Page 92 of Wells

"Isn't this building so cool?"

I stop beside her.

"Really? Looks pretty rough from where I'm standing."

"Good bones. Look at those windows. Strip the plywood and let the light in, and you would have real natural light from the East. It would be perfect for a studio in this neighborhood. I love coming by here and daydreaming."

She tilts her head, still staring.

"You want to live here?"

"No, silly. For the kids at the rec center. I think it would make an amazing yoga center for them."

Her voice shifts, lighter, almost teasing, but the weight underneath doesn't disappear.

She looks at me, half smiling, then starts walking again before I can say anything.

I glance back at the building and pause.

"You coming?"

Cera is already half a block ahead. I jog up to join her just before we turn on Leake Avenue. The storefront is the second door. It has a hand-painted sign that just says JUICE in red.

"What's your poison?"

"Nicotine."

"Right. Let's cleanse that right out. Mind if I order for you?"

"As long as it tastes decent. Nothing green or earthy."

"I got you." She proceeds to order the "Citrus Cure," which is orange juice, carrots and ginger.

Cera tears the wrappers off two straws and slides one into each cup. She's ordered some green thing, blended so thick she has to stir it loose.

"What is that?"

"Spinach, lemon, pineapple, and jalapeño. It's my favorite. Want to try?"

"I'm good. Mine's great, though. Thanks for ordering."

We head back out, walking back on a different route east on Magazine. The neighborhood stays rough and tired around us. Laundromats, liquor stores with gated windows, and signs promising cash for gold line this part of the neighborhood, just one block over from the one we took.

The sun sits high now. Sweat collects at the base of my neck.

I spot some kids sitting on the roof of a house, tossing berries down.

"Look at those kids up there," I say, pointing up.

"I used to love climbing on the roof as a kid. Up there, I was ten feet tall and bulletproof."

Her voice is quiet. I don't tell her I already know she spent a lot of time on her roof.

"It was flatter than that one, easy to reach from the attic window."

She takes a sip of the green drink, her fingers tightening around the plastic cup.

"Did you grow up in New Orleans?" Guilt stabs me the second it's out of my mouth. I know she grew up in Covington because I found it when I was looking into Peoria.