The sea breeze wafted through the air on a day late in May. A little girl pulled a handful of coins from her satchel and skipped down Carrish Lane with a smile bright on her face. She turned and skipped right into Miller's Bake Shop, rebuckling her bag.
"Hello, dearest Annie. The usual?" asked the baker, reaching behind him for a cream-filled lemon scone.
"Actually, Mr. Miller, my father demanded I try one of your famous iced cinnamon rolls!" Annie exclaimed, resting her arms on the too-high counter. She dropped a coin into the jar and pulled a butterscotch candy from its dish.
"Ah, I baked up a fresh batch just an hour ago!" Mr. Miller said, wrapping one in wax paper and placing it on the counter. "Are you eating a butterscotch?" he asked, tapping her on the head.
"Yes, sir!" Annie said, laughing. She stood on her tippy-toes and took the bun from the counter.
"That'll be eighty credits," Mr. Miller said, holding out his hand. Annie dropped the coins into his hand and turned and left the bake shop, filling her mouth with warm, cinnamony happiness.
She sat with her feet tucked under her skirt on a bench by Ebry Park. She pulled a book from her satchel and opened it to page forty-three, where she'd left off on chapter three.
When she just had two bites of her roll left, she placed a bookmark in her book and stood up, skipping down Carrish Lane once more. She still smiled, and as she passed Miller's, she gave him a grin and a thumbs up. He laughed heartily from behind the window and waved goodbye to her.
She turned onto Elm Circle and clutched her bag close to her chest; Elm Circle was dangerous, but it was the only way home. She walked quickly down the cobbled street, trying to keep a pep in her step.
Elm Circle always smelled damp and fishy, like the pier. Behind her, Annie heard footsteps - at least four people were behind her. Her eyes wide with panic, she walked faster, pressing tighter her satchel to her body.
She didn't dare look behind her. The footsteps became louder. They were boys, faster and older than her. She glanced behind her. They were year nine boys and they were smirking at her.
She broke out in a full sprint, her blue sundress fluttering in the wind behind her. She darted into an alleyway, breathing heavily, tucking her book back in her satchel. The footsteps paused.
"I think she went onto Maple Road," said one boy. He spat on the ground, leaning against the building beside the alley.
"Nah," said another, chuckling a bit. "She's a merchant girl. She doesn't know these streets. She's probably down Rochester Street."
Annie whimpered, tucking her knees to her chest. She pressed her back into the wall.
"Wait," the first boy said. He threw his head back and laughed. Annie's heart pounded in her chest and she buried her face in her knees, stifling her screams. "Told you she didn't know these streets."
:
They stared at her. She could feel eight eyes piercing her skull and she looked up, whimpering. One of them spit on the ground again. They surrounded her, and she pushed herself further into the alleyway corner. "What's your name?" he asked, gripping one of her braids.
"An - an - Annie Cresta," she stammered, instinctively grabbing hold of her other dark plait.
"See, merchant girl. What did I tell y-"
"Shut up, Carrison," the one holding her hair interrupted. "All right, Annie, got any crackers?" Saliva sprayed over her face and she clenched her eyes shut.
"I - I - I don't know what. . ." She drew closer to her chest and looked up, confusion flashing across her face.
His grip around her hair tightened and he started to twirl it, taunting her. "Y'know, mackerels?" he asked, his hand slinking across her satchel.
"I don't under-" He pulled hard on her braid and she screamed, her face twisting in pain. The boy's face contorted into a sadistic smile as he glanced at her.
"Money, you imbecile. Give it to me." He gritted his teeth and toyed with the clasp on her bag.
"N - no, you can't have it!"
The clasp broke loose and a small piece of metal flew onto the ground. He reached in and pulled out a single coin. "A merchant girl has more money than just a ten-credit coin, doesn't she?"
She stood up abruptly, still pressed against the faded brick wall. The sun burned into her eyes even in the late afternoon on a spring day.
Annie Cresta arrived at her home on Meadow street without a single credit in her satchel twelve minutes later.