CHAPTER 4

My first school day over, I exited the building into the sunny, March afternoon. Although a strong breeze was blowing, I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt alive, and free.

I could not stop thinking about Jonah.

I wondered if I had acted like an idiot in the cafeteria. I had stumbled over my words; I barely even asked him any questions. All I could think of to ask him was about that stupid viola. I should have asked where he lived, where he was from, where he was applying to college.

Most of all, if he had a girlfriend. Someone like him had to be dating someone.

Just at that moment, a pretty, well-dressed Hispanic girl brushed by me. I looked her up and down as I passed and wondered for a second if it was her.

I turned down 134th street, and for a second, forgot where I was going. I’d never walked home from school before, and for a moment, I blanked on where my new apartment was. I stood there on the corner, disoriented. A cloud covered the sun and a strong wind picked up, and I suddenly felt cold again.

“Hey, amiga!”

I turned and realized I was standing in front of a filthy, corner bodega. Four seedy men sat in plastic chairs before it, seemingly oblivious to the cold, grinning at me as if I were their next meal.

“Come over here, baby!” yelled another.

I remembered.

132nd street. That’s it.

I quickly turned and walked at a brisk pace down another side street. I checked over my shoulder a few times to see if those men were following me. Luckily, they weren’t.

The cold wind stung my cheeks and woke me up, as the harsh reality of my new neighborhood started to sink in. I looked around at the abandoned cars, the graffitied walls, the barbed wire, the bars on all the windows, and I suddenly felt very alone. And very afraid.

It was only 3 more blocks to my apartment, but it felt like a lifetime away. I wId I had a friend at my side—even better, Jonah—and I wondered if I could manage this walk alone every day. Once again, I felt angry at my mom. How could I keep moving me, keep putting me in new places that I hated? When would it ever end?

Broken glass.

My heart beat faster as I saw some activity up on the left, on the other side of the street. I walked quickly and tried to keep my head down, but as I got closer, I heard yells and grotesque laughter, and I couldn’t help but notice what was going on.

Four huge kids—18 or 19, maybe—stood over another kid. Two of them held his arms, while the third stepped in and punched him in the gut, and the fourth stepped up and punched him in the face. The kid, maybe 17, tall, thin and defenseless, fell to the ground. Two of the boys stepped up and kicked him in the face.

Despite myself, I stopped and stared. I was horrified. I had never seen anything like it.

The other two kids took a few steps around their victim, then raised their boots high and brought them down.

I was afraid they were going to stomp the kid to death.

“NO!” I screamed.

There was a sick crunching sound as they brought their feet down.

But it wasn’t the sound of broken bone—rather, it was the sound of wood. Crunching wood. I saw that they were stomping a small, musical instrument. I looked closely and saw bits and pieces of a viola all over the sidewalk.

I raised my hand to my mouth in horror.

“Jonah!?”

Without thinking, I crossed the street, right to the pack of guys, who had by now begun to notice me. They looked at me and their evil smiles broadened as they elbowed each other.

I walked right up to the victim and saw that it was indeed Jonah. His face was bleeding and bruised, and he was unconscious.

I looked up at the pack of kids, my anger overpowering my fear and stood between Jonah and them.

“Leave him alone!” I shouted to the group.

The kid in the middle, at least six-four, muscular, laughed back.

“Or what?” he asked, his voice very deep.