Not Cliché

1) Sirens, Shopping, and Gang Leaders

    I walked up to the ramps adjusting my grip on the spray cans. My brown hair was trailing behind me from under my sky blue and black snapback.

    "Zeya!" Ayda called me to her. I smiled at her and jogged up to her and the boys.

    "What's up?" Blazer asked.

    "Nothing much. Ready?" I asked referring to the art we were about to spray on the ramps.

    I was a street artist along with the rest of the gang. We collaborated on a lot of pieces and payed for guards to warn us if cops were coming or an opposing artist was coming who had a grudge against us.

    We set off working on the piece, this one was of a 5 year old boy holding a soccer ball in his hand and looking around him at the people surrounding him on their phones. He had on a jersey of Colombia and his eyes were sad and wistful.

    I stepped back, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, and looked at our master piece. Satisfied I started packing the cans, stuffing them in my pack. That's when the park erupted with shouts and sirens. Only one explanation for all the commotion, Cops.

    Hiking my pack on one shoulder I fled, not sparing a glance at the others. I was at a disadvantage, I had the supplies and I was one of the only Latinas, I also had had a few run ins with the police. Minor charges but they still affected how the cops treated me.

    I had light cinnamon tinted skin unlike my dad's darker mestizo tone. I had dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. When sun kissed it, it had red in it. I tanned easily and during the winter I looked European like Italian or French because my skin was kinda white. My mom was white with freckles and light brown hair, she was Cuban and didn't tan easily.

    I turned the corner a block away from my house when I heard a warning siren behind me. Instead of leading them to my house I took a side street and hid my supplies in a friend's store. Then I blended in with the crowd, taking off my SnapBack and pulling my hair into a high ponytail. I also took off my gray hoodie and tied it around my waist. Now I looked innocent and thankfully the police hadn't seen my face. They were waiting outside, anticipating my need to go.

    Strolling out of the store innocently, my SnapBack tucked into the sky blue JanSport backpack on my shoulders, they didn't recognize me. I inwardly scoffed at their thinking that I would be stupid enough to not notice them outside stalking me. I walked home, trying not to draw attention to myself.

;57;3&43:/2

    "Zeya chica, ¿qué pasa?" My roommate and some relation that I couldn't name, Sandra asked.

    "The police almost caught me but I outfoxed them," I said snickering.

    "That's my girl, smarter than what's best for her own good," she cooed. I laughed in response.

    Sandra ran from home as soon as she could take care of herself. Her dad was abusive and her mom left with her newly born brother. She was 5 at the time and hated every second of living with her dad.

    When she was 12 she had saved up enough money to buy a one way ticket to our house by train. In our family gatherings she always felt more at ease with our family, so she came to us with a suitcase in one hand and a back pack on her shoulders she boldly asked to stay here.

    "So, what did you almost get caught doing?" Sandra asked snapping me out of my thoughts.

    "Art."

    "Oh?"

    "On the wall, illegal street art."

    "Oh," she nodded in understanding.  I unpacked my backpack and took out my SnapBack and put it back on my head, not backwards. The cap was my ex-boyfriend, Raymond's, he left it at my house and I wanted it, so I kept it.