Chapter Two

DANICA

In the City, there was always something to do besides school. I hated the idea of living in some redneck place with nothing but a school-house and country stores. And I didn't. I lived in Brooklyn, where a kid could have as much fun, just hiding in between skyscrapers or laughing when mustard stained their shirt from a hotdog stand.

It was a cold December morning and I played good girl at home. I told mom and dad about my English project being all done and finished a week ago. It was due today, but I didn't even read the book, Tomorrow, Maybe by Brian James. Neither did my best friend, Malcolm. Me and him had better things to do. And they didn't involve sitting in a desk for seven hours, five days a week, listening to some racist, white teacher lecture us about street-kids and how bad they were.

Malcolm, his mom, and his little sister, Breelyn lived on the streets once. Now they live in a Homeless Shelter. Malcolm's mom said God built the shelter, but Malcolm tells me, "Danica, it's really jus' a prison fo' people wit no money in their damn pockets. It's like ya need to pay a price to even be cared about in the World."

"School is the same way too." He told me, just as I met him on the corner of Preacher Street. "Adults jus' don't care. They sayin' 'hey, we old, we don't need this. They do.' They dunno shit, do they Danica?" I shook my head, pulling back the strands of dark hair into my ponytail.

"Is yo' dad still pissed at me?" Malcolm asked. "I mean I know he aint no racist, but I don' think he likes me very much."

"Aw boo," I told him, kicking at a pebble. "He likes you fine."

"Thanks, Danica. Want me ta buy ya somethin' today?" he smiled down at me. I loved his smile. It was like he made it so it could be sunny when it was raining outside.

"No, boo." I told him, rolling up my sleeves so that I could use my hands. "You don't gotta buy me anything. 'Sides, did your mom find a job yet?"

"Nah." he said. He looked outward towards the skyscrapers, covered in snow like a Christmas card, then at me. "She's tryin, but she don't got luck."

"Don't buy me anything till your mom gets a job, okay?" I told him. "Really, I mean it, Malcolm."

"Ya sure?" I nodded.

"As sure as your mama named you after Malcolm X, yeah, I'm sure." Malcolm nodded, giving me a small smile, a dull flush of pink was creeping underneath his cheeks.

"But what if I gave ya somethin' I don't hafta pay for?" he said, resting against the rough metal of an old factory's frame.

I didn't realize we walked this far. The factory was near Soho, and if you looked just right, between the snow and sunlight, it was like the City was twinkling just for you. Malcolm loved it here and so did I. No one bothered us here, not even the fuzz, so it was a good place to go when you didn't feel like school.

"What are you talkin' about?" I asked, joining him in the snow, curling my legs up to my chest. I felt the snow seep into my jeans.

"This." He gently pulled out a pink necklace that looked as if it was worth over one-million bucks easy. Maybe it was just the sunlight. It was a pale pink trail of beauty you could touch and feel.

"Oh my God, boo." I whispered. "How'd you-"

"Five-fingers." He said, wiggling his free hand. "They haven't caught me yet and I've been doin' it since I was a street-boy."

"Malcolm-" I said softly. "You didn't have to…"

"I wanted to." He said. "Here." He wrapped his arms around my neck, and laced it.

"Malcolm." I said. My eyes stung. I knew tears were coming and it hurt. "I don't want you to get in trouble, you know that."

"Danica." He said softly. I felt his fingers trace underneath my eyes, wiping the tears away. "I won't. Don't worry."

I could feel his breath on my cheek, just as easily as I could feel his fingers against my skin, moving so slowly, like I was something made out of glass. I could feel his other hand go up the back of my shirt. I felt his fingers on the cloth of my bra, but I didn't stop him. I felt his lips touch mine and when both your tongues touched, we fell over in the snow. I felt my hair break free of my ponytail elastic, just as Malcolm deepened the kiss as he lay on top of me, but somehow he felt weightless – like air.

"Soon." He whispered.

"Yes." I whispered back. "Soon."