“Wait!” I flinch before running in front of her to the door and blocking her from opening it. Seeing the alarm on Bridget’s face, I put my finger to my lips. Then I say in a deep voice, “Who is it?”
“Uh…Kricket? It’s me…Eric,” Eric’s muffled voice sounds through the door.
Feeling relief, I look through the peephole before opening the door. “Merry Christmas, Kricket,” Eric says, shoving a beautifully wrapped package in my hands and kissing my cheek. As he walks past me, I close the door behind him, locking and chaining it.
Bridget watches me closely, only distracted when Eric picks her up off her feet for a huge hug. “You smell great,” he says in her ear, causing her to smile and her hazel eyes to sparkle.
“Thanks,” she murmurs before turning her eyes on me. She narrows them as she asks, “‘Sup with you?”
I shrug, noncommittal. “Just some guys on the El giving me static. I thought they were DSS for a second, but maybe they’re just random.”
“What’s DSS?” Eric asks, looking confused.
“Dip shit sailors,” Bridget lies. “Did they follow you here?”
Shaking my head, I explain, “I don’t think so. I got off at Fullerton and took a taxi.”
Eric pulls his snowy hat from his head. “You should call the police, Kricket.” Eric’s blue eyes widen in concern. “You can make a report.” I smile. He doesn’t know anything about me.
Bridget understands my dilemma. She knows I can’t go to the police because they’ll take me into custody and I won’t be able to get out of juvenile detention until I turn eighteen. I probably have zero chance of applying to be an emancipated minor, since I broke out at sixteen and have been dodging them ever since. But, once Bridget aged out of the system and got a job in the city, I finally had somewhere to go. We’d spent a year together as roommates in one of the worst juvenile centers in Chicago. We had each other’s back there. When she wrote me and told me where she was, it was only a matter of time before I found a way out during a rare fieldtrip.
“It wasn’t a big deal…they were probably coming home from the club…you know how it is,” I say, downplaying it. I catch the look in Bridget’s eyes. She’s worried.
“Maybe I should stay for the weekend,” she says. She wants details, but she won’t ask me now. Not with Eric here. She’d never put my freedom at risk and therefore she’ll never expose to Eric that I’m a runaway from DSS.
“No. I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “They can’t possibly know where I live.” I use a P.O. Box for my mail, making sure that no one gets my real address here, just in case I get an investigator assigned to my case who doesn’t suck. Since I’m paid under the table at work, I don’t have to worry about any payroll checks being printed in my name.
“You’re sure?” She doesn’t look at all convinced.
“I’m sure,” I reply, trying to appear confident.
“Okay, come here and sit on my suitcase so I can get it to close,” she orders.
I do as she asks and she pushes the latches closed. Eric picks it up off the bed, carrying it while I walk with Bridget toward the door. “Call if you need me.”
“I will,” I agree, feeling choked up. I stop her at my closet, pulling out a present for her and one for Eric. “Merry Christmas, Bridge.”
“I mean it…I’ll come right back if you need me,” she says, taking the presents from me. “Your present is on your bed.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to let my eyes get teary.
“Merry Christmas, Kricket,” she says gruffly, as she tries to do the same. Impulsively, she gives me a quick hug.
“Ready?” Eric asks, unlocking the door.
“Yeah,” Bridget says, following him into the hall. “Lock this,” she orders, pointing at the door.
“I will,” I reply before closing it. I throw the bolt, latching the chain. Walking to my bed, I pick up my present.
Sitting down on the worn coverlet, I slowly unwrap the present from Eric. It’s a very expensive-looking espresso machine. Looking for a gift receipt so I can take it back, my shoulders slump when I can’t find one. Maybe the pawnshop will give me something for it, I think. I set it aside on the floor near my bed.
I open the little cardboard box from Bridget and find a delicate gold bracelet that has a thin, gold plate with the word “sister” etched in the metal. Smiling and blinking back tears, I put it on, shaking my wrist so that “sister” sits on top.
Pulling the blinds down over the window, I set my alarm clock so that I’ll be up in time to eat and relax before I go to the club downstairs to see if they need me. Laying my head on my pillow, I pull my blanket up to my chin. As I close my eyes, I try to blot out the images of Trey and his pals that invade my head, making my heart pound against the wall of my chest like it did when I was on the train. It takes awhile before I finally sleep.
Dreaming of lush fields, running barefoot under an azure sky that contains not only a brilliant sun, but also another moon on its infinite horizon, I awake drenched in sweat. My alarm clock is blaring, reminding me that I have to get ready for another Saturday night in the trenches.
After eating a quick meal, I take a shower. Combing out my hair, I braid it in two long plaits that fall well past my shoulders. Wrapping a black hair tie around the end of one braid, I pull a loose strand of hair from the end of it. As I hold the blond strand in my palm, it turns black immediately before it curls up and turns into a speck of dust. Letting my hand drop, I glance at the mirror.
“Who are you?” I whisper to my reflection, knowing that she doesn’t have the answer either.
I give up and go to my closet to get dressed. Putting on my jeans and a black, short-sleeved t-shirt with the words “boys lie” emblazoned in white letters on the chest, I lace up the second-hand, black boots I just picked up at the Salvation Army. They’re perfect because the leather is soft, having been broken in just right. Shrugging into my coat and backpack, I check the hallway outside through the peephole in my door. Seeing no one, I step out and lock it behind me. I take the back stairs and exit into the dark parking lot behind our building.
“Luther,” I smile, seeing my favorite bouncer sitting on a stool, guarding the back door to the trendy nightclub called Lumin. “‘Sup, Sherlock?” I ask, using the nickname I gave him because he has an uncanny ability to sniff out the fake IDs from the real ones.
“Nothin’ but my rent,” Luther replies, smiling broadly as he fidgets with the black permanent marker in his hand. “You workin’ tonight?” He gets up from his seat to give me a brief hug.
“If they need me. You been working out?” I ask, squeezing his bicep that’s the size of my thigh.
“Always,” Luther says, showing me his muscles with a broad, gold-toothed grin.
“Nice,” I admire. “Don’t be giving the girlies that gun show or you’ll never get rid of them.”
“You know that you’re the only one I want…just a few more months ‘til you’re legal, right?” he says with a wink.
Pointing to my shirt, I frown, “No way, Luther. I’ve seen how you operate.”