Shattered Read Free

herself. It was a loud, profane rant about the government. I squeezed over to the very edge of the path to create as much distance between us as possible. As she got close her monologue got louder and louder.
    She looked up at me. “Cold one, ain’t it,” she said, and flashed me a smile.
    â€œYeah, cold,” I mumbled. Crazy but friendly.
    I looked back over my shoulder and watched—and listened—as she continued both her journey and her rant. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her head. What demons were driving her? But I didn’t have time to even think about that. I had to get going as fast as I—
    â€œHey!”
    I jerked my head to the side. Two men—really, older teenagers—were cutting across the grass toward me. Iturned away and kept walking. Maybe they weren’t even talking to—
    â€œWait up, kid!”
    There was no doubt now. Should I stop or run or—
    Another man appeared on the path directly in front of me.
    â€œHe told you to wait,” the third man said.
    A shiver went up my spine as I skidded to a stop directly in front of him. He stood there in the middle of the path, blocking my way. The path was narrow at this point, boxed in by hedges on both sides. It was sheltered … and isolated. I looked past him, up the path. There was nobody in sight.
    I turned around. The other two were closing in and there was nobody else in sight in that direction either. Even the shopping cart lady had disappeared around the corner. Quickly they closed the space until they were right behind me and I was caught in the middle, trapped. I felt a wave of panic sweep over me. What did they want? Had they seen me pull out my wallet? Were these the people that guy had warned me about, the people who were watching?
    They were all dressed in black, leather jackets, thicksoled boots. They looked like thugs, not people living on the street. I felt scared—no, worse than scared. I almost felt sick.
    â€œNice shoes,” one of them said. He was clearly the biggest of the three—not just taller but thicker, more muscular. The other two weren’t much bigger than me.
    â€œUm … thanks,” I mumbled. They were practically new, top-of-the line Air Jordans. They were a Christmas present from my grandmother.
    â€œWhat size are they?” asked one of the two guys who had caught up to me from behind.
    â€œWhat size?” I repeated.
    â€œYou don’t hear so good, do you?” said the one standing in front—the biggest of the three. “What friggin’ size are they?” He spoke low and slow and there was an ominous quality to his words. This wasn’t somebody I wanted to screw around with.
    â€œSize eleven.” Why did he want to know what size? I suddenly got a terrible feeling I knew why he was asking.
    â€œSize eleven. This is my lucky day. That’s my size. Take’em off.”
    â€œYou’re joking, right?”
    He stepped forward and with lightning speed reaching out, grabbed me by the jacket and practically lifted me off my feet. “Do I look like I’m the sorta guy who jokes around?” he demanded angrily.
    â€œBut they’re my shoes,” I said, trying to sound defiant. “They were your shoes,” he said as he tightened his grip on my shirt.
    My feeble attempt at defiance dissolved. “But … but … I need my shoes,” I stammered.
    â€œAs much as you need your life?” he asked. “Take off your shoes!”
    I wanted to run, I wanted to fight, I wanted to say something back, to argue. There was no way or no point in any of those. Instead I pleaded.
    â€œBut, you can’t just leave me standing in my socks.” “You got a choice. Either we leave you standing here or lying here. You take’em off or we do it for you.” He pulled me even closer, so close that we were practicallynose to nose, so close that his stinking, foul breath