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  After one quick scan of the sidewalk I pick up speed. I don’t want another encounter with a mysterious stranger, so I keep my eyes straight ahead. Every leaf that crunches underfoot sends a nervous chill up my spine. Every shadow fuels my fear until I’m practically running down the path.

  When my car finally comes into view, I’m full on sprinting. I’m scared, but also freezing. The brisk autumn wind whips my partially grown-out bangs into my eyes, impairing my vision. I swipe the hair out of my face just as I’m about to walk right into my bumper.

  My cold fingers tremble as I fight with the door handle. Once in, I slam the door and smack the locks.

  Note to self: Need more than a jacket tomorrow. Bring gloves too.

  I put the car into drive, but before I get too much pressure on the gas I slam on my brakes, my body bobbing forward. The seatbelt tightens across my chest and forces me back against the soft leather. My darn bangs flop in my face again, and I whack them away. The headlights shine brightly at someone in a dark hoodie, his arm shielding his face, inches from my bumper.

  My heart batters my chest as I try to take slow steadying breaths. I need to make sure he’s okay so I reach for my seatbelt. But before I can unlatch it, he drops his arm and I’m met with the same copper eyes as before.

  The porcelain-faced girl looks as if her heart jumped out of her chest, and splattered across her dashboard. Not that I can blame her since I think mine’s a messy pulp somewhere on the parking lot. I take a deep breath and for a moment I meet her fearful eyes, illuminated by the streetlamp.

  I mouth, “Sorry,” before continuing downtown to the Y. I might get lucky. If not, it’s back to the train trestle tonight. No matter how hard I try, the ground is never comfortable, and it’s almost impossible to get any sleep with the trains flying by every hour blaring down on their damn horns.

  Getting into the Y is a night of salvation. A place to get a meal, take a shower and get a cot to sleep on. Granted it isn’t a bed, but it beats the hell out of the cold, hard ground at the trestle.

  I ignore the pain in my side and take a look over my shoulder at the brand new Subaru Legacy. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I bet once she gets home her daddy will buy her something to make her feel better about almost killing the poor street child.

  The air is crisper than it’s been the last few evenings, so I pull my hood tighter. I walk up to the building and scan the crowd. There’s at least twenty-five teens, which sucks since they only allow sixteen in.

  I’m surrounded by a few familiar faces. I know nothing about them though.

  I look towards a short, skinny guy I’ve never seen before. Shit. His eyes meet mine and he takes it as an invitation to walk over. “Hey man, you got a cigarette I can bum?” He points a black fingernail at my pocket.

  “Don’t smoke,” I say, so he doesn’t ask me again in the future.

  “Damn. I haven’t had one all day, I’m going crazy.” He taps his dirty fingers on his dark jeans. “I’d kill for one right now.” His hand moves to his arm, and he starts scratching at his skin. Track marks poke out from his sleeve. Another addict. Not surprised, half the people here are addicted to something.

  I nod, but don’t say anything.

  “Do you know anyone here who smokes?” he asks, acting like we’re suddenly friends. Fat chance. One minute he’s my friend and the next he’ll have a knife to my back, demanding my last dollar. I’m not stupid. Like Herbert Spencer said, it’s survival of the fittest, and in my situation letting people in shows weakness.

  “Nah, sorry man,” I say and walk away. I can’t be concerned with his problems. I have my own, and they are far worse than a damn cigarette. Besides, even if I did know who smoked, they wouldn’t share with him.

  Nobody here knows me and I like to keep it that way. All they know is my name, and sometimes I even think that’s too much.

  The wind picks up, and I stick my hands in my pockets. I lift my shoulder to scratch my chin and notice Wanda.

  She’s here every night. Her black hair is tied up in a messy bun, revealing a butterfly tattoo on her neck. Her brown eyes lack hope. I get it. What do we have left to hope for anyway? A better life? That’s not going to happen. We’ll either wind up dead, addicted to drugs, or both. There are a few stories where kids have been able to turn their lives around, but that luck shit is once in a blue moon. And my moon has been black for so long it’s practically dead.

  The last car pulls out of the parking lot marking the end of the Y’s hours and the beginning of the shelters. I sign in as Maggie, the shelter’s director, appears and takes center stage outside the door. Her gray hair is loosely pulled back, attention focused on her clipboard. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t make eye contact.

  She reads off names like a robot. She can’t let everyone in and by not looking at us we don’t exist.

  I know Maggie though. And while she tries to shut herself out to all of us standing here this cool autumn night, our names will haunt her until the early hours of morning.

  “Wanda. Chris. Pedro. Amelia.”

  Each one smiles to themselves as they head up the stairs and into the warmth of the building.

  More names, but not mine. I’m tempted to cross my fingers, but I’ve never been superstitious so why start now?

  “Stu. Pete. Jeanie.”

  The odds are not looking good.

  “And Ian.”

  Fuck. Should’ve crossed my damn fingers. Maggie looks up and catches my gaze. Her eyes fill with sympathy and sorrow as she offers me the only thing she can—a smile.

  I shrug, causing my hood to fall. Her eyes widen, and for the first time Maggie leaves her place on the steps.

  “Dean, what happened?” Maggie asks, her hand lingering just shy of my face as if she’s afraid to touch me for fear of catching something.

  “I didn’t get in last night,” I say.

  “Your lip. And your eye.” Maggie takes my hand and leads me toward the building.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No. My ribs do a little though.”

  She lets out an aggravated sigh. “You can’t stay. There aren’t enough cots, but you need to see the nurse.”

  Normally I’d tell her to forget it. I don’t take handouts, but my stomach growls its protest, and I allow her to pull me out of the cold.

  Maggie steers me away from the line of cots, directing me into a small room. I move to the side. A woman leans over a guy and places a Band-Aid on his finger. She hands him a few extra and smiles.

  I’ve seen him around. The last time we both got in I watched him slip a five right out of someone’s pocket while they slept. Exactly why I sleep with one eye open, my belongings secured in my grasp.

  The guy stands, and the woman’s dark eyes catch mine before settling on Maggie. I keep the guy in my sight until he walks out of the room.

  “He was assaulted.” Maggie tells the nurse then motions for me to move farther into the room. “Can you just do a quick check up to make sure nothing is broken, infected, or in need of stitches?”

  “Of course.” The woman gestures to the now empty seat.

  “I’m going to get you something to eat,” Maggie says, and I smile my appreciation.

  The nurse starts the exam. It’s only a few cuts and bruises. I figured as much, but my ass is starving, and I’m holding out hope Maggie will return with something. Anything. The nurse gives me a few bandages, Bacitracin, and instructions to keep the wounds clean.

  Maggie’s shoes squeak as she turns into the room and hands me a brown paper bag. “I hope it’s enough.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, but you have to leave.” Maggie blinks, and the sympathy is disguised. I know turning me away is hard for her, so I don’t argue. She has already done more than she should have. I stand, wincing away the pain that shoots through my stomach.

  “Do you have a place to go?” Maggie asks as she follows me to the exit.

  Does it matter? If I tell her no, it’s n
ot like she can find a place for me to stay.

  “I have somewhere.” I push the door open and stop. Maggie’s brows turn inward in concern. “Thanks again, Maggie. Have a good night.”

  When I reach the first step, I hear the soft whispers of “sorry” before the door closes.

  The train trestle might not be the Y, but it’s mine. It’s the one place undiscovered. Probably because in order to get to it you have to walk down the train tracks and most prefer to avoid those.

  The path is tricky, but luckily for me, I have great balance.

  Not to mention it’s easier when you’re sober. Drugs have never been my thing. If it weren’t for drugs I’d still be with my sister.

  My ears ring as the train blasts its horn. I secure my footing so the force of the stream doesn’t knock me over the edge. I put my right foot in front of me, my left slightly behind and bend, keeping my balance centered. A sway to my left will put me over the edge, and a sway to my right, I’ll be a mutilated mess with broken bones, ripped skin, and a crushed head. Not exactly the way I want to go.

  The force of the train’s wind smacks into me, but my footing doesn’t waver. I’ve done this enough times. As the last train car passes by, I readjust my backpack and continue on.

  I slowly make my descent down the rocks lining the tracks until I’m encircled by trees and the calming trickle of the brook that runs through the secluded area. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend I’m surrounded by palm trees on a Caribbean island instead, and the brook is actually a crystal blue sea, filled with exotic fish and coral reefs. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can almost feel the sun shining down, darkening my skin. It’s a helpful thought on nights like this when the temperature drops below fifty, and the warmth of summer is just a lingering memory.

  I lay my dollar store towel on top of the grassless ground and wrap myself in my coat before settling onto my bed for the night.

  Hopefully tomorrow I can get into the Y. If not at least the soup kitchen will be open, and I can get a hot meal. My eyes close as I imagine the white sandy beaches of a faraway place, but for some reason as the waves start to crash down on the shore, the image of the porcelain-faced girl pops into my mind.

  Music blasts out of my cell, and I shoot up, knocking my lamp over as I search for my phone. My fingers graze the case, and I snatch it up, bringing it close to my face.

  Katie’s name flashes on the screen. Really, who else would it be at one in the morning?

  Just because I love my best friend doesn’t mean I have to like her right now. In fact, I may kill her. She knows tomorrow is my first day of tutoring. I swear her brain turns to liquid as soon as she hits a dance floor.

  I get that she’s out partying. She’s been sneaking out a lot lately actually. This is the fourth time in two weeks she’s called in the middle of the night. And as much as I wish I could be there with her, I have obligations. Unfortunately partying just doesn’t fit into my schedule.

  My heart slams against my chest. What if something’s really wrong this time? If something happened to her…I can’t even think about it. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and answer.

  “Katie? What’s wrong?” Techno music blares in the background and Katie giggles. My heart slows.

  “Anna!” she screams in her off-key singsong voice. I bet she’s dancing to the wrong beat too.

  “Are you too drunk to drive home?” I ask through the dryness in my throat. “Are you stuck somewhere? Did you get arrested?”

  “No,” she says between giggles.

  “Good then I will see you at school. Be careful, okay? Night.”

  “Okay fine.” I imagine her pouting her bottom lip out as I end the call and let the phone fall to my soft pink comforter. Note to self—kill Katie. Though it’s been on my checklist for a while and I have yet to mark it off.

  Even though her midnight calls aren’t exactly fun for me they’re actually a bit comforting because at least I know she’s not passed out somewhere.

  I fix my lamp and pick my planner up off the floor, putting it back in a safe place. If anything were to happen to it I’d be a sailor without the North Star, drifting astray.

  Once everything is in order I lie back down and close my eyes. Katie sounded like she’s having a blast. Jealousy creeps in, and I hate myself for it. It’s not that Katie doesn’t invite me because she does. But Cornell or Yale won’t be impressed by my dance moves or if I can hold my tequila, so I always politely decline and stay home with my homework.

  I fall asleep thinking of what it would be like to be the girl who stayed out all night partying.

  ***

  I’m pleasantly surprised when I walk into Ms. Kittles’ classroom. Three students—none seniors—sit with their books open on their desks.

  The tension pulled tight across my shoulders eases. People in my grade make me self-conscious. They always roll their eyes when the teacher calls on me and seem to stop listening when I answer.

  Ms. Kittles leans over the shoulder of a girl in the corner. The girl’s auburn hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her brown eyes focused on her paper.

  “Anna.” Ms. Kittles looks up, the girl mimicking her every move. “Why don’t you come over here and help Susie? She’s working on an essay for U.S. History.”

  I offer up a smile. “U.S. History was one of my favorite subjects,” I say and take the spot beside Susie. “Hi, I’m Anna.”

  Her smile trumps mine. “I know. I’m Susie.”

  She knows who I am? I didn’t think anyone knew me. I’m just the girl in the background.

  “I’m glad my name precedes me.”

  She lifts her hand and starts counting off on her fingers. “You have a 4.0, you were captain of the debate team, and editor of the school paper.” Her eyes widen and did she just bounce in her seat? “That’s like amazing.”

  My cheeks are an instant inferno. Editor of the school paper isn’t that big of an achievement. The paper only goes out four times a year, and most students use them to litter the halls or as rags in Art.

  “It’s really not that amazing.” I laugh off just to get rid of my blushed cheeks. “But thanks.” I tap my pen on the edge of her essay. “Can I see what you have so far?”

  Susie stares at her words then raises her eyes to me before taking a deep breath and handing me her notebook. By that reaction I expect to find at least a paragraph or two, but instead find a complete essay.

  “You hit all of the main points and it’s written beautifully,” I say after a quick read-through. “What’s the problem?”

  “I thought that maybe it was missing something. Like it could be better. I just don’t know how to get it there.”

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret.” I swear her ears perk up. “If you don’t know how to make it better, it’s because it’s perfect.”

  “Really? Because I thought that—”

  “It’s perfect. Trust me.”

  Her face brightens. “Thanks.”

  “Now let me go help someone who actually needs it,” I tease. She gives me an unnerved smile before darting her eyes back to her paper.

  Once the clock strikes eight, I grab my bag, say goodbye to Ms. Kittles, and head to my locker to swap books. The hallway fills up, and I dodge one backpack after the next.

  “Anna!” Katie falls into step with me, tossing her arm over my shoulder. Her blonde hair falls in my face and sticks to my cherry Chapstick. I swipe it away then elbow her gently in the side.

  “It’s not even first period yet. I’m proud of you.”

  “As you should be,” she says, and twirls away from me, taking my hand and pulling me down the hall.

  “What’s the occasion?” I ask because the last time Katie showed up to first period, I was still taking the bus.

  She comes to a stop, and I walk right into her. We laugh, and she tosses her arm back around my shoulder. “I never went to sleep last night,” she says as if it’s completely normal. “I met this guy at the mall, and
he invited me to a party at the college dorms. It was crazy.”

  Katie is wearing the same jeans as yesterday with the exact same skyscraper heels. Her shirt pokes out from under the sweater she threw on to cover it. Despite the same outfit, her hair and makeup are flawless like she spent an hour primping.

  “Bet it was.”

  “You could have been there, you know.”

  “My mom would have flipped.”

  “Your mom’s never home. Which is why I always tell my parents I’m sleeping at your house.”

  The accuracy of that comment should hurt. But, it doesn’t.

  “Maybe next time.”

  “Maybe?” A huge smile forms on her face.

  “Maybe does not mean yes.”

  “It doesn’t mean no either.”

  I roll my eyes and nudge her shoulder before continuing to my locker. Katie follows, going on and on about the hot guy at the mall and all the hot guys at the party. I’m about to ask her why she isn’t rushing to class, but it’d be pointless. She probably doesn’t even remember what she has for first period.

  It’s nice though, being able to start my day with my best friend. Not something I should get used to since I know it is a one-time deal. Unless she plans on having more all-nighters, and in that case I may need to have an intervention.

  “Cute shirt,” Katie says, pulling on the sleeve of my blue and white plaid top. I adjust the brown skinny belt I wrapped around it.

  “Thanks.”

  She rests her hands on my waist and turns me towards her. “You have such a great figure. You should let your boobs hang out a little more. You’d be surprised how far you can get with a little cleavage.”

  I laugh, swat her hands away, and grab my book for AP English. “I do fine on my own.”

  “If you say so. But if you’re not going to drop this whole serious student act you have to at least spice up your wardrobe a little bit.”

  “It’s not an act. And what is wrong with my wardrobe? You just said you liked my shirt.”

  “I do if it wasn’t buttoned all the way up.” Katie steps in front of me, her hands dart to my neck. “Here.” She unbuttons the first three, grabs my undershirt and pulls on it until my boobs are almost heaving over the top.