My lower lip quivers as I picture Mom’s angry face and her unkind hands on my arm. I try to come to terms with my emotions as I stare at the painted flowers. I look at them for so long that the perfectly shaped petals and the people walking past me as I sit here begin to blur.
My feet smash together over and over, as though trying to wish myself somewhere else, but I’m still stuck on the wall.
Still no magic.
I cover my wet cheeks with my hands and cry. I try to do it quietly, but every time I picture her cold icy eyes and hear the way she screams my name, my jerky breaths and sniffles get heavier.
“Hey, kid.”
I pull my hands away from my face and look at the guy standing a few feet away from me. He has a backpack slung overone shoulder and is wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that says Huxley Bay High School. His baseball cap is pulled down low, covering his dark chocolate hair and shadowing his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning.
“Where are your parents?” he asks, looking around the almost empty parking lot, his brows pinched together.
“My daddy’s at work, and my mom works at the hotel. She told me to wait here for her,” I say, fiddling with my sleeves.
“I can wait with you until your mom comes, if you’d like? I’m waiting for someone, too. Do you mind if I share your wall?”
I shrug and wipe my face with my sleeve as he walks over and sits down beside me, putting his backpack next to mine. His long legs stretch to the gravel. Mine just dangle over the edge, not even close to skimming the ground.
Loud, happy music starts playing from somewhere down the street. It’s an upbeat melody, not the kind you’d hear on the radio but from a kids’ toy when you press a button.
I lean forward and turn my head to the right when it gets louder. It’s coming closer now. An ice cream truck rolls down the road, heading for the open parking space by the curb next to my bus stop.
The truck is mostly white, but the bottom half is painted blue, the same color as the sea. The windows are covered with pictures of cones and ice pops. It rumbles as it pulls into the empty spot.
The music cuts off before the song can finish and people walk over, pointing at the pictures, ready for their Friday treat.
“When I’m sad, ice cream always cheers me up. Cookie dough is my favorite. What’s yours?”
“Anything chocolate,” I say.
He swings his legs over the wall, hops off, and makes his way over to the ice cream truck. A few minutes later, he returns with a container in his hand.
My eyes go wide as I take in the different scoops and toppings piling up on top of each other.
“Wow, that’s a lot of ice cream,” I say as he sets it down between us and hands me a yellow plastic spoon.
“Good thing there are two of us, then.”
I snatch the spoon from him, and he laughs when I shimmy after taking a bite.
“What’s your name?” he asks, his mouth just about full.
“Lucia Alvarez,” I say after swallowing my bite.
He nods and turns his head to face the hotel entrance. I’m not sure if he’s looking for the person he told me he’s waiting for or my mom—not that he’d know what she looks like.
“Are you going to tell me your name?” I ask him. His eyes find mine again. “Ms. Hazel is my new teacher, and today she asked us to stand up, say our name, and tell everyone what they want to be when they grow up.” I beam with pride, my face lighting up. “I told everyone I want to be a library lady because I love books.”
“I think you would make a great library lady,” he says, giving me a big grin.
“Ms. Hazel said I’m very good at using the ‘shh’ finger when the boys are still yapping and it’s quiet time in class.”
He puts the spoon in the tub.
“Well, Lucia, my friends call me Langford. I want to be a detective who catches the bad guys.”
“That’s a funny name.”
