Just a Newsboy

Chapter 4

Los Angeles, California

•••••Cricket's Perspective

I opened the drawer closest to the refrigerator and removed the small, cardboard matchbox.

Catching sight of my movements, Natalie looked up from her book. Her light brown eyes traveled from me to the match.

I tapped the lid of the candle that sat next to me.

She swallowed, closed her book, stood from her counter chair, and retreated to her room.

Carefully holding the match between my thumb and index finger, I dragged the tip across the strip of black on the edge of the box. When nothing happened, I struck the match again, this time producing a bright orange flame.

I touched the fire to the wick and watched it catch, before igniting the other two.

Three flames, all confined inside one wax cage, flickered frantically. The tip of each wick pulsed red with the fire's anger and longing for freedom. Pure energy, pure rage, tied to the small strips of braided cotton; the flames would burn everything down if they could, but they couldn't break away from the wicks.

We lit a candle every evening, but Natalie never liked to mess with the matches. She always said it was too much uncertain power for her taste.
It was too little for mine.

I rinsed the match off before tossing it into the trash can and checking the time on my watch.

Six-fifteen.

Sighing loudly, I exited the kitchen and walked down the hallway to Natalie's room.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, engrossed in the current romance novel that she was working through.

I stood in front of her and tugged on one of her braids.

"I'm going to go to the theater now." I signed when she looked up.

She nodded. "Say 'hi' to everyone for me."

I nodded back and turned to leave, but she clapped her hands to get my attention again.

"And one more thing," her hands were firm and urgent, as if relaying a matter of great importance, "ask them what other kinds of desserts they like."

"Sure." I rolled my eyes at her thoughtfulness.

After slipping on my dark grey sweatshirt and pulling my hair back into a bun, I grabbed my backpack and plugged headphones into my ears before stepping outside.

The chill, late October air bit at my nose and ears, and I shoved my hands into my sweatshirt pockets to keep them warm.

My feet walked the crosswalks and turns, every step bringing me closer to my destination.
There weren't too many people out and about, but I still had to weave through small crowds of pedestrians, all of whom gave me one glance before looking away.
A twinge of pride went through me, satisfied that my tactics had proven successful.
Wearing headphones and dark colors doesn't repel everyone, but it's a good start if you're really trying.