Nora & Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

out. My torn-up back scrapes against the frame. I let out a whimper but as I lean out, curving to the side so I can clear the fire escape, the cool night air is a respite to my burning skin. My arm punches out, comb in hand, and I release it. As I hear it clink in the alley, it makes me smile. I don’t search for it. I don’t look down. I retract my arm, put my hand on my chest, and breathe a sigh of satisfaction. Maybe this way part of her will reach beyond the prison of these walls.
    He’s trying to rob me of my freedom, my confidence and self-respect. I’m just going to plain rob him.

 
    15. TRUST AND FAIRY DUST
    KETTLE
     
    “I’m tired of sleeping in the alley, Kettle. We’ve earned a lot of bread this week. Wouldn’t you like to take a hot shower and sleep in a real bed for once?” Kin asks after swallowing a large mouthful of hot dog and mustard-soaked bun. He’s so loud when he eats that I can hear the cartoon-like gulp. He likes to think he has good manners, but years on the street have etched them out to more of a faded manual.
    I shake my head as we walk, crossing my arms against the cold. “Is your head hollow? I swear, I can hear every chomp and chew even though your mouth is closed!”
    Kin grins at me and opens his mouth to expose a mashed-up ball of food on his tongue. “Oh yuck!” He proceeds to keep his mouth open and in my face until I say, “Look, a hotel room costs as much as it would to feed us all for days. You know we can’t.” I try to connect with his annoyed eyes, although I’m finding the open mouth and the looks we’re getting just a little distracting.
    Kin finally shuts his yap and faces forward.
    Suddenly, his arm shoots out and he shoves me, my shoulder hitting a poster with rosy-cheeked kids smiling over a plate of “Vitamin Donuts.” I make a mental note to buy them next time I’m at the store.
    I rub my shoulder and am about to punch him back when he says, “Sometimes, it’s okay to be selfish. Even if it’s just once in a blue moon.” He’s smiling. And I know he’ll go along with what I say even if he doubts me. He’s annoying, proud, and arrogant, but he’s loyal.
    “Maybe. But it’s only one more night before we can go home,” I chirp, hooking my fingers in my belt loops and increasing the pace. Each step is a strain on my aching muscles, but the promise of being home is enough for me to want to rush to a resting place and close my eyes so the next day can come.
    The temperature of the air sinks as we walk. Streetlamps flicker on as the sun slips below the level of the high rises, glowing over the blackened stones of the tired buildings that always seem to appear wet even when it’s not raining. We step around the crowd, picking our way through like we’re playing a game of hopscotch. Kin whistles, and I try to pretend I’m not associated with him.
    My bag is pressed close to my hip, the money sitting there like a hot coal that may burn a hole through the canvas. I nervously lay my palm on it and look ahead. Kin knocks his head toward the alley between the burned-out apartment building and the fancy brownstone again. I nod. It’s a good spot because there aren’t people watching us from above.
    He scoots into the alley and heads to the dumpster we slept against last night. The dark in here is almost complete. Just a slice of waxy moonlight that doesn’t want to lower itself to come into the alley shows at the two street ends. We curl into the shadows and sink to the hard ground.
    Backs against the wall, we prop our elbows up on our knees and gaze at the small rectangle of sky above us.
    “Would you like to live up there?” Kin starts, his voice airy and philosophical.
    The back of my head rubs against the grimy wall. It doesn’t much matter. I’ve accepted that on these days, I’m filthy. There’s nothing I can do about it. Water tumbles past my ears as someone uses the bathroom in the brownstone. “Up there. What? In the sky?”
    He slaps