I munched on my egg salad.

The next day after school, I found myself sat at the Hidden City Cafe.

The warm environment buzzed with life. The windows beside me streamed with sun rays, giving the light in the restaurant a dream like glow. Outside cars, bikes, and a pizza truck whizzed by.

I looked up from my lunch, watching the red faced, round as an apple cop from across the cafe. Some chopped up celery fell from my chin.

I squinted, locked onto him as he suspiciously took another sip of coffee.

I stood up, my stool sliding backwards on the tile. I flipped my hair back, and dramatically gulped down the last sip of my chamomile tea like I was taking a shot of... Something...

I slammed the paper cup onto the table and crushed it in my hand.

I tossed the crumbled cup passed my ear, broadened my shoulders stepped forward, and—

"Hey!"

I paused.

"You with the buck teeth."

I looked back, and saw an old black woman with grey streaks in her hair and folding wrinkles under her eyes.

In her hand was a stringy old mop, firmly grasped in her hand like the staff of Gandalf.

She gestured her mop to my crumpled up cup on the floor.

The old woman cleared her throat.

"What?" Was my response.

"Pick that up."

"Oh. Ohhhh."

My dignity in the trash, I plucked the cup off the title floor and tossed it into the silver garbage can by the front door.

The old woman gave me one more glare before going back to mopping.

Focusing back on the task at hand, I sniffed and wiped my nose on the knuckle of my finger, and strutted to the other side of the cafe to Chapman's table. I slammed my fist on the table, almost giving him a heart attack.

I actually think he almost drew his gun.

"You know," I shook my head. "I have learned that it is," I paused for affect, dramatically turning my head away. "bad to litter."

"Kid, what do you want?!" He was almost screaming, his veins in his neck bulging.

"It's Mary, meter maid. And I don't care what you tell me. I am not giving up until I know what happened to me. What are you trying to hide from me?"

"I'm not hiding anything," he growled.

"Reeeeaaaaaalllyyy." I plopped down on the chair across from him and kicked my feet up on the table. "Good. Because I'm dating a reporter. He should be here in about three minutes. He wants an interview. Then you can tell him you're not hiding anything and you have a legal reason for denying me those evidence files."

"You're sixteen."

"Fifteen, and he just graduated high school and landed an internship."

If only the truth and the lie were reversed. It would be really nice to be able to drive.

Then again, what would I drive.

A Little Tike?

"Of course," I smiled with the slyness of a fox. "if you want to cancel the interview with my boyfriend, I can ring him up again and let him know you changed your mind."

"Why are you doing this," he said in a low voice.

"You know why," I huffed. "I was kidnapped as a child. You heard of this handy dandy thing called closure? Yeah, I need to know what happened to me."

Detective Chapman took a sip from his coffee. He set his mug down on the coaster and looked up at me.

"Three questions." He held up such fingers. "You get three questions."

"I don't think so." I smirked. "I've got two words for you. Re-por-ter. Wait."

Chapman laughed. "You're lucky I like ya, kid."

"Mary." I smiled. "So," I swallowed. "What exactly, uh, happened?"

"You were two. You could barely speak. But we interviewed you anyway, desperate for any kind of lead. We had nothing. Not even finger prints on the window. But even though you could't speak, you were oddly more than capable of answering. You were happy, is what I mean. Usually kids are so shaken up after something like that."

I remembered back to the photo of me in the article.

The light in my eyes...

"But how you responded? It boggled our minds. When we asked you where you went, you ran to your little arts and crafts table in the corner and picked up one of your drawings. At first we thought you were confused, and maybe you were, we don't know. But you insisted. You kept pointing at the drawings and saying words in your little own little language—"

"Wait, woah woah woah woah." I timed out. "Drawings? I pointed at drawings? What drawings? Of what? And what did I say?"

"Woah woah woah yourself, Buttercup."

"Mary. And what's wrong?" I drummed my finger tips on my round cheeks. "Must I call my dearest?"

I don't even own a phone—

"No, stop threatening me with your overachieving boyfriend. It's just that, before we discuss this any further, I have the actual drawings. On file. At the station."

"I can literally go with you to the police station with you right now. I have no life. Well, nothing better to do than follow cops around town to the Hidden City Cafe."

"Some secret spy. No, you shouldn't go. It's best if we keep this informal and in a public setting. I'll be here tomorrow."

"I knew already that."

"Then I'll see you here, same time same table."

* * *

"Mary!" Jackson came running into my room, out of breath.

I jumped out of my seat, tipping over my chair and knocking coffee all over my chemistry notes.

"What? What is it?! What's wrong?! Is someone hurt?! Do I need to call an ambulance?!"

"Mr. Midnight is stuck in a tree!" Jackson jumped up and down.

I looked down at my stained and obliterated notes.

My head lolled back. "Uggghhhh."

* * *

"Where's the stupid cat?" I groaned, lumbering as Jackson lead me by the hand through the playground.

"There!" Jackson pointed to an evergreen tree in the corner of the courtyard, a seven foot tall chicken wire fence standing behind it. At least ten other small children gathered around the tree.

"Here, Kitty, Kitty! Here, Kitty, Kitty!"

"Come on, Mr. Midnight! Come down now!"

Some clapped, some whistled, some made kissing noises.

The show put on by the oblivious children was somewhat entertaining. Like the cat would know what its name was.

Although, I will not deny it. My heart melted at the sight of the six week old kitten clinging to the flimsy top of the tree. Its pitiful cries echoed through the courtyard.

I assessed the situation.

Can't climb the tree. It'd break in half before I even got a good grip of it. Could get a step ladder, but that would take too much time. Not even going to attempt to stand on the fence. Too thin. I'd slip right off.

Then I noticed the street light.

The street light was maybe twenty to twenty five feet tall, standing on the other side of chicken wire fence. It was a sleek and modern design, growing skinnier the higher it went, curving at the top like an elegant bendy straw if such a thing existed, with the oval light on the end.

Right beside the tree.

I ran up the fence and climbed over it, jumping down on the other side. As the children watched, I gripped the street light with both hands and began to climb.

When I was at the top, I crossed both legs together, sliding down the curved end of the pole until I was stopped by the huge bulb of the light. Tightly gripping the pole between my thighs, I fell upside down, blood rushing to my head. Acting fast, I swung myself to the right, grabbing at the top of the tree.

For once, I was glad to be five foot eleven. Any shorter and I wouldn't have had a chance of reaching him.

After three swings, I touched the kitten's fur. From underneath, I could feel that its muscles were rock hard and coiled.

It wouldn't let go. Not without a fight.

By the fifth attempt, my head was starting to ache. Yet I persisted.

Finally I had the kitten in my grip.

His claws remained were embedded into the tree.

"Come on, Mr. Midnight," I said out loud for the sake of the children, putting on a fake smile. I kept pulling at him, my hands under his front legs.

He hissed, snapping his head back and biting my hand.

The shock of it almost made me let go.

But not just let go of him.

I felt my thighs' grip on the pole weaken.

Come on you stupid cat.

I finally yanked him from the tree, taking some green with me. Having an absolute panic attack, the cat turned to latch on to me, sinking his claws and teeth into my hands. My legs slipped further down the light.

I remained calm.

I cannot react.

I cannot let go.

If I let go, I die.

I gritted my teeth, clinging desperately to the pole with every inch of muscle above my knee. The kitten continued to thrash at me, hissing and crying. Yet I held on.

I did not have plans that day involving snapping my neck or cracking my skull on pavement.

Too much homework to do.

I lifted myself up, sitting on top of the light once again. I slid down the pole, the kitten firmly yet gently gripped.

My feet slapped the ground.

"Booyakasha!" Jackson screamed, jumping up and down with his fingers curled around the chicken wire. Overwhelming cheer and applause erupted from the children.

Advanced gymnastics.

A skill finally useful in my life.

I stepped away from the pole, my focus only on the kitten in my hands.

Having calmed down some, the kitten now shook in fright, no longer on the defense.

I looked at the blood trickling from my hands and fingers.

Stupid cat.

He then looked up at me in the eyes, his marble blue eyes bulging from their sockets from terror.

I held my breath.

He meowed, a last weep from from the bottom of his heart.

I brought the kitten to my chest, his little warm head buried under my chin.

I turned away from the fence, stroking his glossy black fur as he shook. "Shhh," I cooed. "It's ok. It's ok, Mr. Midnight. It's ok."