"I'm going to the market, Mother." Belinda wrapped her ocher wool shawl around her forearms. "I'll be back soon. Is there anything you want me to get?"

"What can we afford?" Matilda wiped her hands on her apron. "The cod should be on sale today, and the cabbage. Don't know about onions. I seriously need cottage cheese."

"Yes Mama." Belinda held out her hand for the change. At fourteen she was allowed certain privileges, like running on errands alone.

"Come straight back; don't delay." Matilda pressed a quarter in her hand. "Good girl."

"Can I go with?" Jack pleaded. "Please? Please?"

"You're rather young to be walking all the way to the market," his mother reminded him. "You'll be tired."

"I won't get tired, I promise. I wanna go out." He pointed to the door. "Please Mama?"
"Jack, be reasonable."

"What ree-zun-u-vull?"
"Reasonable. You use your head."

"Huh?"

"You think about what you're going to do along with the consequences that will come of it." Matilda pulled a spool of red yarn with two knitting needles protruding out of a drawer. "I'm being reasonable by thinking about how a walk to the marketplace will affect you."

"Mama!" the child cried, even more perplexed.

"Jack. I'm thinking about what's best for you. You'd get in your sister's way."

"I can take him, Mother," Belinda said kindly. She winked at her baby brother, who returned a gleeful grin. "He'll watch out for me."

"If you're sure, dear. Jack, say thank you."

"Thank you, Linda." Unable to pronounce his b's, Jack called his oldest sister by a pet name. To him Linda sounded prettier.

"Come on Jackie." A basket on her elbow and her brother clutching her apron, Belinda Kelly stepped out onto the fire escape into the sunlight. On summer mid mornings like this, the sun cast a pale daffodil yellow over the earth, sprucing up even the filthiest of slums. At eleven o'clock, New York resembled a hive of bees, all clamoring for something. Food, clothing, money, naughtier satisfactions. Although it was only a short jaunt to the market, Belinda made sure to keep her brother's hand clasped in hers at all times.

Down 196th Street they sauntered. Women unfurled damp, newly cleaned bed linens on their balconies to hang on clotheslines. Men either fortunate enough to have later working hours or heinously tardy strolled to their respective occupations. Children scampered across the cobblestones, rolling balls, marbles, or tops. Though she did not live in the nicest area of town, Belinda loved the little joys of her home.

The siblings reached the market in fifteen soon enough. Fishmongers and butchers donned their striped aprons, both stained crimson from the catch of the day. Peddlers displayed their collections of pots, pans, and miscellaneous kitchenware. Merchants carrying rare spices, common vegetables, painted store signs advertising goods one did not buy on a frequent occasion for their finances' sake, the occasional horse-drawn buggy carving a temporary path through the throng of customers. To Jack, the market resembled a box of jazzy toys waiting to be played with, but Belinda recognized the dangers of an open market. Kids could get lost, stolen, or worse.

"Stay close," she hissed in his ear as she dragged her brother to the fishmonger. Eight cents for cod, a penny per cabbage head (she purchased two), four for a slab of cottage cheese, and five cents on five onions. Belinda bargained fiercely, saving nine cents in total. Jack only quaked in his shoes, eager to get moving as his sister haggled over prices. His fondness for the market decreased somewhat upon realizing what "going out" really meant.

"Come on Jackie," his sister finally declared, her basket filled. "Let's go home." The child rubbed his eyes before yawning. His knobbly knees buckled, his sweaty palm quivered weakly.

"Mother was right; you got tired, didn't you?" Jack nodded, too sleepy to lie. Sighing irritably, Belinda hoisted him up and rested him on her shoulder. "That better?"

"Mmm," he uttered before dozing off. Belinda adjusted the cumbersome burden further before commencing the trek home. At least he can't run away. What had been a quick trot became a draining march. Dodging horse droppings, Belinda trudged two blocks before setting Jack down. She flung off her muggy wool shawl, letting the heat ripple off her body in short pants. Jack whimpered, unhappy to stand.

"Gotta hurry, the food will go bad," she muttered under her breath. "Wish I'd listened, Mother."

"Hey there!" Roger Weber waved as he braked his bicycle, screeching to a halt. Brown hair, hazel eyes, somewhat richer and definitely more pampered, Roger was the golden boy of her school. The girls would gather in circles to worship his handsome features while the guys, follower or rival, envied his easy lifestyle. The one person who openly loathed him was Ms. Florence Allan, the teacher, on the account of his indolence.

"Hello Roger." She smoothed her fawn skirt awkwardly. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Need a lift?"

"What?"

"You got some groceries and a brother. This the brother you talk about in school?" He pointed to Jack.

"I never-"

"I heard you talking with the girls." He smiled. "It's okay. I think it's nice that you care about your baby brother. Here." He lowered a metal seat behind his. "You sit there and hold the kid. Just tell me where to go."

"Okay," she breathed nervously. A gale whirled in her stomach. Roger Weber giving her a ride. Jack collapsing. All this occurred on a simple errand.

Belinda, grasping her shawl and basket, climbed on the seat, spooning Jack on her lap. Roger kicked off before pedaling furiously. The bike flew past the buildings, people blurring by. Belinda gasped, hugging her things tighter. Never in her life had she gone so fast.

"Where to?" Roger asked.

"605 196th Street," she breathed. "Oh god!" Belinda's rosy cheeks smashed into Roger's back as he braked to let a passerby dash across the street. Jack squirmed uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, you're perfectly fine." Roger wove throughout the horde of humans until they reached peaceful 196th Street. He parked smoothly right outside their building. Belinda dismounted, still cradling her brother and basket.

"Thank you so much, you're a life saver," she said, her eyes glowing.

"No problem," he replied, tipping his hat. "See you at school." Belinda gazed intently as he sped off, her knees buckling slightly. Jack pouted.

"Let's go Linda," he urged.

"Hush," she muttered. "Roger Weber. Hmm." Roger Weber gave me a ride home. Roger Weber complimented me. Roger Weber owns a bicycle. Roger Weber likes me.

"Linda!" Jack began hopping up the stairs alone. "Come on!"

"Alright, I'm coming." Her thoughts still swirling around Roger's sterling face, Belinda Kelly hurried back up to their home. Roger Weber, I love you too.