"How is that going to fix the air?" Ezra asked Caleb, who currently was working on the said air unit. He was hunched over the unit holding some tools in his hands. He switched back and forth between all the tools.

Caleb shrugged. "It's worth trying. You don't know if it will work until you try it."

Ezra walked away and to his Mom who kept calling for him. He found her in the kitchen putting some meal together.

She wiped her hands on her apron. "Ezra, can you please take this to Mr. Dume?" She took a plate off the counter.

Ezra sighed and took the plate. He walked out of the kitchen and then to the backyard where Caleb was. "This is from my Mom. Here you go."

Caleb took the plate and inspected what was on it. Not suspicious of anything, just curious to see what he was  given. Some fruit and bread. "Thank you. Also, thank your Mom when you get the chance." Caleb put the plate down and continued working on the unit. Ezra wasn't sure what he was doing, but it seemed to work. Caleb wiped his forehead. "That should do it!"

Ezra could here his Mom shouting out in excitement. Going on about how the air was working. Ezra turned to face Caleb, "Well, thanks! I was actually doubting that anything was going to fix that old air unit! But you did it."

"You can do anything if you put your mind to it," Caleb said and picked his plate up and began to eat the food on it. He was very quiet and seemed deep in thought. He kept staring blankly into space.

Ezra was silent for a moment. "This might seem kind of rude, but it seems like you hold onto a lot of pain. You can see it in your eyes."

Caleb sighed. "You're not wrong, but it's something I don't want to talk about. Not yet." He walked into his own home and closed the door.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. There was still a lot he had to learn about his neighbor. His attention was now focused on someone else. The same person painting graffiti in the street. Ezra felt he had enough courage to finally speak to this person and speak his mind.

He slowly walked up to them and observed them. They wore a black hoodie, with the hood on. A pair of black distressed jeans, and some old sneakers. All were covered in paint splatters. The person carefully spray painted the fence. Clearly putting a lot of effort and dedication into the their piece.

"Excuse me?" Ezra said. The person continued to paint and paint. "Excuse me?" Ezra tried again. This time the person stopped and removed their mask that protected their lungs from the paint fumes.

"Can I help you?" the lady's voice responded. She didn't look directly at Ezra, but instead stared at her art.

"Um, yeah. I don't mean to be rude, but this isn't exactly the nicest neighborhood. It's in fact far from nice, and graffiti doesn't make it feel any nicer."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said turning around. She removed her hood revealing her dark short hair with purple tips. "But I wouldn't call my art 'graffiti'. Just because I do my work on the side of a fence with spray paint, doesn't make my art trashy."

Ezra remained quiet. He clearly went too far. He had no idea this would be such a sensitive subject for the girl. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so rude I-"

"Take a closer look."

"What?"

"Take a closer look," the girl repeated.

Ezra sighed and looked closer. "I see a lot of color, a bird, and a city."

"Yes, but each thing has a meaning. Each brings the piece to life. That 'bird' is a Phoenix. Everyone knows what a Phoenix is known for. They rise from the ashes. I specifically chose that bird for this part of town. People like you, people who have nothing, just need a little hope, that things will get better."

"Well, when you put it that way, it's not so bad," Ezra said looking even closer at the painting. "I'm sorry once again. My name is Ezra by the way."

"Sabine," she replied. She folded her arms. "Look, it was wrong of me to just paint without permission. You're right about that. I just - ugh!"

"What?"

"I don't know. I've been going through a lot, and this is my only outlet to really feel normal I guess. . . Does anyone live here?" She pointed at the home the fence belonged to
There was old rusted car parts throughout the yard and the grass was more like a jungle.

"Actually, no. I guess you're good to paint here," Ezra responded. "If you don't mind me asking, you're not from this part of town, are you?"

Sabine sighed and looked down. "No, I'm not. My parents would never be caught here. . . I ran away from home the other day. . ."

"Why?" Ezra asked. It was probably not the right response, but by judging her choice of words, she came from a wealthy family. Ezra couldn't understand why someone would leave a life where one had everything.

"They. . .they don't understand me," Sabine replied putting her hood back on. She then put her paints back in a carrier. "I swear, I'm the last thing on their list of priorities."

"You might think that, but I'm sure it's not true," Ezra said trying to help. "And if I'm wrong, if you're not wanted, then you're more than welcome to come over for a meal. My Mom would be ecstatic."

Sabine wiped a tear away and picked up her thing. "Look, you don't understand. No one does. . . . . .I have to go."

And with that she quickly walked away and turned right and out of the neighborhood. Ezra felt bad for Sabine. If he had known she was going though such horrible things he wouldn't have been as harsh as he was. No. He shouldn't have been like that at all.

His mother called for him once again and he walked towards his house. Turning one more time to look at Sabine's painting.