Shepherd Avenue. Charlie Carillo

right, I’ll make you an egg.”

      “I’m not hungry.”

      “That’s crazy, everybody’s hungry when they get up in the mor —”

      A gigantic engine roar from the street interrupted her. I jumped with fright but Connie didn’t flinch.

      “That’s Johnny,” she said. “He’s gonna give us all heart attacks.”

      “Johnny who?”

      “Johnny Gallo. Your grandfather’s buddy’s son. He plays with his car every day. You’ll meet Freddie later. Go meet Johnny now.” She pointed toward the cellar door.

      Grateful for the dismissal, I cut through the furnace room, where strings of peppers hung drying. From the back door a set of steps led to the long driveway, bounded on the other side by Grace’s house.

      Directly across the street from where my father had dumped me was a black car surrounded by a halo of bluish smoke. Its hood was open, and a young man hunched over the engine. It roared again, seemingly of its own accord. A fresh spout of smoke surrounded the car.

      By this time I was coughing. Johnny noticed me and killed the motor from where he stood.

      “Bet you’re Vic’s nephew, the kid whose old man run off.”

      “My father’s on a trip,” I coughed.

      “Whatever.” He wiped his hands on a rag. A large-boned, dull-eyed girl sat on the curb, sucking noisily on half an orange. When she finished it she threw the rind across the street and watched it roll, her mouth hanging open.

      Johnny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She’s retarded,” he said. “Look at her. Ya believe she’s almost fifteen?”

      The girl’s knees were pebbled with dirty scabs. She wore a loose red dress, scuffed patent leather shoes, and thin white socks. The mouths of the socks were stretched wider than her calves. There was a wet ring around her mouth dotted with bits of orange. Her hand idly massaged curbside rubble.

      The door of the house behind her opened. A frazzled-looking woman in a pink nightgown leaned on the knob as she stuck her face out.

      “Louisa! Your bath is ready.”

      Louisa seemed to react from the feet up, and staggered to a standing position. When she was finally erect she turned and bolted up the porch stairs, like a horse flicked with a whip.

      “Poor bastid,” Johnny murmured. “Do me a favor, kid, start the car.”

      I slid behind the wheel, tingling with fear. “I don’t have a license.”

      “Ah, don’t worry, you ain’t goin’ anywhere. Don’t even press the gas pedal, I can do it under here.” Johnny’s head disappeared, reappeared redder. “Now,” he commanded.

      I twisted the key. The motor squealed like a cat being strangled.

      “You’re killin’ the battery!” Johnny screamed. A kid no bigger than me slid behind the wheel, having entered from the driver’s side. The key turned. A sneakered foot pumped the gas pedal expertly, zoop-zoop-zoop.

      “Faster, Johnny?” the kid called. A girl.

      “Hold her down for a sec, Mel,” Johnny shouted. The motor roared steadily for five seconds. “Okay, that’s good.” He slammed the hood down. I followed her out the driver’s side.

      Johnny wiped his hands again. “Mel, this here’s Joey, he’s Vic’s nephew.”

      We stared without shaking hands. Mel wore cutoff jeans, a T-shirt, and boys’ black Keds. Her hair was nearly as short as mine, parted on the left. Her broad nose made her look like a street fighter. She was skinny but muscular.

      “Well Chrissakes somebody say hello,” Johnny said.

      “Hi,” I ventured.

      “See you guys later,” Johnny said, getting into the car. “Sorry I yelled atcha, kid.” He drove off.

      Mel cracked her knuckles. Her hands were wide. I looked at my own slender hands and rested them on my hips. I felt the bulge of chewing gum in my pocket, took out the pack, and held it out.

      “Gum?”

      “Thanks.” She took a piece. We crossed the street and sat on Connie’s stoop.

      “I never started a car before,” I said.

      “Gotta get used to it,” she assured me. I watched her chew the gum. It was the first thing I’d ever shared with another child, save for the loan of my eraser at the Roslyn Country Day School.

      “You sure do it good,” I said.

      Mel shrugged. “I’m used to it. Johnny lets me do it all the time.” She tried to blow a bubble but the gum was too soft. She tucked the wad back by her molars.

      “Watch ‘Superman’ last night?”

      “No, I missed it.”

      “It was the one where the two guys have a fight over whose girlfriend makes the best lemon meringue pie and so they have a contest and one of the guys goes all the way to Alaska to try and steal a pie from his old girlfriend’s new boyfriend.”

      “That’s a dumb one,” I said.

      “I know, but it’s cool when Superman crashes through the ice.”

      “That guy can’t really fly, he’s just an actor.”

      “Uh-duh. Everybody knows that.” Mel cracked the gum. “How come your father ran away?”

      I spat my gum out. “Why does everybody say that?” I screamed. “He didn’t run away. He’s on a trip.”

      “Yeah?” Mel challenged. “Where?”

      I slumped on the steps, feeling rough bricks against my back. “I don’t know.”

      “When’s he comin’ back?”

      “Soon.”

      “Butcha don’t know when?”

      “He’s got a lot of stuff to do,” I said evenly.

      Mel shrugged. “I got no parents. Live with my aunt and uncle up the street.” She pointed.

      “I’m sorry,” I said.

      “It ain’t your fault.”

      “Well, I’m sorry anyway. I got no mother.”

      We fell silent, looking at our sneakers.

      “My cousin is Vic’s girlfriend,” Mel said. “When they have kids the kids have to call me ‘Aunt Mel’ on account of I’m practically a sister, like.”

      “Vic didn’t tell me he was getting married,” I said. “When are they getting married?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “Then how do you know they are?” I challenged.

      Mel stood. I was startled by the way her face darkened. The hands bunched into fists. “Listen, you, they’ve been goin’ out for three years.”

      I hoped she wouldn’t hit me. Gradually, her fists loosened. She sat again. “Everybody knows they’re gonna get married, that’s all.”

      Momentary silence. Then she said softly, “I was sick last night. I threw up. Macaroni came through my nose.”

      She was trying to make up. “Really? Through your nose?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Ewww.”

      “But I feel better now.” She scratched a mosquito bite on her calf. “How old are you?”

      “Ten.”

      She