I hit the concrete hard.

I just managed to save my forehead from bashing into the ground by landing on my chest with my arms beneath me, but my skin still raked against the cement.

No sooner had they thrown me to the ground of the alleyway did the four gangster minions yank me back up again and started socking me in the gut.

I doubled over as two took turns pounding me again and again while the other two held me up.

"Still think you're quick you little shit?" One snarled in my face. I could barely make out his appearance through my rapidly blackening vision but the slight Italian accent made it clear this was the Calabrese gang. He punched me in the eye.

"Think you can fuck with our run and get away with it boy?" They threw me to the ground again and I landed on my side. They all took turns kicking my back and stomach several times each and I desperately curled into a ball with my hands over my head like I was taught. Sirens wailed distantly, it might have been close and my hearing was just shot but I doubted it. The police probably were looking for the Calabreses, just not beating up some nameless 12 year-old boy in a back alley.

I laid on my back on the damp concrete for a while after they left, the blood that was leaking from my nose and mouth starting to drip onto the ground. Eventually I managed to turn onto my side with a groan and start to flex my limbs again to see if anything was seriously broken.

The pain in my wrists was the worst, but all ten fingers worked.

I call that a win.

I struggled to my feet with another groan and limped over to the dumpster that was tucked between the two buildings on either side of me. It was also damp, but not with rain. Some kind of sticky thing that smelled distinctly like urine and rotten meat. I rested my forearms on the lid and blinked most of my headache away, then wiped my face the best I could with the hem of my shirt. The stretched black fabric came away stained even darker with blood.

It was 7am. It was also Sunday though so most shops opened later, which meant owners wouldn't be around for another few hours. I could still make it to a couple and try and find some food or pawnable goods.

But as soon as I let go of the dumpster my left ankle gave out and I fell. The rocky ground cut up my forearms as I landed. With a sigh I painfully got to my feet once again and began limping home. Mrs. Lawrence would be very disappointed in me if I didn't come straight home while I was in this state anyway, and I was in no shape to flee. I could already hear her scolding at me in her deep cocaine-induced voice.

Not one of the bustling Chicago civilians gave me a second glance as me and my bruises and cuts made our way up Grand Ave to good old St. Clair. After the second block my ankle got it together a little more and I stopped limping as much.

I reached the home alleyway and gave Penny Boy's gloved fist a bump as I passed his guard spot.

He squinted his good eye at me through the tangles of his long, greasy grey hair. "Tough mornin' kid?" He said in his raspy voice.

"Coulda been worse. I'm okay."

"Atta boy," he winked. Well, blinked. Penny Boy's left eye had been a shimmery milky white ever since I could remember and I don't think I've ever actually seen it close. "Tell Simon he owe me dinner when you up. And toss down a cig, will you?"

"Sure thing PB."

I pulled myself on top of the familier dumpster, this one smelling more like urine and sweet and sour sauce, and began climbing up the black steel fire escape ladder of the Dragonfly hotel.

I swung my legs over the side of the rooftop and winced a little as my feet hit the ground. I headed for Mrs. Lawrence's corner, stepping over the limbs of the bundled slugs that were still sleeping. I ducked under Candy's hammock and Santiago and I did the two minute-long handshake we'd made up last summer as I passed his camp. I told Simon he owed PB dinner and he scoffed and tossed an apple over the side of the roof as an offering. When I reached Mrs. Lawrence's carpet the old woman was awake, cross-legged and glaring at me.

"The hell did you do to yourself boy? I told you no tangling with them mobsters no more!" She screeched so loud I'm pretty sure all of Chicago heard it.

I dropped to my knees and then to my stomach on the carpet beside her. It smelled like weed but it cushioned the cuts and bruises on my forearms. "They were gangsters," I corrected, "not mobsters. There's a difference."

"No sassing me boy!" She hit my back with her cane and I curled into a ball with a groan. She poked me onto lying on my back and yanked my shirt up.

"Noooo," I whined as she inspected the bruising starting to erupt all around my chest and gut. The nippy air breezed over the hot marks and it eased the pain for a moment before making me shiver.

"You lucky to be alive boy," the old woman retracted her cane and I shoved my shirt back down. She snatched a blanket from beside her and threw it at me. The scratchy wool landed on my face and I took it off and bundled underneath it.

"You ain't worth the bit of ointment we got left," I heard her say from underneath the blanket.

I took it off of my face sheepishly. "Sorry Mrs. Lawrence."

"Yeah, yeah, you always are," the old woman muttered, rummaging through her mystical leather bag that had everything from cat hair to seashells in it. "How many?"

"Four. Calabrese gang. I got one of their customers before they could and they got me cornered on 5th," I mumbled. My head was starting to get fuzzy and I couldn't really hear myself speak. I shifted around on my back trying to get comfortable on the rock hard cement.

"Why did you go down that alleyway anyway? You know there ain't no fire escapes on that one."

"I wasn't paying attention," I mumbled, starting to feel light headed.

"My ass."

"It was fluff!" I defended myself. "The good stuff too and I knew it worth a lotta money so I ran as fast as I could away from them." I curled further into a ball as hunger started to knaw in my stomach. The Calabreses had got me before I could make it to Bakewell's and they took what I had gotten from the Plaid Pantry, so I hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday's breakfast.

"Look at me," Mrs. Lawrence commanded. I threw the blanket over my head again but she ripped it off. "Axel!"

I managed to keep my eyes open in a daze and let her dab at the bashes on my face with some kind of cold liquid, until slowly her methodical movement and my exhausted bones lulled me into sleep.

/

"There's no goddamn cheez-its," I whined, angrily slamming the pantry cupboard door shut.

"Language young man!" The Captain yelled from the living room.

I went through all the other snack cabinets in the house and all there were was just granola bars, cereal, cheese puffs and fruit snacks. No cheez-its in sight.

It was bullshit. An affront to all that is good --an affront to society! I was being oppressed, goddamnit!

I came dragging my feet into where Captain Chambers was sitting on one of the couches in the living room, and saw her raising her eyebrows in expectation of an apology.

"Sorry," I mumbled reluctantly.

"There's goldfish," the retired captain offered.

"They're not the same thing," I crossed my arms in a huff.

"Finish your homework," she directed, waving to the kitchen table.

"But it's history," I moaned. "History is stupid!"

"Jesus, I wasn't aware I was babysitting a little girl."

I fumed silently, then stalked back over to the kitchen table.

"Tell you what, do two more questions, then we can play Call of Duty, huh?" Ms. Chambers proposed with a smirk.

"Oh you're on," I smiled devilishly back. I picked up my pencil to continue these infuriatingly boring questions about the boring fucking American Revolution again.

Captain Chambers was pretty cool. She wasn't my "babysitter," purely because I am not a baby, and she used to be my parent's old captain, so she was a close family friend. All I had were family friends, what with mom and dad and their remaining families being gone on tours all the time, but I was fine with her staying to look after me. None of my friends had a cool grandma/aunt (I'd never call her my grandma though, for fear of being judo flipped) who was totally awesome at shooting aliens, zombies, stormtroopers, or bad guys, and could teach me how to fight in real life. Or could tell me super embarrassing stories about my parents. That was definitely a plus.

"I totally thrashed Stryker on the rock wall at school today," I boasted.

"Homework," Mrs. Chambers reminded me. "And don't go telling your father that."

"I totally did though!" I exclaimed. "He pushed me off and I fell like six feet but I got back on and overtook his ass."

"Okay your mouth is a big problem," she said from the living room.

"When will my parents be back again?" I muttered.

"I can and will let you starve," she warned.

"Dad would be proud of me, I dunno what you're talking about."

"I'm sure he is proud of you for beating his best friend's son in some stupid rock wall game."

"Mom would be."

"I know for a fact that you can't do homework and talk at the same time."

"Bet."

"Andrews!"

"We're having another competition tomorrow after school," I ignored her. "Sams gonna be there."

"You two are going to get yourselves seriously hurt if you keep doing dangerous stunts just to impress her."

"She's hot," I shrugged shamelessly. Just thinking about her pretty long blonde hair got me rearing to go in tomorrow's competition against that asshole Stryker Phillps.

"Definitely don't let your mother hear you say that." I heard the sound of newspaper rustling. "And come on, that girl is so dense and self-centered I bet she doesn't even know you exist."

"Does too! She kissed me on the cheek that one time remember?"

"No, really? I've never heard you talk about that before."

I slammed my pencil down. "Done!" I jumped up from the table and hurried behind me into the living room. "Okay okay okay can we play now?"

Captain Chambers just stared at me, her eyes running up and down my body like a scanner.

"What?" I asked.

She tilted her head, her greying blond hair in its iconic ponytail. "You look more and more like your father everyday," she said.

I retracted my head in surprise. The Captain never said soft shit like that. "Thanks?" I was used to people telling me exactly that at this point, apparently I'm a carbon copy of my Dad even at 12 years-old, but to hear it from her was... weird.

"Did you grow recently?"

At that comment I proudly straightened up. "Yes ma'am. The doctor at the academy said I grew three inches. I'm taller than Stryker now," I said with a smirk. "And he said my abs are coming in."

"Harrison you don't need to be constantly comparing yourself to that boy," she rolled her brown eyes. "And you don't have abs."

"Can we play COD now?" I ignored her and begged.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. But don't cry like a girl when you lose."

"Oh please," I scoffed, walking over to set up the video game. "I don't lose, Captain."

/

I think the pain woke me up. I fluttered my eyes open and saw that it was dark outside. Had I seriously slept the whole day? Mrs. Lawrence was going to be mad.

I shifted in my blanket cocoon. My feet stuck out the end so I curled up into a ball even though it hurt the bruises on my stomach. We didn't have any blankets bigger than this one to spare right now so I sucked it up.

I heard soft voices, and the small humming of the crank heater someone managed to get from a camping supply warehouse a few months ago. It didn't produce a great amount of heat, but it was better than nothing. I turned on my side to face the middle of the rooftop and saw Mrs. Lawrence and old man Herman sitting on milk crates around the heater. She was knitting and he was drinking.

"I worry for that boy sometimes," Mrs. Lawrence sighed.

Herman glugged back the bottle of whiskey he was holding and then wiped his mouth with the back of his greasy hand. "He never gets caught, and he be smart and he be quick. Everyone here raised him and we gon protect him no matter what."

"It's not that," Mrs. Lawrence shook her head. "I worry that this will be his life. Axel is a good kid, who's just been dealt shit cards. He don't deserve this life, he deserves a house and a normal family and a real education. He's never seen the ocean or mountains or rivers or forests, and he never will if he stays here. He deserves to live."

Oh. They were talking about me. I quickly shut my eyes in feigned sleep in case they saw me.

"He's alive, ain't he? That's living."

"Being alive doesn't mean you be living," Mrs. Lawrence said. "He's surviving. That ain't the same thing."

"Well, life is life," I heard Herman say.

"He has been beaten up by thugs and gang members, dealt cocaine and stolen from church dumpsters --all to help this community survive," Mrs. Lawrence stressed. I heard the cranking of the heater and then she continued, "he has seen people OD. We raised him to be a thief, 'cause this world abandons everyone who can't conform to their goddamn standards. Money is all that matters to them fat cats. All of us here have lived in a house at one point or another --he never has. And it isn't fair when he has done nothing to deserve a life of running and hiding. He was born into this world by parents who never gave a shit about him, and if Jane ever comes back, I'll kick her off this fucking roof."

I mean I did steal a lot. So maybe I did deserve to live like this, homeless and scavenging.

When she said Jane, I didn't know how to feel. She was my mom I guess, but hadn't been a very good one. Mrs. Lawrence, or anyone here, never talked about my parents. But that didn't bother me. I had a family right here. Blood doesn't guarantee love, and it definitely doesn't guarantee protection. I'm the camp kid, raised by everyone here since I was a baby. And I didn't know what I was missing by not living in a house or having a normal kid life, but I didn't want any of that. I'm happy here with Mrs. Lawrence and Herman and PB and Candy and Santiago and everyone. Yeah I get chased and have to steal everything but at least I have people who care about me.

"I feel horrible about what he gets into 'cause of us," she said. "'Cause of me, I'm the one who's supposed to be responsible for him --none of the rest of y'all are ever clean enough to do a good job."

"Hey--

"You know I'm right." More cranking. "He is always bruised and his clothes are always ripped and we can only teach him so much math and science from up here."

"Who says he need to know how to divide numbers?" Herman scoffed. "Only thing he need to know is how to survive on them streets, and fuckin' calculus ain't gonna help."

"He should know how to read good books," Mrs. Lawrence asserted. "Sure, those classics are all written by old white men a hundred years ago, but they're good stories. He has to be able to find joy in doing safe things, not dangling his feet off of the highest buildings in Chicago. Not to mention basic health knowledge."

Herman snorted, which then erupted into coughing. I could practically hear Mrs. Lawrence's disappointed eyebrows as the old man hacked. "Exactly my point," she said dryly.

"You ain't always been so clean yourself Mary Anne," Herman reminded her by her first name.

"No, but I saw the risks and got myself together --for the sake of him, which is more than the rest of you can say. And 'cause of that, we ain't gonna be around much longer. And we gotta be damn strong for when he's a teenager and don't want to listen to us no more. His father was a reckless idiot, and he will be too. There is so much trouble he can get in if he ain't careful, and once he's 18 he gonna be charged as an adult if he gets caught and he gonna go to prison. Herman," she whispered, "I don't want him to end up like his parents --or any of us, for that matter."

"What's wrong with us?"

"An addict, a convict, a drunk, and a father by the age of 16."

My eyes flew open and got really wide at that terrifying thought. Is that really what I'm destined for?

"I see what you saying," Herman sighed. "But... what can any of us do 'bout that? Call child services? Cause he ain't go with them without a fight."

"He's right!" I broke out of my blanket, tripped over it a little, and hurried over to the two grandparents of camp. "I don't wanna leave you guys!"

"How long have you been listening, you little eavesdropper?" Mrs. Lawrence squinted up at me.

"I don't want a normal life like that, I want this," I said, pointing around me at everyone's camps spread out around the roof.

"Axel."

"I don't!" I said.

Herman beckoned me and I sat down on the ground in front of the heater next to them. "We want what's best for you, Axe."

"But I like it here."

Mrs. Lawrence looked down at me with pity, but also love. "You have been desensitized to the hell you're really living in."

"Hell wouldn't have those donuts from Scribble's," I said. "Or London's magic tricks."

Mrs. Lawrence and Herman exchanged looks.

"You wanna stay here? Your whole life?" Herman asked me. "Never see the world, or at least another state?"

"I can sneak on a ferry to Michigan," I suggested.

Herman chuckled, a deep rumble in his tainted lungs. "Michigan ain't got shit."

"You have a good heart Axel," Mrs. Lawrence said. "And we are very proud of you for that. You're nice, humble, thoughtful, selfless. You make the most of every situation, but you don't understand that your situation isn't a good one."

"I am 12 years old," I told them assertively. "I know what I'm doing and what I want. And what I want is to stay here with my family, which is all of you guys," I pointed around me at the camp. "You said I'mma be a reckless teenager but I won't. Soon it gonna be my turn to return all them favors you done for me."

"They weren't favors Axe, it was just looking after," Mrs. Lawrence smiled.

"Well then I will look after you," I said as firmly as I could. "I'll provide for my family, like men do."

Mrs. Lawrence scowled at Herman across from her. "Most men."

"Hey!"

Mrs. Lawrence laughed and cranked the heater again until the pitiful warmth came back. "You got a good spirit Axel."

"Thank you."

"We've raised you well."

"Well I did get beat up today so I dunno..." I teased.

"Go back to your mat boy!" Mrs. Lawrence shooed me off and I retreated to my corner.