Chapter 1
“I said FREEZE!” the officer yelled.
Micheal ran as fast as his legs could carry him, dodging pedestrians and weaving between shopfronts. Heads turned to see the commotion, curious as to who was being chased this time. Hearing the police in pursuit wasn’t unusual in this neighborhood, but seeing them after a ten-year-old boy was something new.
The officers were far enough behind that Micheal still had a chance. If he could just make it to the alley behind the butcher’s shop, he might lose them. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath shallow and panicked, but he pushed his legs harder. He had to get away. His freedom depended on it.
“Stop that kid!” one of the officers shouted.
Nobody moved to help or stop him. Micheal knew they wouldn’t. This was the kind of town where people watched from a distance, unwilling to risk their own necks. He had learned a long time ago that he couldn’t rely on anyone. He was on his own.
In the corner of his vision, the blue-and-silver flash of the officers’ badges taunted him. A line separated those who enforced the law and those who tried to survive it. Here, innocence wasn’t a right. It was something you had to earn.
“Don’t make me shoot!”
Micheal turned the corner sharply and saw the butcher shop ahead. He sprinted faster, willing his aching legs to carry him to the alley. He just needed to disappear for a moment—just long enough to catch his breath. But as he rounded the corner into the alley, his foot caught the edge of a trash can, sending him sprawling across the ground. The clattering metal echoed through the narrow passage, far too loud.
Get up. Don’t stop. His mind screamed at him as he scrambled to his feet. His knees throbbed where they had hit the concrete, but he couldn’t think about the pain now. Ahead of him, the fence marked his way out. If he could get over it, he could disappear into Main Street, away from the cops, away from—
“Stop right there!”
He didn’t stop. Micheal launched himself at the fence, grabbing the top and pulling himself over, legs dangling before he dropped heavily on the other side. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground, rolling onto his back. Above him, the metal fence rattled as the officers grabbed hold, shaking it in frustration.
“We just wanna talk, kid!”
His heart pounded harder. No one talks with guns.
Without waiting to hear more, Micheal pushed himself up and kept running. His legs were close to giving out, and his lungs burned, but he couldn’t stop now. He only had a few more blocks to go, but then the distant sound of sirens reached his ears. Micheal’s chest tightened as panic surged through him.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He ran past the fire station, his feet skidding to a stop in front of its door. His mind raced. Maybe—just maybe—someone here would help him. The firefighters had always promised they’d be there when people needed them. Heroes, right?
He banged on the door, his hands trembling from the adrenaline surging through his veins. “Help! Please, open up!” His voice cracked with desperation. Don’t leave me out here. Not like last time.
The fire station was dark. No trucks, no movement inside. Micheal’s heart sank. It was abandoned, like everything else in this town. His fists slammed harder against the door. “Hey! Please! Anyone!”
But no one came. The sirens were growing louder, and with them, the memories.
His father’s voice echoed in his head, a bitter reminder of promises broken. “I’ll always be there for you, Mikey. You can count on me.”
Except he wasn’t. He never was. Micheal’s throat tightened, a knot of anger and grief mixing with the raw panic that burned in his chest. You said you’d be there. You’re all liars. He gritted his teeth, blinking back the sting in his eyes.
“You’re all liars! I hate you!” he yelled into the empty street, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.
He pushed away from the door, running again, but slower now. His legs felt like lead, and the pain in his knees was making it harder to move. He wasn’t sure how much further he could go, but he couldn’t stop. Not here. Not with the cops so close.
He wasn’t far from school, just a few blocks away. If he could make it there, he’d be safe for a little while. But as he turned the corner, he slammed into someone. The impact knocked him back, but hands quickly grabbed him, rough and firm.
“Well, well, well. Look what we’ve got here,” sneered a voice.
Micheal looked up, fear twisting in his gut. Two guys loomed over him—one was stocky, wearing a trench coat, and the other was skinny, in an oversized T-shirt.
“What’s a kid like you doing in our part of town?” T-shirt Guy asked, his voice mocking.
“I’m just trying to get to school!” Micheal shouted, struggling in their grip.
Trench Coat Guy grinned, pulling Micheal’s backpack off his shoulders. “Just making sure, Shrimp.”
“HEY! That’s mine!” Micheal shouted as the guy dumped the contents of his backpack onto the sidewalk. Notebooks, pencils, and loose papers scattered across the pavement. Nothing valuable, nothing that would interest them.
“Nothing but school crap,” Trench Coat muttered.
“I told you!” Micheal’s voice cracked. “Can I go now?”
A third voice spoke up, casual but commanding. “Hold up. Cops are close. He brought them here.”
Micheal’s heart sank. Another figure approached, cigarette hanging from his lips. This one was older, maybe high school age, with a bit of scruffy facial hair and a laid-back attitude that didn’t match the intensity of the situation.
“What do we do with him, King?” asked T-shirt Guy.
King pulled up his shirt to reveal a small black gun tucked into his waistband. Micheal’s mouth went dry, his body tense with fear. But he refused to let them see it. If he showed them he was scared, they’d use it against him.
King’s smile was cold as he pointed the gun toward Micheal. “Let him go. He’ll lead the cops away.”
T-shirt Guy shoved Micheal hard, pushing him back toward the street. “Get going, kid. And don’t bring them back here.”
Micheal grabbed his backpack and ran, ignoring the pain in his legs. The sirens were still closing in, but now his school was finally in sight. He slowed down, realizing he was already late. The bell had already rung, and the principal would chew him out the moment he walked in.
Before he could make it through the doors, though, a hand gripped his shoulder.
“Gotcha!”
Micheal spun around, heart pounding, to see the two officers standing behind him. They grabbed his arms, holding him in place.
“You’re coming with us,” one of them said, his voice stern.
“No! Let me go! I didn’t do anything!” Micheal thrashed weakly, his strength spent from the chase.
“That’s enough!” a sharp, authoritative voice rang out.
Both officers froze. Micheal recognized the voice instantly, relief washing over him.
“Ms. Mendoza!”
She marched toward them, heels clicking against the pavement, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. “What do you think you’re doing with my student?”
The officers exchanged glances. “We’re just—”
“Where’s your arrest warrant?” Ms. Mendoza’s voice was firm, unwavering.
“He’s a suspect in an investigation,” one officer said.
Ms. Mendoza’s hand remained outstretched. “Unless you have a warrant, you’re not taking him anywhere.”
Micheal could feel the officers tighten their grip on him, their frustration palpable. His heart raced, but now it wasn’t just from fear. There was something comforting about Ms. Mendoza’s presence, something solid.
“Ma’am, we’re just doing our job,” one officer insisted. “We just wanted to ask him some questions. He was running from the direction of the café—”
“Warrant,” she repeated, her voice cold.
The officers stood frozen for a moment, clearly unprepared to be challenged. After a tense pause, they released Micheal.
“He’s still a suspect,” one muttered before they turned and walked away.
Micheal took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the morning lift slightly. Ms. Mendoza knelt beside him, her voice softer now. “Why didn’t your foster parents drive you to school today?”
“They didn’t wake up,” Micheal muttered.
Ms. Mendoza sighed, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Micheal.”
Micheal didn’t respond. That’s what everyone says. He wanted to believe her, but how could he? His parents were gone. His foster parents didn’t care. The people who were supposed to protect him either didn’t show up or turned their backs.
Ms. Mendoza stood, gesturing toward the school. “Come on, let’s get you to class. We’ll talk more later.”
Micheal nodded, too tired to argue. Together, they walked into Camden Promise Middle School, the weight of the morning heavy on his small shoulders.
