“You need writers?” Jerome asked.
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a rush of confidence.
“I could do sports,” James offered.
“That’s good,” I said. “We need different sections.”
Zihan turned to me, smiling with satisfaction, and I realized in that moment—I liked the new kid! Zihan saw the bigger picture! He’d show up for what mattered! Maybe I could call him a friend.
I caught Zihan’s eye, and he nodded. I nodded back, cozy in the comfort that I wasn’t figuring this out on my own.
With my dormmates behind me, my defiance toward Charlie only began to blaze brighter. New ideas for how to take matters into my own hands kept running through my head, wherever I went.
As I cooked at Kirby’s that weekend, I thought of how I’d need to find a way to print and distribute the paper—how much would that cost?
I’d also need to make sure no one could stop it from getting around. And that it didn’t becometoopopular.What if the White House boys reacted to it the way they did in Greenwood? What if they killed me?
If only I could live without the constant fear of meeting death just around the corner.
Throughout my shift, when Mr. Kirby spoke to me, it took me seconds to speak back. I was so wrapped up in my paper, and the risk involved with printing it, that I was barely there. When my shift ended, I went outside to flag down a cab, and a scream exploded through the night, “Help!”
It came from a nearby alleyway.
Normally, I wouldn’t get involved. But something pulled me toward that scream. I turned into the shadows, my heart drumming as I moved closer, until I saw them—a man was grappling with a woman over a bag, and she was desperate to hold on to it. I was about to call out when I recognized her: Vivian, the hairstylist!
I ran toward them, my pulse racing, but before I’d come up with my next move, the man turned, his eyes dark and cold as he aimed a pistol at my chest. “Back up,” he said, his voice like ice.
“Oh, for God’s sake, he’s a child!” Vivian’s voice was laced with fear, but it only made me more determined.
I wouldn’t back down! My hands went up slowly to show him I wasn’t a threat. As he turned his focus back to Vivian, just for a moment, I seized my chance.
I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. The gun went off in a deafening blast, the bullet disappearing into the sky. My mind flashed back to that day with my father’s killer, along with the anger, the determination to survive. I’d won that fight, and I’d win this one!
I shoved the man backward, sending him stumbling down the alley. In the chaos, Vivian had somehow grabbed his pistol.
She shoved the bag into my hands. We stood there, catching our breath as the man scrambled away, disappearing into the night.
Vivian looked at me with amazement that made me realize—maybe I wasn’t a kid anymore?
She broke into a smile, shaking her head as if she’d just witnessed the impossible.
“Thank you, Nick!” she cried, wrapping me in a hug. “You saved me! These streets are dangerous. Come, let’s get out of here. Don’t want him returning with friends!”
Vivian pulled me down the alleyway, heels clacking at the uneven terrain. She was wearing only a leotard and fishnet stockings. Toothsome curls jumped around her head, and one half of a fake eyelash was dangling off her eye.
“Vivian? Where are we going, exactly?” I followed because I was scared, but I couldn’t help but smile about the dark adventure I’d stumbled into.
“It’s about time you knew,” Vivian replied. “Your cousin keeps saying she wants to keep you out of trouble. But living in the big city?Trouble finds you anyway.”
So, Daisywasin danger. I knew it!
It got darker as we went, and an increasing amount of trash appeared on the sidewalks that we were traversing. In the streets behind the businesses and tenements were brick buildings that were unassuming on the outside—you’d never know what theywere for. They were a grid of rentable suites, up for grabs, but with boarded up windows and rats scurrying along the curbs.
Vivian took me past a squeaky gate, through a lot, and then through a green door. There was a hallway behind it, dimly lit, filled with many doors. We walked straight through it until it opened to a small empty speakeasy, where red leather booths sat behind a counter.
At the back of the bar, nearly hidden in the shadows, a narrow staircase spiraled downward. We descended into the basement, stepping into a warehouse packed with trolleys, crates, and carts. A faint, toxic tang lingered in the air as we weaved through the maze of supplies.
My eyes darted around, searching for Daisy—something told me she had been here before.
