Michael and Jasmine rode along with one of her cousins she barely knew. They parked out on the street a few houses down. Most of the people were already there, sitting or standing, gathered around such and such or off in a corner; just talking about whatever boring stuff adults talked about. People were floating around the widow, each performing the nearly vapid ritual of approaching the mourning woman, offering stock condolences, and standing there quietly with folded hands for a while as someone else did the same thing, just long enough to not look rude as you drifted away again. They repeated that a couple of times until they were finally free, sitting alone together on the swings in the backyard.

As soon as he wiped the lingering rain droplets from the rubber seat with the sleeve of his collared shirt, Michael plopped down and immediately started chomping, taking frenzied little bites out of each one of his six pieces of chicken.

"Is somebody coming to steal your food?" Jasmine laughed.

Michael tried to answer, but didn't realize that at that point, his lips were too stuffed to rattle off a snappy comeback.

"Hahaha! You're so greedy!" She let her feet up and gently swayed along with the soft creak of the rusty chains.

"Hey, Jasmine," Michael said after taking a huge swallow.

"Yes?"

"What was all that with your mom? Did you have a fight?"

"Something like that. Well, I haven't actually spoken to her since my 18th birthday."

"Really? Where do you live?"

She watched her feet as she concocted a fiction and let it slowly drip from her mouth. "I live with my uncle. It's really not that big a deal."

There was no talking between the two of them after that, though he watched her as she swung, gazing out at nothing almost as if she was in some sort of a trance, until suddenly, she bounced up, wiping off the back of her dress as she turned to face him.

"Wanna get outta here?"

"Sure," he replied. "Do you wanna call your uncle or...?"

"Why would I do that? I'm not going to his house." She couldn't help but allow a mischievous little smirk tickle her upper lip.

"Oh. Where're we goin' then?"

"I dunno. You tell me."

"Well, what do you wanna do?"

"Let's play with your camera some."

"My camera's at home."

"Great idea!" she cooed, grabbing him by the arm. "Let's go get it!"

So, he walked her to the station, relieved that today when he dug in his pockets he had found just enough change to make it back home. He hoped she didn't see it plainly written on his face, or even worse, expect him to pay for it. When they approached the turnstiles, Jasmine didn't hesitate, quickly paying her fare. Michael let out a deep sigh that only made it halfway out when the thought came to his mind that he'd have to come up with an excuse if she expected him to take her back home when she left his neighborhood.

They got off at his stop, descending down the long concrete steps at the black water's edge. Michael slowed down and Jasmine walked ahead of him. She turned back and took a discerning look at him as he hung his head and curled himself inward.

"Listen, Jasmine, I—"

"It's okay," she said with a beaming smile. She reached back and took his sweaty hand in hers. "I want to go."

"My— my mom and I are really poor."

"So? I don't care about that."

"You don't?"

"Why would I? Aren't we friends?"

He picked his head up. His dull gray eyes brightened when he looked at her.

He helped her sneak up the fire escape and through his bedroom window. Michael got in first then extended a hand to help Jasmine inside.

"Um, Jasmine," he began timidly. "I dunno what I'm supposed to tell my mom if she finds out I'm here with someone."

"Then don't tell her. Just come here and sit by me, Mike." He did as he was told.

She had found a comfortable spot between his chin and shoulder, and she parked her head there again. They were silent for a long time, just facing the moon.

"What're we do-"

"Let's just not talk for now," she pleaded in a somber mutter. She raised a finger to her lips and went, "shhh."

"Just...put your arm around me, okay?"

Of course, he did as he was told. His lips began to quiver. The back of his neck was already a cascade and his knees were beginning to shake, horrified by the sensation of his pants rising right in front of her. He looked up at the ceiling and silently began pleading to God that she wouldn't notice.

Jasmine sat up and swept the curls out of her face. With a little smirk that only she would know was there, she said, "so I guess you like me."

"What?" he stammered.

"Your 'thing' is hard."

"No-no-no! That's not— I'm not— it's not what it looks like!"

"It looks like a boner."

He cupped his hands over his pants and spun away from her. "Jeez, can you stop looking!"

"What?" she laughed. "I think it's cute."

"Well, it's not cute. Because there was nothing there."

"You don't have one?"

"I mean, I do, but..."

"Then you don't like me, I guess," she lamented. "I mean, if you did, I could've..."

She blushed as Michael turned to face her with his expression paralyzed in a slack-jawed stupor. Was she really saying what he thought she was saying?

Suddenly, Jasmine's face had gotten closer to his, and her eyes were growing bigger and brighter and softer, glowing in the moonlight as he found himself lost in them.

"Jasmine," he finally whispered.

"Michael!" he heard his mother shout as she tossed open his bedroom door.

"Mom!" he cried.

Michael's mom was glaring down at them. Her eyes burned hot, glowering in the blackness of the room, and her chiseled, weary wrinkles stretched and exaggerated to their very limit as hot steam spilled out of her burning cheeks.

"How dare you! How dare you sneak this little fast girl into my home!"

"Michael's mom, we were just grabbing his camera for a school project—"

"Save it, the camera's all the way over there. And if that's all you were here for, you would've just come through the front door."

"Mom, don't make this a big deal."

"Teen pregnancy IS a big deal, I'll have you know! And I won't let my only son be tempted to throw his life down the drain for some thirsty little round-the-way girl!"

"Mrs. Michael's mom—"

"Begone thot!" she screamed, raising her hand in front of her face and completely eclipsing Jasmine. She turned to Michael, whose eyes were begging her.

Jasmine let out a heavy sigh as she finally broke eye contact with him. "I guess you're still just a little boy, after all," she muttered. His heart plummeted through his stomach. Jasmine let her head hang low as she crept past Michael's mom. With her hands hoisted on her hips she followed Jasmine with laser beams until she was on the other side of the front door. Even still, she could hear the tongue-lashing Michael's mom was giving him.

She climbed down the stairwell, and bounded head-first and angrily into night, down the dark streets she had been too sheltered to realize she was wholly unfamiliar with. As the steam from her ears dissipated into the gray night, there came a meandering, chilly air that enveloped her like a mist, and invited a cold sweat to emerge on the back of her neck. She was on the edge of midtown, where working street lamps became less and less abundant the farther she traveled. She folded her arms and held tightly to her shivering ribcage as she briskly walked.

"Ay, girl!" she heard a voice holler. Jasmine ducked her head and quickened her pace.

"Ay, girl!" he shouted again, "I know you hear me callin' you! C'mere or I'm gonna come over there!"

His threat paralyzed her. She thought to run, but knew she was lost. Jasmine looked around for any sign of life that could help her. The street was empty. She turned and crept towards them.

Towering above her were four pairs of eyes flashing in the darkness, and a palpable fear enveloped and gripped Jasmine by the throat. The shadowy man crooned, "where you goin' so fast, baby girl? Where ya man at? Don't he know not to leave you alone to walk these streets at night?" Her brain fired run away! Escape! But her boots were planted in the concrete; her quivering knees were doing everything to sustain her quickly diminishing balance. She gathered all the courage she had remaining within herself and dared to look up at the men. One in particular, caught her by the eyes, as he leaned down to get a better glimpse of her face, studying intently her round cheekbones, and large, expressive brown eyes. He was the most terrifying of all the men, not for his stature, tattoos, or muscularity, but his cold, black pupils, each desolate like an endless void. His face was harsh, barren of life like a desert. Looking in his face, for Jasmine, was like staring into the sun of high noon.

"You got a man, shortie?" His voice was low, but boomed in Jasmine's ears as she trembled.

"Does she want one?" mumbled one of his friends.

"Hey. Answer me when I'm talkin' to you. Don't be stuck up."

"Um," she began to stammer. "I've got a boyfriend."

"Well, where he at, then?"

"Um, he's...he's..."

Jasmine squeezed her eyelids together as she stifled a squeal. The fear seized her body as she found herself trembling; a sharp pain munched at her toes and felt like needles as her knees nearly buckled beneath the unshakable fear; as she stood, petrified and exposed, unclothed with nothing under which to cover her naked being until finally, the shadows consumed her.