from a prolific 14 year old straight edge authoress
Gavin hid the box
and then stayed on the roof awhile, looking down at the city. When he
turned, a little kid, only about eight or nine years old, was
standing next to him. Age was no matter, though. A lot of little kids
went to parties like that and dealt with drugs too. The kid looked
like he was in a gang, like Cheryl.
"Hey," said Gavin. The kid stared at him. He had baggy jeans
on and he was holding onto a cigarette. He said, "Yo. Who're you?"
Gavin told him.
"Oh, you're Raven," said the kid.
"I didn't know I was that well known," said Gavin. The kid
said, "Yeah, well, you're pretty cool, and the crack you get. It's
the best crack I've had in a long time."
Gavin wondered how long the boy had been doing drugs. Since
he was four? Maybe five? What a wasted life.
"You can thank The Boss for that," he said, and then added,
"I've gotta jet now. Enjoy the view." He left the kid and went
downstairs to wait the party out.
He waited it out until one in the morning. Everyone was
either asleep or unconscious. It was a typical drug party. A small
fight had broken out, which didn't last long because a lot of kids
were on marijuana and hadn't fought that well. Jeff had gotten
himself drunk, which Gavin guessed was better than getting high. He
decided to leave Jeff there for the time being. Jeff could take care
of himself. Gavin went up to the roof, got the box of money, and went
down the fire escape. He walked in the street the rest of the way
home. The sidewalks were too dangerous. When he got home, he looked
at the money briefly, and then decided to stash it under the bed. He
wouldn't have to worry about his Mom. She never cleaned his room.