'em before." I don't say anything, so she softens her tone. "Look, I appreciate dat you're concerned an' all, but I really can take care a myself."

"Dat's da problem, Alice. You obviously can't or ya wouldn't be standin' dere wit a shinah like dat."

"Well I certainly don't need you tryin' ta tell me what ta do," she counters, sticking out her chin stubbornly.

"I only tell you dis for your own good," I say irritably. "I just don't t'ink dat guy a yours is really somebody you should be involved wif. Just look at yourself, Alice! Da guy is hazardous to your health!"

"And I'm just sure you'd be so much betta, right?" she says sarcastically. "Nobody's perfect, Skittery. So stop actin' like you think you are."

"What, Alice, you think all fellas are like dat?" I ask her, surprised and saddened by her last comment. "You really think dat's da way things woik?"

She says nothing, and the candlelight casts shadows over her face, rendering her expression unreadable.

"Alice," I say, "you know it ain't gotta be dat way."
"Dere is no otha way," she says softly, and turns to leave.

"Alice!" I call out after her, taking loping steps to reach her. "Alice, look…" she turns to face me and I see two tears roll down her cheeks. "Alice, you're crying," I say, wiping a tear away with my finger.

"Go to bed, Skittery," she says thickly, not bothering to wipe her eyes. "I'm not in the mood to have you mothering me."

"But, Alice—" I protest, and she cuts me off.

"I said, leave me alone!"

I step back, feeling her words stinging like a slap. "Okay, fine!" I shout at her. "I only wanted you ta listen to me for once."

"I'm tired of listening to you, Skit," she yells back. "I'm tired of your superior attitude, and you thinking you know so much. I'm tired a you acting like you know what you're talking about!"

"Well, maybe I do know what I'm talking about! Did dat evah occur to you, dat maybe I could undahstand more dan you think?"

"What could you know, Skittery?" she asks me, her voice quiet and trembling and frosted with contempt. Her voice rises in volume as she continues. "Just what makes you think you could possibly undahstand da situation I'm in?"

"Because," I shout, the blood rushing to my face, "because when I was nine years old I watched my fatha murder me mudda. Dat's why! Because I seen what happens when somebody like you doesn't—doesn't—," I trail off and slump backwards against the wall, raising my hands to cover my face. I've never said those words aloud, not to the police or to anyone. The day my mother died, I'd left the Bronx and never looked back. My throat constricts and I feel my eyes start to burn.

"I'm so sorry, Skittery," Alice whispers, seeming awkward to witness my pain. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know." Her hand reaches out to touch my face, and I stumble back. My tongue feels thick in my mouth, my vision is blurred. When I feel the first hot tears leak from my eyes, I turn and run in a panic, not wanting her to see me cry.