Air Brushed

The Lucky Few

Chapter 2: The Lucky Few

"HELP!" I waste my precious breath, hoping against all odds that someone would save me. My voice is shrill, distorting the word, but the desperate tone says it all. The chill stings my nose, but I am oblivious to the pain, all of it, the ache in my feet, the throbbing in my head, the pounding in my chest.

Where IS everyone?

Suddenly, a figure rounds the corner and fear shoots through me like a bullet. However, he completely runs past me until reaching the brick wall. The person looks around frantically, as if trying to find a way over it.

I approach relatively slowly, as slowly as someone being chased and possibly approaching one of her pursuers dares to go, "They chasing you too?"

I don't know what makes me trust him, maybe the fact that he looks so young? Much younger than those other guys anyway. He just looks desperate, the pleading in his manner a shared trait among us.

His attention snaps to me, terror obvious in his eyes.

Screw the phone. For now.

"Give me your foot," I instruct, not waiting for an answer to my first question.

"What?" the boy grimaces, his dark hair flopping over his eyes, oversized jean jacket making his small frame appear stiff.

"Now is NOT the time for questions," I nod towards the end of our alleyway, where the two groups have converged. They are only about fifty feet away.

Quickly, I interlock my fingers and bend my knees. It takes only a second for him to understand. The boy's right foot comes up into my hands and with all of the strength I can muster, I lift him. The tread of his shoe momentarily burns my palms as it leaves, but again I am able to ignore it.

The upward propulsion is just enough for him to successfully pull his weight on top of the wall, bits of broken brick falling and scattering near my feet.

My mom had been right. Four years of cheerleading can be useful for something after all.

Blood roars in my ears as I look up at my new companion.

Would he help me? Or would he keep going and leave me here?

For only a moment he looks conflicted about this same issue, but his hand abruptly extends and I take it. The kid probably weighs no more than me, so we clearly struggle for a few seconds, my feet trying to gain some traction on the vertical barrier.

Pain tears through me as my left knee hits the rough material of the wall and I am dragged upward, the skin continuing to graze along the surface. This is pushed to the back of my mind though, as fear takes over again.

Why are they not here already? Shouldn't they at least be NEAR the brick wall?

As I work to pull myself up, my ears strain to hear them. At first, there is nothing but the usual New York street noises. No footsteps, no words.

I can't help but think that maybe they've given up-

"How could you not CATCH HIM?" the man with the scratches yells, making me startle. I can distinguish him from the others because of a slight accent and scratchy voice. "He's only like fucking twelve!"

My leg miraculously comes up onto the brick wall, the rough building material scraping the under side of my thigh. As soon as I have my balance, the boy drops down on the other side, letting me finish hoisting myself up.

"Well SHE'S only a fucking girl!" someone else shouts, their voice louder. "How come you couldn't catch HER?"

"They're not worth crossing the boarder," a third voice chips in as I drop down next to my companion, who is apparently listening too. My heart rate has not slowed down one bit and I can barely hear their heated conversation over the sound of my blood roaring in my ears.