shadows.
Aaron comes over to me and says, “There’s a beach down here. That’s where we’re going.”
“And why the hell would you think we were going to rob somebody?” One of the boys, wearing a bandana over his short red hair looks offended. “That shit’s racist.”
Dreadlock Guy says, “Dude, you’re white. How in the hell is that racist?”
Bandana Kid thinks for a second and then says, “This chick shows up and thinks we’re going to start stealing? It might not be racist, but it’s definitely not cool.”
Aaron looks embarrassed. It should make me feel at home, because this is who I’ve always been. Abigail, Aaron’s uptight sister.
Dreadlock Guy says, “Hold up, Jordy. Didn’t you get busted for larceny? Like, two weeks ago?”
This fact is met by a collective “Ohhhh!” and Bandana Kid curls his lip and gives his friend—and me—the finger.
“I’m just saying. Shit’s prototypical, that’s all.”
“Jesus. The word is stereotypical , you idiot,” Dreadlock Guy says, turning to look at me with an apologetic smile.
“This is my fault,” Jess says to me. “I thought it would be a surprise. I thought it might be something you haven’t done yet. Because, you know.” She twirls her hand around the neighborhood, taking in all the mansions with a single swipe. “It’s not like people like us are welcome here in rich-bitch country.”
While the rest of them debate the other places we could’ve gone, I focus in on three words: “people like us.” I look at the group. One of them has pulled out a small cigarette, the smoke rising slowly into the night. Their hair is long and stringy, their faces thin and red from constant exposure.
We might be the same age, even have some favoritemovies or books in common. We might be stuck in San Francisco right now. But Aaron and I aren’t here forever. We didn’t choose to skip school and live in the park. This is temporary, and that makes us different in a fundamental way.
“I shouldn’t have assumed,” I say.
Jess puts her hand on my arm and says, “Really. It’s cool. Jordy is one of those activist kids. Always outraged about something.”
I’m about to apologize again when Kissing Boy says, “Okay, this is great and all, but can we please get the hell off the street before somebody sees us and really decides to call the cops? I don’t feel like spending the night in jail.”
“But you met that nice man last time,” Jordy says. “The one who wanted to take your picture.”
“Nah, that was E,” Kissing Boy says, slapping the dreadlocked boy on the butt. “Look how pretty he is.”
“It was only once. And he said he loved me,” E says. “Don’t judge, man.”
Everybody laughs and this time I join them—cautiously at first. I catch Aaron watching me and I cock an eyebrow like, What? It’s funny, right? But this time Jess is the one telling people to shut up.
“Seriously,” she says. “I don’t want to deal with the cops tonight.”
I must still look horrified, because Jess says, “They’ve only called the cops once or twice. But we were being stupid, so . . .”
It doesn’t make me feel better. Suddenly, the night feels darker, colder. The paranoia comes heavy, like a fog. What am I doing out here with these people? Fun for me never involved the threat of police.
Jess smiles, almost embarrassed.
“You’re going to like it. Trust me.”
“We could go back to the park,” Aaron offers. Jordy boos and Jess cocks her head to the side, surprised. But he wants to go with them—with Jess. It’s so obvious. He has one foot already in the direction everybody else has started to walk, and I don’t want to disappoint him.
“We came all this way,” I say, shrugging.
Jess claps her hands once and kisses Aaron, and I look away, catching up with the group as they lead us along more of the same nondescript roads that brought us this far into the neighborhood.
Jess walks casually, as if she were going to
Aaron comes over to me and says, “There’s a beach down here. That’s where we’re going.”
“And why the hell would you think we were going to rob somebody?” One of the boys, wearing a bandana over his short red hair looks offended. “That shit’s racist.”
Dreadlock Guy says, “Dude, you’re white. How in the hell is that racist?”
Bandana Kid thinks for a second and then says, “This chick shows up and thinks we’re going to start stealing? It might not be racist, but it’s definitely not cool.”
Aaron looks embarrassed. It should make me feel at home, because this is who I’ve always been. Abigail, Aaron’s uptight sister.
Dreadlock Guy says, “Hold up, Jordy. Didn’t you get busted for larceny? Like, two weeks ago?”
This fact is met by a collective “Ohhhh!” and Bandana Kid curls his lip and gives his friend—and me—the finger.
“I’m just saying. Shit’s prototypical, that’s all.”
“Jesus. The word is stereotypical , you idiot,” Dreadlock Guy says, turning to look at me with an apologetic smile.
“This is my fault,” Jess says to me. “I thought it would be a surprise. I thought it might be something you haven’t done yet. Because, you know.” She twirls her hand around the neighborhood, taking in all the mansions with a single swipe. “It’s not like people like us are welcome here in rich-bitch country.”
While the rest of them debate the other places we could’ve gone, I focus in on three words: “people like us.” I look at the group. One of them has pulled out a small cigarette, the smoke rising slowly into the night. Their hair is long and stringy, their faces thin and red from constant exposure.
We might be the same age, even have some favoritemovies or books in common. We might be stuck in San Francisco right now. But Aaron and I aren’t here forever. We didn’t choose to skip school and live in the park. This is temporary, and that makes us different in a fundamental way.
“I shouldn’t have assumed,” I say.
Jess puts her hand on my arm and says, “Really. It’s cool. Jordy is one of those activist kids. Always outraged about something.”
I’m about to apologize again when Kissing Boy says, “Okay, this is great and all, but can we please get the hell off the street before somebody sees us and really decides to call the cops? I don’t feel like spending the night in jail.”
“But you met that nice man last time,” Jordy says. “The one who wanted to take your picture.”
“Nah, that was E,” Kissing Boy says, slapping the dreadlocked boy on the butt. “Look how pretty he is.”
“It was only once. And he said he loved me,” E says. “Don’t judge, man.”
Everybody laughs and this time I join them—cautiously at first. I catch Aaron watching me and I cock an eyebrow like, What? It’s funny, right? But this time Jess is the one telling people to shut up.
“Seriously,” she says. “I don’t want to deal with the cops tonight.”
I must still look horrified, because Jess says, “They’ve only called the cops once or twice. But we were being stupid, so . . .”
It doesn’t make me feel better. Suddenly, the night feels darker, colder. The paranoia comes heavy, like a fog. What am I doing out here with these people? Fun for me never involved the threat of police.
Jess smiles, almost embarrassed.
“You’re going to like it. Trust me.”
“We could go back to the park,” Aaron offers. Jordy boos and Jess cocks her head to the side, surprised. But he wants to go with them—with Jess. It’s so obvious. He has one foot already in the direction everybody else has started to walk, and I don’t want to disappoint him.
“We came all this way,” I say, shrugging.
Jess claps her hands once and kisses Aaron, and I look away, catching up with the group as they lead us along more of the same nondescript roads that brought us this far into the neighborhood.
Jess walks casually, as if she were going to
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