“Stay…still…” Joe mumbles, and I cry harder.
My phone buzzes again and I see Sam’s face reflected in the cracked windshield. “Sam,” I cry, desperately trying to reach my phone, but the pain is excruciating.
“Tell him…I love him,” Joe says, and the tears run in rivers down my cheeks.
“Don’t say that. You’re fine.”
“I love you…too.”
“You’re fine!” I shout at him.
“Tell…Tristan.”
“Joe, no…just talk to me. Just keep talking to me.” I hear sirens echoing down the street. “Do you hear that? Help’s coming. You’re going to be fine. Joe, do you hear me? Joe?” My head pounds and my heart feels like it’s going to beat through my chest. I inhale a shallow breath, but it does little to ease the dizziness inside my head. I close my eyes, but I can’t fight against it.
Lucy, Sixteen Years Old
“Do you really have to practice on your birthday?” I ask Sam, following him into the gym.
“I have a match next week, Luc. I have to be prepared. And it’s training, not practice,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“Is there a difference?”
“You practice to win a game. You train to be a warrior.” He winks and throws his gym bag over his shoulder.
“Okay, Maximus.” I purse my lips together over a smile as we head to Joe’s office in the back.
“Where is everybody?” Sam asks, looking around the empty gym, which is usually buzzing with energy and dripping with testosterone.
“I don’t know,” I say coyly, spotting Joe and Tristan over his shoulder.
“Happy birthday,” they shout in unison, charging toward him.
I squeal and jump out of the way as they tackle him to the floor.
Joe gets to his feet and reaches for Sam’s hand. “Come on, we’re going out for pizza.”
“Pizza? What about training?”
Tristan wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulder and pats him on the chest. “You want me to kick your ass around the ring, or you want to go get some pizza?”
Sam laughs and drops his chin. “Pizza. Definitely pizza.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Come on. It’s my treat,” Joe says, grabbing his keys off his desk.
Sam looks at me and I turn my palms up and shrug innocently. “I may have mentioned that it was your birthday.”
He smiles and wraps his arm around my neck, and we follow Joe and Tristan outside.
“You’re closing up early?” Sam asks Joe, who’s locking up behind us.
“Yeah, it’s a special occasion.”
“You don’t have to,” Sam says, shaking his head.
“I know I don’t. But I want to.”
Sam smiles and takes my hand, and we follow Joe to his car.
“Everybody buckled?”
“I am,” I say, giving Sam a disapproving look.
He reaches for his seat belt. “All right, all right.”
“You should always wear your seat belt.” I reach for his hand. “It could save your life one day.”
“Who needs a seat belt with Joe behind the wheel?” He smirks and Tristan laughs.
“Oh, you guys think it’s funny to drive safe?” Joe asks them.
“Well there’s driving safe and then there’s just plain driving. Are you sure your foot’s even on the gas?” Tristan teases, and I can’t help the smile that turns the corners of my mouth up.
“You see all these nut jobs?” Joe asks, pointing to another car rolling up to a stop sign across the street.
“The old lady who can barely see over the wheel?” Sam asks, shaking his head.
“Yeah, well that old lady might just roll right through the stop sign.”
Sam and Tristan give each other an amused look and then laugh in unison.
“It’s called defensive driving,” Joe says, shaking his head. “If you’re lucky, I’ll teach you two knuckleheads when you get your own licenses.”
“Which at their rate will be never,” I say, looking at Sam with wide eyes.
“What’s the point?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to get a car anytime soon.”
“Kid, you’re going to have a car someday, trust me,” Joe says, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
I give Sam a small smile and squeeze his hand.
“If I ever get a car, I’m going drive right out of this shithole and never come back,” Tristan says, gazing out of his window at the rundown buildings that line the street. You wouldn’t know they’re open for business with their torn-up signs and covered windows.
“Never say never,” Joe says to Tris, watching the road in front of him.
“You know, I never understood why you came back here,” Tris says to him. “I mean, you can’t really care that much about helping kids. Did you lose all your boxing money in a bet or something?”
Joe smiles and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t expect you guys to understand. Not for a few more years anyway.”
“I’ve been told I’m mature for my age,” Sam chimes in, and Joe smirks.
“My father raised me just a few blocks from here,” he explains.
“You’re father?” Sam gives him a confused look. “I thought you were raised in the system, like us.”
“I was. But not until I was older, maybe sixteen.”
“My age,” I say, intrigued.
“What happened, did he run out on you or something? Did he go to jail?” Tris asks, but Sam and I both listen quietly from the back seat.
“No, nothing like that. He was a good man. Firm with his words and quick to set me straight when I mouthed off. He taught me to be a man. Taught me to believe in myself, and to believe in something better, something more than this,” he says, glancing at the neglected houses outside. “He used to tell me about what it was like when he was growing up here. Not like it is now. It was a lot different back then.”
“No drug dealers back in his day, huh?” Tristan says.
“Maybe not standing on the street corners hawking to kids, but there have always been drugs of some sort, as far back as history tells. It’s the people who were different. They cared about their community and education for their kids. Houses were kept up and business was booming.”
“Come on?” Tris says, dropping his head to the side.
“No, really. Brighton Park used to be one of the most popular neighborhoods in Atlanta back in the fifties.”
“No kidding,” I say, fascinated.
“So when did it all go to hell?” Tristan asks.
“Not until the eighties. But before that, it was a different place, far from what is now. It was safe for kids, and the streets were clean.”
“I bet the men wore suits and the ladies wore hats and dresses, just like in those old black-and-white TV shows,” I say, smiling.
“Yeah, like that one Maxine always used to watch,” Sam says, pulling his eyebrows together. “Leave It to Squirrels…or something like that.”