If you happen to be outside on a Summer night just south of New York City, you might find yourself standing on a quiet sidewalk in a quiet neighborhood. On that sidewalk you will probably see a girl. She will be sitting on the curb with a small white bulldog panting at her side. Her hair is cut short like a boy's and dyed bubblegum pink. She wears glasses that give her a nerdy look, and a yellow and white striped shirt.
Her name is Isabella, but if you met her, she would tell you her name was Poppy. Her mother had died when she was very young. Her father never spoke about it. He got a new job and a new home for him and Poppy. He had a girlfriend who studied at a local college and was much younger than him. He was at work most of the time, often leaving Poppy to the care of his girlfriend. Poppy refused to like his girlfriend. She was thirteen now, and could take care of herself.
The bulldog's name is Frostbite. He'd been in their family for as long as Poppy could remember.The two went everywhere together. Even Poppy's father hadn't had the heart to throw such a sweet,old, loyal dog out of the house when they moved. Frostbite rode with Poppy to school on the subway every morning, and played with the younger kids in the schoolyard until classes ended.
One day, Poppy and Frostbite were riding home from school when Poppy noticed the boy sitting at the back of the bus in a corner seat. He had sandy blond hair, bright green eyes, and wore a grey hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head. Something sparkled in his pocket against the fluorescent lighting in the bus, and it caught Poppy's eye.
The boy noticed her staring at him, and tried to look away casually. He dashed out of the screeching mechanical doors not a minute later at the next stop. Poppy rushed after him, Frostbite barking and running at her heels. When they were out of the train, she looked around for the boy and found him quickly. He was shoving his way through the thick crowds of people as fast as he could, his face terrified.
Poppy ran after him, pushing past countless strangers and only catching occasional glimpses of the boy. Poppy wasn't a fast runner, especially not in the crowded subway, but neither was this boy.
She continued to tackle her way through the crowds, and persisted on until she came to a clearing in front of the next boarding gate, only just in time to see the boy stumbling onto the train as the doors crashed shut behind him. "Come on,Frostbite,"she said. "Let's go home."
She returned to her room, ignoring the cheerful comments from her father and his girlfriend as she passed through the kitchen. She awoke late that night to a steady clink noise outside her window. Frostbite growled from the foot of her bed, but she quieted him and slowly rose to pull back the curtains. She looked outside to see the flashing lights of a police car on the street below.
Two police officers were wrestling with a boy: the boy Poppy had seen in the subway. He was throwing rocks at her window. She watched as the officers shoved him into the back seat of their car (with difficulty) and drove away. She threw on her favorite sweatshirt and sneakers, called Frostbite to her side, and tip-toed silently down the stairs and out the front door.
