THE 33 KEYS: Key 2 - ANSWER THE CALL "Listen for that Perfect Beat"

CHAPTER 25: EMBRACE THE RAIN

Matron Caine comes through for me yet not in the way I expect. She has the glue I need to save my shoes and a temporary replacement she has dubbed the handbrakes. Apparently, more than one girl had been rescued by it in its lifetime. Well, I'm not one who believes that beggars have no business being choosers. So I ask if she has any other options. She quickly reminds me of how many days I have left till eviction then pushes me out of her room.

After the rain slows down, I head down Granderson Street in the ugliest pair of shoes I have ever seen in my twenty-one years. It's a scary brown thing laced up above my ankles with black scratches that said it had been through at least three wars. Everyone looks at me, and by that I mean down at my feet, when I enter the mall. Ugh! It's as if I'm wearing one of Hazel's floral dresses during a celebrity's social media live. Double ugh! This sort of thing just won't do. Not today when I just had my dreams of escape crushed at Stocatta Embassy.

I climb inside of myself to shoulder the embarrassment then find my store on the board like last time. The same girl is there too, with a question in her eyes. I dredge my memory for previous lies, just in case she comes out and asks. And when she doesn't, I pay for the candles with almost all the cash I have remaining and rush out of the store. But not before I catch a glimpse of her giggling at my shoes.

Ah, I'll show you, you disgusting bitch! Serves you right that this job is all the candle spell got you. Then I sigh heavily – a sigh that moistens my eyes – when I remember that it had brought me much less.

The rain starts drizzling again as soon as I exit the mall. I am on two minds about whether to make a run for it or take my chances. Perhaps if I take the leap I might develop gambler's luck. Then again I can risk it and end up ruining two pairs of shoes in one day. What to do? What to do? Make a mad dash for it, the inner me shouts. And the rain, having inside information about what's in store, puts a hundred down against me. At first, it simply teases. But soon enough down comes an outpouring with a grudge. I try to outrun it then give up midway and let it have its way with me. So what, Matron! Who cares about these ugly shoes and this disgusting life anyway? I want the rain to drench me, pound me until my whole existence gets erased.

"That's what I like to see," a man's voice announces. "A woman who loves the rain."

"What?" I spin around to see one of the hopefuls, and unleash. "Who the hell are you?"

"Some call me the priest."

"What the hell kind of nickname is that?"

"It's because I sell holiness," he replies. "Straight from the angels."

Then he dives into his bag of tricks, rambling on. But nothing he says can pull me away from staring at his skin. The hopefuls are not like the rest of us. Not only do they live in the most hated part of Leer Island but they're proud of their flaws, blocks of rough skin sitting proudly next to smooth patches like a chessboard, open for anyone to play on. And he is no different, bearing his skin shamelessly as though advertising for products that don't work.

"I'm not interested," I blurt out and run off without further explanation.

"Don't worry, pretty lady," he shouts to my back. "Leer Island's a small place. Come bet I find you again."