Nancy says that I shouldn't go near the neighborhood nearby.
She says that there are plenty of run-down, crooked, dusty houses with paint peeling. Still with all those houses, there are somehow tons of homeless people lying down on the sidewalks. Nancy also says that the trash on the floor goes up to her ankles. And the only thing cleaning that trash are the speeding motorcycles, driven by thugs, which one of them tried to steal her sister's wallet.
Finally, Nancy sighed and droned about how she had to go through this just for a fourth grade project.
To this day, three years later, i'm still scared to go to that place. I trust Nancy's descriptions of this "ghetto neighborhood" nearby.
Speaking of Nancy, she's pounding on my door as I write this, sitting high in my bathroom sink (don't ask).
"JOCELYN. OPEN UP!!" Nancy yelled. As you can tell, she's just as dramatic as she was at 9 years old. "JOCELYN, DON'T MAKE ME COME IN THERE!"
"ALRIGHT, I'M COMING!" I responded, hopping out of the bathroom sink.
I propped open the door to find Nancy, a slim girl with tan skin and chin-length brown hair. Today, she was wearing a red sundress.
"What is it?" I asked, tilting my head. "I thought you'd still be asleep right now."
Nancy blinked at me like I was the one being weird.
“Sleep?” she echoed. “Jocelyn, it’s basically midday.”
I squinted past her shoulder into the hallway.
“It is not,” I said automatically.
Nancy lifted her wrist and checked a watch she definitely wasn’t wearing.
“It is,” she decided. “Anyway—get dressed.”
“Get dressed for what?” I asked.
Nancy stepped into my room without waiting for permission, like she’d been paying rent here since third grade. She spun once, sundress swishing, then planted both hands on her hips.
“For your weekly dose of character development,” she said.
I stared.
“I don’t want character development,” I said. “I want cereal.”
“Too late. Character development already chose you.” She leaned toward me, eyes bright. “I need you to come with me.”
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"Where," I asked.
Nancy’s grin wobbled at the edges, like she was trying to keep it in place.
“Just—near the shops,” she said.
Near the shops.
My brain immediately supplied the rest: the street Nancy had described years ago, the one I’d turned into a whole monster in my head without ever seeing it myself.
I tried to laugh, but it came out thin.
“You mean the neighborhood,” I said.
Nancy made a dismissive noise, too fast. “It’s not—”
She cut herself off, like she’d almost said something honest.
“What do you need me for?” I asked, forcing the words out.
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"Come on," Nancy crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You know what happened in fourth grade. Drunk people walking across the streets, hello?"
"Fine." I gave in. "But if one of us get mugged, i'm blaming it on you."
As soon as Nancy heard that, her pout morphed into a smile as she said,
"Come on, Jocelyn. Let's go!"
ns216.73.217.115da2
and then Add to home screen.