Charly's Epic Fiascos by Kelli London

she felt for change she knew wasn’t there. She didn’t know how much train fare was or where she was going, but she had to go somewhere. She couldn’t just stay in Chinatown, and, as far as she was concerned, she had no home to return to. The only thing in front of her was space and opportunity. She was free to go wherever she wanted and take advantage of every good possibility life had to offer.
    â€œYo, Charly!” Solomon’s voice called from behind. “Char-lee!”
    Charly zipped around the back of a passing car, then took a quick look over her shoulder. Solomon was standing on the other side of the street in front of the dragon wagon station. His hands were cupped around his mouth, and he was still calling her name. When her foot stepped onto the sidewalk and she knew she was safe from passing traffic, she turned. Solomon was so cute and helpful, but that wasn’t enough to make her change direction. She didn’t want him to think her ungrateful or, worse, someone who disappeared once they’d received what they wanted, but she didn’t want to go backward. Backward was equivalent to past tense in her mind, and all she wanted to see now was what the future held for her. She shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, Solomon!” she yelled, hoping he could hear her over the flow of traffic. “But I gotta go. No buses are leaving from there.”
    He was yelling something she couldn’t make out when she entered the Red Line station. Other traingoers flanked both her sides, going through the turnstiles, then heading to the platform. She didn’t know exactly where she was headed to, but there had to be another alternative to get her to New York. The dragon wagon couldn’t be the only bus. “Here goes,” she said, pulling out cash to pay the fare. Her heart dropped, then sped when she noticed there were no coin or dollar slots for her to insert the money. A sticker on the turnstile caught her attention.

    Farecards only—main entrance 1 block south
    Â 
    CTA Red Line

    Charly grimaced. She was no geographer or astrologer; she had no idea which direction was south. She shrugged, keeping the fare money in her hand, and ignoring the impatient complaints of a few people behind her.
    â€œOkay,” she said, looking to her left, then right. She knew what she was about to do would be considered wrong, but, to her, consider was the operative word. Her intentions were good and she had every intention of paying, and would do so. She’d just pay the fare to the first CTA employee she saw, then her entering without a fare-card wouldn’t really be stealing. Not at all , she assured herself, putting her hands on the top of the turnstile and lifting her body over it.
    Hands were gripping the back of her arm before she could jump the turnstile completely. “Come with me,” a female Chicago transit cop said from behind, pulling her back.
    Charly held out her hand once her feet were planted firmly on the ground. “Here. I have my fare right here. I swear.”
    â€œThat’s good,” the small-framed female cop said. She was smaller than Charly in stature, but her presence was huge, especially because she carried a firearm. “I’m sure your mother will be happy to hear that. I’d just love it if my child had money to pay for something and then stole it,” she said, walking through the turnstile herself, then sliding her arm through Charly’s. She led her down a walkway to an inconspicuous door. “You just gave me something to do. I’m just getting here, and already I have paperwork to process, thanks to you.”
    â€œBut—” Charly began to protest and explain.
    â€œBut nothing,” the officer said, removing a key ring from a loop on her pants, then searching for one. “I can’t believe this,” she complained, still looking for a key. “I left it in the cruiser.” She took a