It would be easy to hate a city like Chance.Loud as a tantrum and just as demanding.Ishould hate it here.People walk too fast, crash into you with prejudice, stare on the subway, and after two years, I still can’t find a good cinnamon roll.
A fresh-from-the-oven, melt-in-my-mouth cinnamon roll.
For two years, living in Chance has been like signing up for the Olympics in a sport I never trained in.
That’s exactly why I love it.
There’s a thriving pulse to this city, filled to the brim with more people than I could’ve imagined when I was back home in Ferntree.Heck, my parents still live in the house their parents grew up in.By the time I was six, I knew that cows would find a hole in a fence quicker than you could catch ’em, the best place for your boots was by the door, and just because you were short didn’t mean you had to let everyone look down at you.
Now I’m more adept at dodging commuters than hens.
Chance is wonderful—as long as you look past a little noise and a lot of attitude.It tests me, but I’m hardly about to let a little thing like pessimism get in my way, even today, where it’s as heavy as the clouds overhead.
“Morning, Red.”
I smile.Celine never calls me Mia.
She raises an amused brow at me from her perch on the sidewalk.“Their coffee might be nice and all, but it’s not going to do you any good from out here.”Gone is the moth-eaten blanket from last week, replaced with a bright blue sleeping bag.“Trust me, I’ve spent a lot of time looking.”
“I’m late,” I explain, trying to rub warmth back into my frozen fingers.
Four alarms are usually enough, but in the two months since Huey moved out and winter laid siege on the city, getting out of bed has only gotten harder.An extra five minutes snowballed into ten, then twenty, and now I’m seriously close to being late.
And Ineedcaffeine.
“Can’t relate,” she says, a twinkle in her eyes.She’s old enough to be my ma’s ma—bless her—but her tongue is as sharp as the easterly that blew in overnight.
Right now, she’s the only friend I have left in this city.
“What’s with the skirt?Did you forget it was winter or something?”
I tuck a lock of red hair behind my ear.Celine is never without an opinion on my outfits.Or anything else for that matter.
“You don’t like it?I thought it brought out my eyes.”Maybe forest-green faux leather isn’t fashionable, but it keeps me warm, and I like it.I’d rather look silly in style that’s my own than blend into a crowd of clones.
“Your eyes pop regardless,” she says.“But you’re young; you’ll figure it out eventually.”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“I’ve worn shoes older than you,” she teases.There’s more color in her face today, a brightness in her eyes that is a relief to see.
“How was your night?”
Finding room in a shelter has only gotten harder and harder with budget cuts, but Mayor Jackson’s speech last week gave the impression he actually cared about improving support for the homeless, and I want to believe him.
I want a lot of things for this city.
Fanning the flames of hope in Chance is a hard task, but it’s exactly why I packed up my entire life and moved here.
“Steve snored all night again.Kept half of us awake, until someone rolled him over.It’s fine.Can’t do much about it even if it wasn’t.”
She says that a lot.“Is what it is,” and, “What are you gonna do about it?”
It makes me sad that she expects the worst, that people have let her down enough times that it doesn’t faze her.
She once said it was hard for her to hold on to good things because getting attached only made losing them harder.
I’m inclined to agree with her.
