by Lexi Ryals
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
PHOTO SECTION
COPYRIGHT
In a fifth-grade classroom in Harlem, New York, on the last day before summer vacation, a spunky little girl with curly red hair and a big smile read her class presentation.
“… And so, even though he wanted to do a lot as president, he died of pneumonia after only thirty-two days. So we can all learn from William Henry Harrison to wear our coats and eat healthy so we have better immune systems. The end.” Annie finished with a cute curtsy.
“Great job, Annie M.,” the teacher, Mr. Romero, said. The class was in the middle of presenting their year-end reports on US presidents. As Annie skipped back to her desk, the rest of the class rolled their eyes — that Annie was a little bit of a teacher’s pet.
“Okay, Annie B.,” Mr. Romero said. “You’re up.”
Annie B. stood and walked to the front of the class. She had dark curly hair and bright brown eyes. Dressed in her gray leggings, pink hoodie, and hot-pink sneakers, Annie B. looked like the opposite of prim and proper Annie M.
But there was one other difference. This Annie was not holding her assignment.
“Where’s your essay?” Mr. Romero asked.
“Up here,” Annie replied, tapping her head. “It’s more of a performance piece.”
Mr. Romero sighed. Annie had never actually turned in a report, but she was great at spoken presentations.
“My president is Franklin Delano Roosevelt,” Annie started. “He was elected in 1932, when most people were poor. So just like now, but without the Internet.”
The class laughed.
Annie pointed to the back rows of the class. “Everyone except the front row, you be the poor people. You’re all hungry and mad so stomp your feet.”
The students in the back rows began stomping their feet.
“Now,” said Annie, “everyone in the front row is rich. Laugh and beat your chests like you’re better than everybody.”
The front row liked the sound of that! Soon, the whole class was either stomping their feet, laughing loudly, or beating their chests.
“Mr. Romero, you be Franklin Roosevelt,” Annie continued. When the teacher gave her a look, she flashed him a smile. “He was very smart.”
She grabbed Mr. Romero’s arm and pulled him over to the “poor people.”
“Franklin Roosevelt passed a bunch of laws called the New Deal that got people work so they’d have money. He had them build roads …” Annie took Mr. Romero’s hand and tapped one of the “poor” girl’s shoulders with it. “Now you’re rich,” Annie told her. The girl began to laugh and beat her chest. “And bridges …” Annie said.
Mr. Romero continued to tap the “poor people” as Annie spoke, turning them into “rich people,” until the whole class was “rich.”
“He made it easy to buy a house and go to college, and before long the whole country was happy.” Annie smiled. “Don’t worry, rich people, you’re still better than everyone, because you got even richer.”
The class cheered just as the bell rang. Class was over. It was officially summer vacation!
Annie rushed out of the doors of her school, thrilled to have a break from assignments and tests for a little while. Her dark curls bounced as she pushed through the crowd of students until she found her two friends Isabella and Pepper.
“Gonna make it in time?” Pepper asked doubtfully. Pepper tended to be grouchy.
“I always do.” Annie smiled.
“We’ll cover for you,” Isabella assured her. She reached out and slapped hands with Annie. “Good luck.”
“Luck is for suckers.” Annie winked.
Annie turned and jogged down the busy New York City sidewalk, her backpack jingling with every step. Weaving around pedestrians, construction workers, and deliverymen, she finally made it to a bike rental kiosk. A nice couple was returning their bikes, but Annie stopped them before they clicked the bikes into the locks.
“Do you have any time left on those?” she asked breathlessly.
“Ten minutes.” The woman shrugged.
“I’ll return it for you,” Annie said, giving the woman her best sad-puppy eyes. “Promise.”
The woman laughed and handed her the bike. “Okay.”
“Thanks!” Annie called as she hopped on the bike and pedaled off of the sidewalk and onto the streets of Harlem. She wove in and out of traffic until she made it to the 125th Street subway station. She clicked the bike into another kiosk just before the ten minutes ran out and hurried up the stairs to catch the above-ground train. She pushed through the turnstile just as the train pulled into the station.
Annie sprinted, but she wasn’t going to make it. Thinking fast, she whipped off her backpack and threw it through the doors, blocking them from closing. She slid onto the train, sat down, and smiled. She was on her way downtown.
Forty-five minutes later, Annie climbed up the stairs at the Franklin Street subway station. She paused for just a moment to check out a billboard for Stacks cellular phones. It promised, “No one’s ever dropped a call with Stacks!” She rolled her eyes and continued on her way. There was no way her foster caretaker, mean old Miss Hannigan, would ever let her have a cell phone anytime soon.
Once she reached the top of the stairs, she sprinted down the sidewalk, turning onto White Street at a breakneck pace.
Annie finally skidded around a corner and stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant named Domani. A waiter standing inside had turned the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN, and was putting a chalkboard menu out front that boasted their Friday special of homemade cannoli. The waiter looked up and spotted Annie.
“Any reservations for Bennett?” Annie asked hopefully.
“Sorry, no,” the waiter said. “But I’m guessing you’re going to wait anyway?”
Annie nodded and sat down on the curb in front of Domani. For a moment, she clasped the silver locket she wore around her neck. Then she pulled a PB&J sandwich out of her bag and began to eat it slowly. She watched each and every couple that walked in and out of the restaurant, but as usual, none of them were her parents.
Annie had waited there every Friday night for as long as she could remember. Many years ago, when Annie was very small, her parents had left her outside a police station with a note written on a receipt from Domani. The receipt was for two cannoli, and the note on the back read: Please take care of our baby. It promised they would come back someday, and this was the only place Annie knew of that her parents had been to, so she always hoped it would be here. She passed the time drawing her name on the sidewalk in pink chalk.
Finally, the stream of hungry patrons slowed to a trickle, and then to nothing. It was closing time. The waiter walked out holding a takeout box with a cannoli inside for Annie.
“Sorry,” he said, ruffling her hair.
“It’s okay,” Annie replied, standing up and brushing herself off. “I just come for the cannoli.”
“See you next Friday?” the waiter asked. He knew Annie was fibbing.
“You know it.” Annie smiled. Not even another wasted night of waiting could bring Annie down. Annie was an optimist. No matter how bad things got, she always had hope that things would
get better tomorrow.
“Nine … eight … seven … six …”
A countdown was in progress in front of the newest Stacks Mobile store in Tribeca. The sign out front announced: 500TH STACKS MOBILE STORE! FIRST 500 CUSTOMERS GET FREE STACKS PHONES! A huge crowd had gathered. And Will Stacks, the billionaire owner of Stacks Mobile, was standing in front.
Will just looked like the picture of success, with his flawless dark skin, expensive haircut, and perfectly tailored suit. He was handsome and famous, yet the people of New York didn’t know much about his personal life. So naturally, they were fascinated with him.
“Three … two … one … light it on up!” Will announced. Balloons dropped from a net above the store door and a sign lit up in bright red neon. “Who wants a free phone?” Will called.
“I love your phones!” a woman near Will gushed to him. “I’m totally going to vote for you now.”
Will Stacks wasn’t just the owner of Stacks Mobile. He was also running to be the mayor of New York City.
He smiled at the lady. “This isn’t a campaign event, but … I’d totally love that.”
The woman laughed and shook his hand excitedly just as Grace, the Stacks Mobile vice president, walked over. Grace took Will’s arm and guided him to his car.
“That’s it. You’re done,” Grace told him quietly.
Nash, Will’s security guard and driver, and Guy, Will’s campaign manager, joined them as they walked down the sidewalk. Will held out his hands, and Guy squirted them with hand sanitizer.
Now that they were out of earshot of the crowd, Will didn’t need to hide how grossed out he was by the germs from shaking other people’s hands. “Hose me down. Put me out. Like I’m on fire,” Will said, gesturing for more hand gel. He rubbed it between his palms and then over his face and down his neck for good measure. The easy smile was gone and he looked tired as he climbed into his waiting SUV.
“You kissed a couple babies. You’re not going to catch colic,” Grace said sarcastically.
“You shake five hundred hands,” Will snapped at her, wrinkling his nose. “I said I wanted to help the people of New York, not touch them.”
“You’re helping them by providing a superior communication product,” Grace said. “That you’re good at. This” — Grace mimed kissing babies and shaking hands — “not so much.”
“It’s all sales, Gracey,” Will countered like the skilled businessman he was. Then he turned to Guy. “What’s next?”
“You’re giving a speech to the ironworkers’ union,” Guy answered, checking his phone calendar.
“Ironworkers?” Will asked. He had no idea that ironworkers even existed anymore. It sounded like something out of a history book.
“If we get their support, the others will follow,” Guy replied.
“Who, blacksmiths?” Will laughed. “How am I polling with witches?”
“They find you unlikable,” Grace answered, keeping a straight face.
Grace and Guy looked at each other. Will was a great man, and more than qualified to be the mayor of New York City. But he was too standoffish. The latest polls said that the citizens saw him as a cold, uncaring business tycoon rather than a friendly person. Unless Will found a way to connect with the people of New York City — really connect with them — then he was never going to win the election.
Guy shook his head. As Will’s campaign manager, it was his responsibility to make sure Will won. He would figure out a way to make it happen.
Somehow.
Annie walked down her block in Harlem, tired and ready for bed. She passed her favorite bodega, where the owner, Lou, sat behind the counter. Annie tapped on the window. Lou looked up and smiled. He nodded for her to pick up a white plastic flower bucket by the door with a few wilted flowers still sitting inside.
“Give those to my lady!” Lou yelled after her as she walked up the block, swinging the bucket.
Annie stopped in front of a brownstone and sighed. Home, sweet home.
If the brownstone had been downtown on a nice street like Park Avenue, it would be worth millions. But this was Harlem, so it wasn’t. The worn-down, shabby-looking building had been split into many tiny apartments, and Annie lived here with her foster sisters and their guardian, Miss Hannigan. It was past curfew, so Annie would have to be sneaky to get inside unnoticed.
She pulled the flowers out of the bucket and shoved them into her backpack. Then she flipped the bucket over and clambered up on top of it. Reaching, she caught the bottom bar of the fire-escape ladder with both hands and pulled herself up. She climbed the ladder until she reached a second-floor window that was open, letting in the cool night air. She raised the window very quietly and slipped inside.
The apartment where Annie and the foster girls lived was dark and silent; everyone was asleep. She’d made it! She snuck down the hall on tiptoes to her room. But just as she touched the knob, the light flashed on.
“Come on, let’s sweat, baby. Let the music take control. Let the rhythm move you. Sweat, sweat … freeze!” Miss Hannigan, Annie’s foster mother, sang out from the living room.
Annie took a deep breath and turned the knob. She might make it in if she hurried.
“I said freeze, you little rat! I know you heard me,” Miss Hannigan yelled, stomping into the hallway.
“I thought it was part of the song,” Annie said sweetly. But Miss Hannigan didn’t buy it for a second. She yanked Annie down the hall by her backpack, past dozens of framed pictures of a younger Miss Hannigan singing and dancing. In the pictures, the young Miss Hannigan looked like she was a star. Now, beneath layers of smeared makeup, bleached-blond hair, and costume jewelry, she just looked tired.
Annie pulled the flowers from her backpack, petals drifting to the floor. “These are from Lou,” Annie said.
“They look like they’re from Lou,” Miss Hannigan countered and then threw them into the trash.
“I’ll tell him you loved them,” Annie said.
“You always gotta be smart. Run your mouth,” Miss Hannigan snapped. “You think the world wants a little smart-mouthed girl? No, or you wouldn’t be here. And the only reason you are here is because I get one hundred fifty-seven dollars a week from the state. Which is not even near worth the torment you put me through.”
Annie thought fast. She’d done this song and dance with Miss Hannigan before, and she was pretty sure she knew just how to play it. But it all depended on how many glasses of wine Miss Hannigan had had that evening. “Sorry I was a little late,” Annie said contritely.
“A little late? It’s three hours past curfew!” Miss Hannigan cried. “Out all by yourself in the city. And if something happens to you … I don’t get my money! I should put you on a leash!”
Miss Hannigan lunged at Annie, but Annie was one step ahead of her. She grabbed a picture of Miss Hannigan from the table and gazed at it. The picture showed a younger Miss Hannigan singing on a stage with a famous pop group from the early 1990s called C+C Music Factory.
“You’re so pretty,” Annie gushed, touching the glass with one finger.
It worked. Immediately distracted, Miss Hannigan pulled the picture from Annie’s hand. “I used to be a bright star. I was going to sing the number one song in the country. Getting ready to go on the Arsenio Hall Show …”
“On September 16, 1991,” Annie filled in.
“And here they are: C+C Music Factory …” Miss Hannigan continued, not even looking up.
“Featuring Colleen Hannigan!” Annie exclaimed.
Miss Hannigan began dancing wildly and singing. Annie cheered and clapped.
“But I was too good for them.” Miss Hannigan suddenly stopped. “C+C was scared of their factory. Fired me before I went on. And wouldn’t let me sing.” Miss Hannigan flopped down on the sofa, looking sad.
“You have a pretty voice,” Annie complimented her.
“I’ll die with my secret,” Miss Hannigan said, tears in her eyes.
Annie slowly backed
down the hall as Miss Hannigan stared at the picture. Just as Annie reached her bedroom, Miss Hannigan spotted her. “Get back here, you monster. I’m not done with you!”
But Miss Hannigan wasn’t fast enough to catch her. Annie zipped into her room and locked the door as Miss Hannigan pounded on the other side. “Double chores for you tomorrow! You hear me? I’m gonna make you sweat!”
Annie shook her head and sighed. The room held three bunk beds and all of her foster sisters were awake and waiting.
“You find them?” Tessie asked anxiously. She was the worrier of the group.
“Nah. But it’s okay,” Annie said, trying to sound cheerful.
The girls all groaned.
“Shhh. She’ll hear us,” Tessie shushed them.
“They’re never going to be at that restaurant,” Pepper said.
“Be quiet,” Isabella snapped at her. “Yes, they are.”
“You be quiet,” Pepper snapped back. “Annie’s never going to find her family. None of us are.”
“Don’t say that,” another girl, Mia, said. She was the youngest of the group at only eight years old. Her eyes welled up with tears at what Pepper said.
“Pepper!” Tessie chastised.
“Don’t listen to her, Mia,” Annie reassured the young girl, giving her a hug. “You’re going to get adopted, I promise.”
“You keep saying that,” Pepper argued. “But I’m almost thirteen. No one wants a teenager.”
“Yes, they do!” Annie said brightly. “We all have families somewhere.”
“Can you read your note again?” Mia asked, still sniffling.
“Oh God.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “For the millionth time.”
Isabella hurled a pillow at Pepper. Pepper ducked and then stared up at the bottom of the bunk above her. It was covered in the names of previous foster kids who had lived with Miss Hannigan at some point. Most of the names were crossed through except the girls’ in the room, whose names were at the bottom. And Pepper’s name, which was midway up the list. Pepper had lived with Miss Hannigan for a very long time. She put her pillow over her head and rolled away from the other girls.
“Yeah, read it, Annie,” Tessie urged. “But quietly.”
