The old Toyota behind the warehouse was Ennie’s fortress. It was a hollowed out husk of a wreck with doors that refused to open, two missing tires, and a smashed driver’s side window. In the back seat, Ennie had stashed a BB gun, a Swiss army knife, and a ratty old copy of Sports Illustrated with Russell Westbrook on the cover. Westbrook was his favorite player. 

A patchy, crooked wire fence separated the alleyway from the parking lot, and despite the fact that the cars parked only a dozen feet away, the fence made the mountain of junk that surrounded the car seem isolated from civilization. Sometimes Ennie wondered if the rotting lumber and broken bricks were important ruins left over from when the city had first been settled. Other times he liked to imagine that he could use them to build his own house far away from his Aunt Lucía one day.  

His tía was a strict Mexican lady with a sharp tongue. The last time she’d caught him in the alley she had grounded him for a week and warned him about all sorts of horrible diseases. Still, risking her wrath was worth getting the thrill of exploring the unknown worlds of the laneway. 

But today, he wasn’t interested in any of that. Today, he had come back here to forget about the way that Troy had embarrassed him. Troy was the tallest kid in basketball camp, and when he’d spotted Ennie this morning he’d poured a whole bottle of Gatorade down his shirt. That was bad enough, but even worse was the way he dominated Ennie in the one-on-one drill. Ennie was quick with his dribble and always bragged that he would be the next Westbrook, but the scrimmage had ended without Ennie scoring even a single point over the fourteen-year-old’s massive reach.  

Ennie reached the car and climbed through the broken window. But his bag of belongings was not where he left them in the back seat. He only found a ratty blanket and a few empty bags of Chinese noodles. 

Ping. 

The metallic clatter radiated through the vehicle. Ennie didn’t know where it came from, but it sounded ominous. He flattened himself amongst the weeds that poked through the Toyota’s rusted-out undercarriage. 

Ping. 

The sound came again, but this time it sounded oddly familiar. There was no doubt that something was hitting against the car. 

“Hey!” Ennie yelled. “Stop that.” 

“Who are you?” The voice was high-pitched but raw. It was not a voice Ennie recognized. 

“Who are you?” Ennie retorted. 

“Whatcha doing here?” 

“I always come here.” 

“So what, this your gun then?” 

Ennie realized nervously that the pinging was coming from the BB gun that should have been waiting for him in the backseat. He’d seen what BB gun pellets could do. And the old car didn’t make for a very reliable fort.  

“Yeah, it’s mine,” he said. “Don’t shoot anymore!” 

“Aw… right,” the voice came, trembling slightly. “But ain’t ya gonna be mad that I stole it?” 

“No,” Ennie said. “Just stop.”  

“Promise?” 

“Yeah, I promise!” Ennie shouted. “Who are you?” 

A gap-toothed, pale face with streaks of dirt and a forehead covered in bright red pimples appeared in the driver’s side window. At first Ennie thought it was a teenage boy, but when she brushed her ratty yellow hair out of her eyes he realized he’d been wrong. 

“’Sup?” the dirty girl beamed, holding the handle of the BB gun out for him. “I’m Kelly.” 

Once Ennie got a good look at Kelly, he realized he liked her. She seemed different from anyone he’d ever seen before. She seemed friendly. But something was off about her. Ennie looked from Kelly’s grubby face to the dirty blanket in the back seat.  

“You live here?” Ennie asked. 

“Only sorta,” Kelly shrugged. “I’m supposed to live with my pops, but he don’t like me much. So I been staying here since the weekend.” 

“Wow, I never knew anyone who lived in a car before.” 

Now that he had secured his BB gun, Ennie started to pick through the junk looking for the rest of his things. He found the Sports Illustrated blown up against the fence, but when he picked up the magazine, he saw that there was a tear in the cover right through Westbrook’s face. He clutched the ripped magazine to his chest. 

“You gonna save that old rag?” Kelly said. 

“This is gonna be me one day,” Ennie said, pointing at Westbrook’s picture. 

“It’s all torn up.” 

“Well, it wasn’t before you got your hands on it.” 

Kelly shrugged. “Oops.” 

He asked Kelly if she had his Swiss army knife. 

“Naw,” she said, but she put her hand in her jeans pocket when she said it and Ennie saw the outline of the multi-tool. 

“C’mon,” he said. “It’s mine.” 

“So what, we friends or ain’t we?” she said. 

“Sure, we’re friends.”  

“You’re too small to be a basketball player,” she said dismissively. 

Ennie remembered the way Troy had loomed over him. He didn’t like that she’d said that. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached his hand into her pocket and started running towards the street.  

“I might be small, but I’m quick,” he yelled back. 

Ennie had almost made it out of the alley when his foot caught on a spare tire and he crashed into the fence. Kelly dove for the knife but it skittered under some metal rods. When Ennie sat up, he had a gash the size of a plum on the back of his elbow.  

“You alright?” Kelly said, forgetting the knife. She pried his fingers away from his elbow to examine the wound. “It‘s just a scrape.” 

“It hurts, though.” 

“Oh, ya big baby. You want me to walk you home?” 

“Enrique!” Lucía was screeching. “What were you doing?” 

His tía had him seated on the concrete step in the backyard of the townhouse they shared. She was a round, brown woman with a wild nest of dreadlocks on her head and a plain yellow dress that went down to her knees. She was rinsing out his wound with rubbing alcohol, and despite Ennie’s best efforts to wriggle away from the pain, her grip on his arm held firm. 

“It’s nothing, tía,” he winced. “It’s just from... playing ball.”

“Ennie,” Lucía said, taking his chin firmly in her hand. “Were you playing behind the warehouse again?” 

“Yes, tía,” Ennie sullenly admitted.  

“Por favor, Enrique! You know what I told you about playing around back there!” His aunt fingered the rosary hanging around Ennie’s neck. “We need to take you to church, to teach you some respect.” 

“It was my fault,” Kelly volunteered suddenly. She had been lingering with fingers clasped through the chain-link fence at the end of the walkway.

Ennie looked over at her, stunned. It was a bold-faced lie and she knew it.

Lucía dropped his arm and stood up for a moment, surveying the grubby girl she hadn’t noticed before. 

“Who’s your girlfriend, Ennie?” 

Ennie blushed. He’d never had a girlfriend.

Kelly stuck out a grimy hand, which Lucía eyed suspiciously. Kelly gave up and dropped it to her side. “I’m Kelly,” she announced. 

“Well, Kelly,” Lucía said. “Time for you to go home. Enrique’s got to get cleaned up.”  

Ennie saw Kelly’s eyes fall, and he knew why. 

“Kelly doesn’t have nowhere to go,” he said. 

“Is that right?” Lucía said. 

“Well, sorta,” Kelly rubbed some of the dirt off the backs of her fingers. “I ain’t going home tonight.” 

“Are you hungry, Kelly? You would like some dinner, yes?” 

Kelly nodded eagerly. 

“My mole is spicy for a white girl,” she said. “I hope you can handle Mexican cooking.” 

“I can eat spicy,” Kelly claimed. “And I’m starved.” 

“Well, wash up, then. Those filthy hands aren’t going anywhere near my food.” 

“Thanks, tía.” Kelly winked at Ennie. She followed the older woman up the steps and into the townhouse.