Jotober 10: “Oversized Sweaters”
Victoria shivered and glowered at the concrete, tracing the cracks with her eyes instead of looking at the other nervous initiates. The other wandering hopefuls who’d landed here in search of a place to stay. This gang was supposed to be very accepting, a place for fresh cutouts to get on their feet, a place to learn the ropes, but some people were too fresh even for this place.
Night had fallen. It frightened her slightly, the way there were no streetlights here in the alleys to make the darkness like day. This was not civilian territory. It was not warm. Nobody was being allowed back inside until they’d made a decision.
They weren’t guaranteed a place even if they wanted one. They were the ones who hadn’t been able to prove their worth, who had to think of a better offer or leave. One by one, they stiffened their shoulders and disappeared back behind the heavy metal door or sighed and walked away.
The ugly boy was talking to himself. She didn’t like thinking of him as the ugly one, but it was true. He was very pale so the dirt showed clearly, and his many white braids were coming undone. He paced, and his walk was more of a lope, a forward shrug, or a stumble.
Victoria was reminded of a story her mother had once told her about an ugly bird that was only ugly because it wasn’t brought up among its own kind, of how it grew up to be a beautiful swan, and she looked away. Thinking about her mother and the success of others was not about to help her make this decision.
Then the boy made an annoyed sound and loped over, pulling off his red sweater—he was wearing a different red sweater underneath. Victoria didn’t know why he wore so much red. It only made his red eyes look even more intense.
“Oi,” he snapped at her. “Y’want this thing? It don’t come down at my fists no more an’ I’m sick of it.”
She froze for a second, then couldn’t help it. “Doesn’t. Any more.”
“Look, if you ain’t eyes about it, I’m makin’ it a scarf or somethin’, so speak now or forever hold your peas or whatever.”
She smiled in spite of herself. The fact that he didn’t discard something just because its immediate purpose no longer served him was…heartening. She accepted and gratefully pulled the sweater over her head. It was too big for her, but it was warm and smelled of wet pavement and ladybugs and fire. Autumn. “Thank you.”
“Yeah. A’ least you got room to grow.” He actually smiled.
“Have,” Victoria corrected.
The smile turned back into a scowl. The boy rolled his eyes. “Hokay. Look, I’m gonna give this another turn, y’know? Show ‘em I’m gonna pest ‘em til they slip me. You stayin’ or offin’?”
She hesitated. She’d intended to go. But now she owed him for the sweater, and the thought of surrender was too bitter a pill to swallow. Besides, she had armor now.
“Stayin’,” she said and started forward.
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