Chapter One
Autumn
Eight years old
I don’t like when winter comes to New York. Everything is cold, and Momma is never happy or smiling. Snow is piled high on our porch, and even when I beg her to sweep it away, she will tell me to jump over the white mush.
That’s not the only thing I don’t like.
Going to school in the city is scary. Not because I’m afraid of walking down the sidewalks or shoving through groups of people on their way to work, but because the other kids at school don’t like me.
Momma tells me that it’s not true. She says everyone loves me because I’m her beautiful girl. She told me that nobody could ever hate me, but she doesn’t know how hard it is making friends when I’m not like them.
Today is one of those days when the sun isn’t shining, and my heart hurts in my chest. When this happens, it reminds me that I have to be sad. My heart hurts because I no longer have my dad, who loved me like a princess. Even though I love my momma, it was Dad who would always be there to make me laugh. I can see how much Momma misses him. I hear how she cries at night, and I think if I were happy, it would be bad because I shouldn’t be. Momma said he’s in heaven, in the clouds, and she told me he can see me. But I don’t believe her because if he could see me, then he wouldn’t stay there; he’d come back and love me again.
Tears run down my cheeks as I watch everyone on the playground, laughing and talking to each other. I should go to them, but I don’t want to be happy.
I blink when everyone in front of me becomes blurry because I can’t stop the tears that leak from my eyes. The other kids never want to be around me because I’m different, but also because I’m the girl without a dad, which only makes me even weirder to them.
When I look at them running around, I see them smile, I see them talk to their friends. But I don’t have those. I settle on the bench that overlooks the playground and open my lunch box to find the sandwich Momma likes to make—peanut butter and jelly. It was Daddy’s favorite, so Momma always puts it in my lunch box, so I don’t forget him.
Can you forget someone you love?
Momma says Daddy went to live with Grandma, but I don’t like that he’s gone. Even though I know he won’t come back, I still pray every night and ask God to send him to me again. To send him here to fix Momma and me.
Every morning I wake up and I find out that my prayers haven’t been answered because he isn’t sitting in the chair at the kitchen table. Nothing will bring him home because we put him in the box that went into the ground.
“Hey.” A voice startles me, and I almost drop my lunch. I lift my teary eyes to see a boy standing in front of me. He doesn’t block the sun because the gray clouds have taken over the sky. But his eyes shine when he looks down at me sitting on the bench. His hair is spiky, sticking up in all directions like he just ruffled it.
“Hi.” My voice sounds scratchy, and I clear my throat, which Daddy used to tell me there was a frog in when it got like that. I'd giggle so hard—I thought it was the funniest thing I ever heard.
“What are you doing?” the boy asks me before he sits next to me. He’s holding a candy bar in his fist. It looks so good, but I can’t ask him for a bite of his treat.
“I’m having lunch,” I tell him and lift my box to offer him half of my sandwich. He looks at it for a long while before he takes half and bites into it.
“Peanut butter,” he says while chewing, making his teeth turn a funny color because of the sticky, crunchy goodness. I want to smile, but my heart hurts too much today. Instead, I wonder why he’s sitting with me. He doesn’t look at me; he’s watching the rest of the kids.
He has brown eyes that remind me of the candy bar he’s holding. His pointy hair is black, like the nighttime when the moon doesn’t come out. His skin is like Momma’s milky coffee, not exactly pale like the other kids, but not as dark as mine. When I look down at our arms, I notice how he looks more like caramel, and I’m like chocolate.
“I like peanut butter,” he says, causing me to lift my eyes to his face. He’s still chewing, and I decide I like how his mouth moves as he enjoys his lunch.
“Yeah.” I nod. Taking the other half of my sandwich, I bite into it and look over at the playground. Being at school sucks, but Momma says I have to finish school to get a job. “Do you want a job one day?” I suddenly ask the boy.
“Yeah,” he says before shrugging as he takes another big bite of the sandwich, then he looks at me. I like what I see when I look into his eyes. They look kind, not like the others who scare me. I can’t stop looking at them. The boy with the candy-bar eyes. I smile. The boy with Snickers eyes. “My dad says that’s how you can make a lot of money. We have a lot of money, but my mom isn’t around much, so I think she uses it all.”
He smiles at me then, and I can’t help but do it back. It’s the first time I’ve smiled in a long while. I decide I want to see his smile some more. His eyes shine when he looks at me again, and I wonder if they do that all the time or if he’s just happy because of the money his family has.
“I don’t think it’s good.”
“What?” I ask, making my eyebrows crinkle like dad used to do when he didn’t understand something I said.
His face turns serious, like he’s about to tell me his puppy died. My heart breaks. I don’t like that. I hope he doesn’t tell me that. “Money.” He shrugs, eating the last piece of the sandwich. “I just think that people should be happy. Money doesn’t really do that,” he says after he’s chewed all the bread. “Because my parents have money, but they never look happy. I wish everyone could smile more.”
I have to nod because I agree with him. But sometimes, smiling hurts more than crying does. But how do you make people happy? I suppose you could give them presents. I like presents. But then you’d have to have money to do it.
“Maybe you can be a policeman,” I tell him. I know they make people happy when they smile with their friendly faces. My momma and me always greet them when we see them walking around the city. And sometimes, they take bad men away, which makes my momma happy. They took her boss away when he became a thief. Momma told me he took all the money and almost ran away with it. They called him a thief and Momma said its only bad men who do things like that. Now that he’s gone, Momma is happy again.
“Maybe,” he says, looking up at the playground. “What’s your name?” he asks, and then his chocolate eyes are on me. They’re so pretty I can’t look away, and I feel my cheeks get hot.
“Autumn,” I tell him. “My momma says it’s another word for fall, like the season.” I smile when he does. “And yours?”
“James Dylan,” he says, sitting up straight as if it’s cool to be called James Dylan. “But you can call me JD. All my friends call me that.”
“Am I your friend?” I ask, my eyes wide as I stare at him. I’ve never had a friend before, and I hope he does tell me I can be his friend. When he smiles again, I notice his dimple. It reminds me of the pop singer I like; he has dimples too. Or he could be like a puppy. Maybe not as fluffy, but he’s nice. I decide right then that I like JD and his smile.