"Hey, Casey," Jean called, swiveling her chair closer as she leaned against the edge of my desk. We both worked in the same Data Management Department, our desks practically touching.

"Can I ask a favor?"

I glanced up from my screen, my fingers still tapping out SQL queries. "Sure," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What is it?"

Jean's eyes softened, and she leaned in closer. "My daughter's school called," she whispered, "She's got this nasty cold, and the teacher says she's not very active in class today. They want me to pick her up from the sick bay, but I'm knee-deep in ETL pipelines, and Dupont's breathing down my neck for that report. Can you pick her up for me?"

I hesitated.

Jean and I weren't exactly friends, but she had that desperate look-the kind that made you feel like a jerk if you said no. Besides, I'd probably been her last hope. She'd likely canvassed the entire office only to be turned down due to their own workload and busy schedules.

"Yeah, sure," I said, pushing my chair back. "Why not?" My weekly dashboard was finally polished again. Picking up a sick kid seemed like a welcome diversion besides boring work stuff.

Jean's relief was palpable. She swiveled her chair toward her desk, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Here's my authorization," she said, scribbling something with a pen. "You're Casey Carlton, right?"

"Castleman."

"Right. Right." She scratched out a word, her pen dancing across the paper. "Thanks, Casey. You're a lifesaver."

"Her name is Ymani Berry James," she continued, her pen scratching across the paper as she finished the authorization note. "She's at Vista Academy on Linwood Street. It's thirty minutes from here." Then she spun her chair back to her desk, rummaging through the contents of her bag.

Returning with a photo clutched in her hand, she presented it to me. "This is her."

I nodded, my gaze lingering on the snapshot. Ymani's green eyes sparkled, framed by a constellation of freckles that danced across her cheeks, nose, and over to the other cheek.

"Thank you," Jean said, her voice softening. "I really appreciate this."

"No problem," I replied, tucking the note into my pocket as I headed out.

***
EXACTLY 40 MINUTES LATER

"How are you feeling now?" I asked Ymani as she hopped along the sidewalk, her wavy brown hair bouncing as she did.

She turned to me, her big beautiful eyes wide and serious. "Like shit."

I caught up with her and grasped her small hands in mine, her school bag slung on my shoulder.

Her mittens scratched against my hand as she tried to free herself. I held on, determined to keep her from darting off again.

We crossed the street. "How old are you?" I quizzed.

"Eight. Why?"

"Eight-year-olds shouldn't say things like that."

"Things like 'shit' and 'crap'?" She scoffed. "Oh, please! There are bigger problems out there, like wars and pollution and you're worried about 𝘮𝘺 choice of words? Grown-ups say them all the time-on the news, in that cartoon show my mom lets me watch. I'm just repeating what I hear."

"So you know they're not good words."

"Yeah." Ymani nodded innocently. "Mom and Dad warn me not to say them, but they use those words with each other all the time!"

I sighed, my breath visible in the crisp air. "Grown-ups aren't always right, Ymani."

We descended into the subway, the rumble of trains echoing around us.

"I know." She sniffled. "That's why we need Google ... I also know grown-ups aren't as smart as they think. My mom and dad for instance; they can't even figure out how to be happy together. It's not that hard since no one forced them to get married."

The chatty girl turned silent and glum.

My next words got tangled in my throat as I wondered how much more she understood at her age. Her mother was a mystery to me, but whenever she stumbled into the office, looking like she'd wrestled with a hangover from the previous night, she'd rant about men-how they were nothing but trouble, chaos incarnate. Her "good-for-nothing" husband bore the brunt of her wrath.

But what did I know about men or boys? I'd never dated; it just wasn't my scene. The melodrama that swirled around my friends' relationships felt like a tempest I'd rather avoid. Besides, I wasn't exactly a looker back then, so I never bothered chasing the elusive "perfect boyfriend."

I glanced down at Ymani, her sniffling and nose-wiping tugging at my heart. When I was her age, life had been simpler. My parents- still the happiest, most supportive couple-had shielded me from the jagged edges of adult struggles.

What had Ymani done to deserve this at such a tender age?

But then again, what did 𝘐 do to deserve such an easy life?

The subway train pulled up, its metallic doors opening to distract me from my thoughts.

Ymani stopped me right before we hopped on. "Hold up. Let me grab my yoyo." Ymani fished out the toy from her backpack, then bulldozed her way through the crowd that was streaming in.

That girl was slipperier than my brother in slime!

As I dashed inside, I caught sight of her perched between two burly dudes, deftly twirling her yoyo. The seats were all taken, so I clung to the handrail as the train lurched into motion.

A few minutes into the ride, Ymani's yoyo slipped from her grasp and rolled a little farther down the aisle. I leaned over to retrieve it for her, only to find that she'd also vacated her seat to retrieve the runaway toy. That's when this tall guy sauntered over and plopped himself down.

He had that rugged, handsome look-unfriendly, with a hint of stubble. Familiar light brown eyes and unruly brown hair.

It was Theodore, occupying Ymani's spot like he owned the place. His red sweatshirt bore the bold proclamation "Son Of A Nutcracker," complete with Will Ferrell's face.

"Excuse me?" I squared my shoulders and approached, still gripping the handrail. Ymani stepped up beside me. "Um, excuse me. Could she please have her seat back? She's not feeling too great."

Theodore glanced up, hands crossed, and locked eyes with me. His raised eyebrow made my heart skip a beat.

Intimidating?

Maybe a bit. But I wasn't backing down. "Could she please get her seat back?" My tone shifted from pleading to assertive.

The onlookers had turned their heads, curious to see how this showdown would play out.

"What did you say?" His defensive voice, all deep and smooth, drew the attention of anyone who hadn't been looking.

"She's not feeling well," I explained, hoping he wouldn't make a scene. "And she was here first before you showed up. If she could please have her seat back?"

Did he actually smirk?

No. Way.

He full-on smirked and scoffed at the same time?!

"Listen, lady," he said, rolling his eyes like I was a total bother. "I'm planted here, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

Fury bubbled inside me as I took slow breaths, forcing myself to stay calm.

"Look," I said, trying to keep my voice even, "I get that you're comfortable, but she really needs this seat more than you do. It's not exactly kind to let her stand the whole ride when she's sick. Please understand."

The guy practically snarled. "Oh, so you're Miss Manners now? Trying to make me feel bad for wanting a seat? These chairs don't have names on them, lady, last time I checked."

"She's just a little girl. She needs to sit down."

"And I'm just a guy who needs to sit down too. What's so hard to understand?"

"Don't be so inconsiderate."

"Maybe you shouldn't have dragged your sick kid onto a packed public transport if you were worried about germs."

"Are you enjoying this? Being a jerk and making everyone miserable?"

"Wouldn't you know it," he replied, dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, congratulations. You're a real pro at it."

"Thanks. I practice a lot."

I was seething now. I had never argued in public like this. What had come over me? But he-his angry face, acting like he was the only one with problems-had pushed me too far. There were bigger things to worry about, like wars and pollution, for crying out loud!

Taking another deep breath, I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm down.

That's when I heard it - a wet, gurgling sound.

When I opened my eyes, I nearly burst out laughing. Ymani had completely barfed all over Theodore's blue canvas shoes. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle, the whole situation suddenly feeling a lot less tense.

The smell hit me first, a sour wave that instantly made Theodore screw up his face in disgust. "Fuck!"

People around him started shifting away, creating a little bubble of misery around him and Ymani.

I yanked Ymani closer, her warmer than normal body sidling up behind me to wrap her arms around my waist.

"I'm so sorry," Ymani mumbled. "I just couldn't help it."

"It's okay, sweetie," I murmured back, more to myself than to her.

My attention was snagged by Theodore, who stood up with a fury that seemed to radiate off him. His eyes, narrowed and blazing, locked with mine for a long moment before he spat out, "You owe me a new pair of shoes, lady!"

As if on cue, someone - a middle-aged man who seemed blissfully unaware of the brewing storm - plopped right down into the seat Theodore had just left.

Theodore lunged at him, fingers curling into the man's shirt just as the train jerked to a halt.

I clung to Ymani, pulling her towards the doors as we weaved through the crowd with haste.

We finally stumbled up the stairs to the surface, both of us gasping for breath, and then we just started laughing. It bubbled up from somewhere deep inside, uncontrollable and infectious.

"He totally deserved it!" Ymani exclaimed between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. I couldn't help but agree, a wide grin splitting my face open.

"Yeah," I wheezed, wiping my own eyes. "Come on, let's get out of here before he comes chasing us for a new pair of shoes."

Ymani's laughter faded, replaced by a sudden queasiness. She doubled over, retching onto my boots.

I wrinkled my nose and patted her back. "You seriously need to see a doctor."

***

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