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Chapter 2

Want. Take. Have.

It was a lesson thirteen year old Faith had learned quite well. One she put to practice as the mood suited her.

The Nirvana CD fit neatly in the inside pocket of her jean jacket. It didn't matter that she didn't have a CD player at home. She didn't have a tape player either; her mother had pawned that long ago. If she took the CD home, her mother would eventually pawn it too. No, this wasn't about taking something because there was no other way to get it. She took it because she could.

Because it put her one up, helped even the score.

The store's security was abysmal. They had cameras hanging conspicuously in the corners, and metal detectors at the doors. But for all its bark, this dog had no bite. Nothing was ever turned on, according to one of her friends who used to work in the establishment. So Faith walked in, spent a few minutes browsing, slipped the CD into her pocket, and walked out without incurring so much as a glance from the idiot working the cash register.

Bad for them, good for me, she thought.

She had just cleared the front door when she acquired company. A guy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He was lounging outside the shop against the display window, smoking. He took a last drag off his cigarette, flipped the butt to the curb, and appraised her with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You know," he said, falling into step next to her, "everything has a price."

"Not everything," she countered. Her hand almost strayed to touch the hard plastic that bumped against her ribs, but she forced it back into her pocket instead. She wasn't going to be one of the stupid ones who broadcast the fact that they were hiding something. The CD was still there; she didn't need to touch it to be sure.

"Just because you didn't pay now, doesn't mean you won't pay," came the answer. He spoke quietly, but with a lilt to his voice that made her wonder if he had seen her.

"Get lost," she told him flatly.

He shrugged and, to her surprise, ducked down the next alley, disappearing from sight. She actually faltered in her steps at his sudden departure; in her experience no one obeyed so easily. Turning slowly in place, she looked for the strange teenager. The buildings crowded in on both sides of the street and people swarmed the sidewalk. There were plenty of places someone could hide if they felt like not being noticed, but Faith prided herself on knowing the Boston streets, and on knowing how to find even the hidden. She couldn't see any sign of the guy.

Without a second thought, she dismissed him from her mind and resumed walking.

****

A week later she ran into him again at the community center. They were holding a call-out for a community basketball league, which would normally have done nothing for Faith. Except they were offering free pizza.

The building was an old brick affair with many reincarnations in its history. At varying times it had been a warehouse, a bank, an armory, and a restaurant. Recently someone had gutted the inside, leaving only two offices and a small lounge with a broken television set in the front. The rest was stripped to the bare brick walls, crumbling in some places, touches of white paint clinging in others. Pipes supplying the utilities high hung overhead, along with huge free-swinging florescent lights that allowed no shadows beneath them.

There was no air-conditioning.

A plywood wall about ten feet high divided the warehouse part of the building, now being used as a gymnasium. On the larger side basketball hoops were mounted from the brick. The lines necessary for the game, as well as those for a few other games, decorated the floor in a tangle of primary colors. The paint stink was still strong. Five young boys, just entering their teens, huddled beneath one hoop. They had a worn basketball that they occasionally dribbled, kicked, or tossed to some other member of their group. The rest of the time they shuffled in place, clearly unsure of what to do with too many people for two-on-two and not enough for a full-court game.

The rest of the crowd -- a few dozen teenagers -- had found their way to the other side of the divider. There, two long metal tables were set up, each sagging under the weight of stacks of pizza boxes and clusters of two-liter pop bottles. Faith inhaled slowly, careful not to show that she any interest in the offerings. Her stomach did care: it rumbled loudly, seeming to hold its own against the mush of talking, chewing, slurping, and scuffling noises that filled the room.

She ducked her head and hurried to one of the tables before her stomach spoke again. Without even looking at the selection, she grabbed one greasy slice from each of two different boxes and stepped back against the wall, like a cub that had stolen a bit of meat from beneath its father's nose.

She shoved the first piece in her mouth and yelped; the pizza burned. Fanning frantically, she tried to cool the food without it falling out of her mouth. Grease dripped down her chin.

"That's smart," someone said. "Eat quickly so you can get seconds before the pizza's gone." His voice held no hint of sarcasm at all; he sounded like he approved of her method.

Faith looked up to see the guy from the street standing just out of reach. His brown hair was slicked back on his head, and frozen under a layer of gel. He wore a faded gray sweatshirt with the sleeves torn out and a pair of black jeans with claw-mark like tears down both the legs. In one hand he held a piece of pizza, in the other a small plastic cup.

"I'm not your friend," she said, as soon as she swallowed enough to speak clearly.

"Didn't say you were," he responded. One corner of his mouth curled up in a conciliatory smile, independent of the rest of his expression. "It's good, though." He bit off the tip of his slice. "Not used to warm 'za. Breakfast food. That's what it usually is. Someone else's leftovers, right?"

Faith shook her head. "Nah." She rubbed the grease off her chin with the back of her sleeve. "Mom's not one for the sharing."

"Yeah, I get that." He lapsed into silence, eating and drinking with a delicate neatness that seemed out of character. When he finished, he crumpled up the cup and tossed it into a nearby trashcan with a casual gesture.

Faith finished both her pieces, more than happy not to have to talk while doing so, and eyed the nearer table. The empty pizza boxes were starting to accumulate, and two of the waist-high trashcans were on the verge of overflowing, but there was still plenty of food. Many of the other people had drifted away. From the gym side of the divider she could hear the thumping of basketballs in action, and the occasional whoop or groan as someone either made or missed a basket. Those who remained on this side had clustered off and were now just standing around eating and chatting. It sounded like some unofficial team-making was already in the works.

There was nothing to stop her. She returned to the table, to a random box, and selected three slices of pizza. She took a big bite out of the first. While chewing, she folded the other two pieces in half so the crust protected the interior, wrapped them in several layers of paper towel, and stuck the package in the pocket of her jacket. Finally, with the first piece hanging out of her mouth, she poured pop into two of the small cups.

It was getting louder on the gymnasium side. Someone blew a whistle and a herd of shoes pounded across the floor, squeaked to a stop, then pounded back the other way. Faith shook her head. Eventually she'd have to join them, or find a way to sneak out. No way was she going to join one of the stupid teams. But in order to get the free food, she'd had to commit to listening to the spiel. Or at least pretend to listen.

With nowhere better to go, she returned to her spot by the wall. The guy was still there too, leaning against the brick. She mimicked his stance and ignored him while she finished her pizza and both the cups of pop. The stuff was good, all of it.

"All right, I give." Faith said, curiosity beating out her hard won reserve. "Who are you?"

"Some people call me Ash," the teen replied with a slight lifting of his chin. "What's your name?"

Curiosity only extended so far; Faith looked away, deliberately not answering the question.

Ash's lips spread into a wide grin that revealed an upper front tooth that looked like it had grown in sideways. "Okay. Fair enough." He tongued the crooked tooth for a few seconds as if he wanted to say something else, then lapsed back against the wall instead.

[**insert something here**]

"I'm going to see you again," Faith said. It wasn't a question.

"Probably," Ash answered.

"Why?" The word was blunt, but still expressed more than a little displeasure at the notion.

Instead of answering, Ash started patting down his pockets. First his jeans, front and back, then where a breast pocket would be if he's been wearing a shirt that had one. Not finding what was looking for, he did it all again, this time digging into his pockets as if whatever he was seeking had burrowed its way into the lint at the bottom. "Got a smoke?" he asked.

Faith shook her head ‘no,' then added with scorn, "Don't you watch tv? Those things'll kill ya."

"Not me," he said, trying his back pockets one more time. "Coulda sworn I had a few left." Still coming up empty, he exhaled loudly in frustration. "You ever feel the need for someone to acknowledge your existence?"

"What about it?"

"That's all," he said. "Simple as it gets. Towns this size, people put all their energy into not noticing all the other people. That happens, you get people no one notices them at all. Some of ‘em like that; some of ‘em just think they do."

"People only notice you when they're out to get you," Faith responded. "The cops, the teachers, they all act like they know what's best. But they don't know nothing. They don't know the first thing about what's best for me."

[**more??**]


I'm pretty sure there's a snippet of a part three kicking around here somewhere. Otherwise, that's it, folks.