JOEL

We had walked straight into the middle of the island, into the whirling, confused ghetto that made it up. It truly was a kind of turf war between the quarters of the island, with apartment complexes, storefronts, factories and tiny office buildings banged together in a rough maelstrom of sprawling facilities and rundown, squat, grey buildings. Even the people seemed darker here; they seemed to be far more world weary than their ages would have suggested. An understanding of human behavior and the harshness of a world that didn’t tolerate much disrespect haunted the eyes of every islander who loitered about these streets. Here, I felt at home.

“Are we almost there?” I asked, eyeing a tiny bakery that had had its window smashed. The owner had done a quick fix up with some duct tape and trash bags, like the deli I used to order my bacon egg and cheese from every day before school. I smiled.

Valentina nodded, striding purposefully along the cracked and dirty concrete as if she were somehow above it all. But then, who wouldn’t believe they were? Even the inhabitants of this parallel world that nearly every city had thought they had what it takes to bring them out of poverty and out of the slums. I know I did, back in my days of naiveté.

“The medical supply center we’re going to see is called UMed; you may be able to see it just a few blocks from here,” she said, pointing ahead of us. “See the blue banner? Anyway, it’s important around here, since there tends to be higher crime rates here than in the rest of the island. We could rake in serious cash with an expansion so long as we get it for a good price, ya know?”

I nodded my agreement, but I was mostly taking in the sights, in wonder that the neat, pretty island even had a place like this. Even island cities populated by children had a ghetto, it seemed. I watched children and teens toss a beat up football through the rusted bottom rung of a fire escape, moving further and further back as they “scored” in order to prove who could make it from the farthest. This, too, made me smile; it made me reminisce on the days where we used to play basketball with the bottom rung of a fire escape just like that, in the spirit of fun and rivalry, just like them.

Of course, not all memories of poverty were too pleasant. Watching some kids play in a busted fire hydrant’s spray, I remembered when I had accidentally pegged a higher ranking Grey with a water balloon at the tender age of eight. And then I could remember little else following.

Valentina caught my wince, and unlike Caitlin, she opened her mouth to ask. “Not used to this environment?”

I barely repressed an impolite snort. “Just the opposite actually. I’m comfortable here.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

I didn’t answer, having no real retort for her hawkish perceptiveness, and similarly avian method of picking at you until she got what she needed. I decided instead to burrow underground, the prized worm escaping his predator the only way he knew how.

“I noticed you and the head honcho have the same last name. Any relation?”

She noted my evasive maneuver, no doubt, but the dark cloud that passed over her otherwise pretty face seemed to sidetrack her. “Mr. Forrero is my brother,” she said, turning up her nose at her own words.

“You didn’t look too comfortable there.”

She furrowed her brow at me, trying to determine if I was joking or not. I smiled, ending her debate there. I bowed my head apologetically, still smirking.

After a block-long pause in conversation, she was the first to speak. “I used to run this branch of PlayGear, along with a group of respected business thinkers that included Mr. Forrero.”

Used to? “Why do you call him Mr. Forrero? I bet you learned his first name at some point.” I tried to bite back that sarcastic quip but failed. “And what do you mean ‘used to’?”

Her face darkened more, the storm clouds no longer drifting and scowling, threatening precipitation, but roiling and thundering, threatening to follow through. “His name is Mr. Forrero, and I mean ‘used to’ as in ‘not anymore’,” she said, biting the ends off of all the words in her sharp, witty retort.

I nodded, not wanting to invoke her wrath with a similarly sharp response. I knew a touchy subject when I saw one; this usually happened when one defended so many of their own tender topics. In my defense, I had only really gone on the offense to repulse her from picking at my own dark truths.

I heard the familiar click-click-click of rickety bicycle wheels behind us. The clicks came rapidly, one after the other so quickly that they seemed to overlap one another and getting progressively louder.

“Hey, get the f-“

At the first hostile note the boy behind us made, I snapped into attack mode. El Jefe peeked out from his hiding place in my soul.

Whirling on the ball of one foot, I braced the other against the rubber of the front tire while gripping the handlebars in my hands and twisting them aside. The rider nearly tumbled over his bars at the sudden stop, but my twist sent him sprawling to the concrete, his rusted bicycle clanging on top of him.

He scrambled up, and the only thing I noted was his attire. He dressed in sweats and boots, as if he were expecting a fight today. He had found one.

Throwing his bike his aside, he swung wildly, angrily at my face in a wide, sloppy hook. I batted it high so that it passed above my head and reached out with my opposite hand to grab hold of his jaw by the hinges.

I knew the fight was won, if it had been a fight at all. He couldn’t even realign himself for another swing before I was squeezing the spots where his lower jaw met the upper with one hand. His mouth was forced open, and he sputtered and squeaked out of the stinking cavity.
I pulled my victim close and spoke into his face, “Next time, you die.”

My threat wasn’t an angry one. I had said it calmly, coldly, perfectly measured thanks to years of practice to provoke the desired reaction. He blanched and his lower lip trembled.

I shoved him away with the hand that had been clamped onto his face, and he staggered backward, stumbling over his bike and hitting the ground hard once more. I only watched him, stabbed him with my icy glare, while he hefted his bike and carried it away, not daring to stop sprinting to mount it until he was a block distant.

I turned back to Valentina, whom I expected to wear a mask of shock or fear, if not both. She wore neither, preferring to show her favored mask of composure, only this time with a slightly raised brow.

“Sorry,” I muttered, but I wasn’t sure an apology was necessary.

“It’s fine. It’s impressive, even, but let’s get the hell out of here. The humiliated can be spiteful.”

I doubted the ill-tempered coward would pose much of a threat to me, but I heeded her warning if only to get away from the spot where El Jefe had made his first unbidden appearance on the island.

*

.UMed had a little desk in the lobby with a young receptionist as well. It was very different from PlayGear thought, with its tiny desk in the tiny lobby of the tiny building. The grandeur of PlayGear’s lobby was missing, chandeliers replaced with hanging flakes of ceiling paint, massive marble pillars replaced by splintered wooden beams, and granite tiles replaced with dirty rugs over a creaky wooden floor. I wondered why such a sketchy building housed medical supplies, but shrugged it away. I didn’t honestly expect much from this part of town.

The receptionist spoke into the phone at her desk in rapid, sharp sentences. She didn’t seem so much industrious as simply unpleasant. The person on the other line seemed to be displeasing her somehow but I continued to get the impression that the receptionist simply didn’t like people.

Valentina and I waited politely for her to get off the phone, but when she did, she only looked up at us, irritated. “What?” The looks of annoyance twisted her features into an ugly grimace on an otherwise pretty face.

Valentina, all professionalism and stoicism, said, “We’re here to see Ms. Acevedo on behalf of PlayGear.”

She pursed her lips as if Valentina had said something hostile and pushed a button on her phone mount. “Ms. Acevedo, the PlayGear crew his here.”

We waited a moment, the receptionist holding the receiver to her ear, before Ms. Acevedo gave her a response. “Ms. Acevedo will see you now. Third floor.”

Valentina nodded and together we headed for the only elevator in the dimly lit lobby. There was only one button that should have had an arrow pointing up. However, the button had come loose so it pointed left instead, and the light that was supposed to come on only when you pushed it flickered on and off constantly. I pushed it and waited, listening for the familiar grinds and grunts of an old elevator struggling to make its way to you from behind the heavy steel doors.

“It don’t work. Take the steps,” the receptionist said, after watching us amusedly for a few moments.

I scowled at her, but Valentina only nodded and made her way up the steps. I followed quickly, not really wanting to be left alone with the ill-tempered desk chick. Ascending the stairs, we stepped over and around various stains and unidentified substances before we reached the third landing where the steps stopped. There was only one door on this landing, labeled “Angelina Acevedo”.

Valentina knocked and was almost immediately greeted with a “Come in.”

We stepped through the door.

“Hello,” Valentina said.

“Hello,” Ms. Acevedo responded automatically, not looking up from some papers on her desk.

“Hi,” I said, somewhat out of place.

She looked up and stared into my face, affording me a good look at hers. She had a plain face, her hair a pure shade of brown like her eyes. She had a pointy nose and chin and she was petite, smaller than Caitlin, yet looking as old as her with the precocious aura she gave off. She had seen a bit more of the world than a 12 or 13 year old ought to have. But that was how the inhabitants of the slums grew up anyway.

“Hi,” she said spritely. “I’m Angelina. And you are?”

“Joel Perez.”

She smiled and extended a hand, which I shook politely. I watched her eyes dance over my face before locking gazes with me. She flushed very slightly, and then moved to shake Valentina’s hand, almost as an afterthought.

“I’m Valentina Forrero.” Angelina nodded, but wasn’t really looking at her. “We spoke over the phone?”

“Yes, yes.” Now she turned toward Valentina, though even then her eyes lingered on me for a bit. I started to realize what was running through her head. “You were suggesting making UMed a PlayGear extension?”

“Rather, I wish for UMed to become a branch of Industry F, which PlayGear belongs to.”

I listened intently, trying to gather as much information as I could from their conversation.

“Which would put UMed under corporation control. Which means I get a smaller cut of the profits,” Angelina reasoned.

“Well, we already have someone in line to run UMed in your absence. I was thinking to buy UMed from you and leave you with a good sum of money and live worry free for the rest of your time on the island.”

Angelina shook her head. “I make good money here. If you want to buy me out of it, you’re talking big bucks.”

I frowned. “Rather than buy her out of it, why not have her run it, make the money, and a percentage of it can go to Industry F? With the proper financial backing, UMed could expand, maybe out of the ghetto and make several times what it makes now. Even subtracting a certain percentage, you’d make several times what you make now.”

Valentina eyed me carefully, her brows arched in surprise and interest.

“That sounds more reasonable. But how steep a percentage are we talking?”

“Fifty,” Valentina said immediately.

Angelina scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t cut my profits in half if I don’t even know that an expansion will be successful.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Valentina didn’t seem to be willing to debate the rates.

“How about,” I began slowly, “we start with a smaller percentage. Let’s say five? And as UMed is expanded and the income increases, we can increase the rates until you reach a certain goal, the end result being a fifty percent cut for Industry F.”

Angelina seemed ready to argue, but when she looked at me, I gave my most charming smile. She smiled uncertainly back, but the longer I held it, the wider her own grew. “Fine, let’s talk the specifics, then.”

*

Valentina seemed a little less stoic when we left UMed only an hour later. We stood just outside and she smiled at me. “I’ve showed you most of what I can around here. If this is something you would like to do, come see me. I can get you a job with PlayGear negotiating easily enough. Do you know how to get to Caitlin’s from here?”

I nodded. I only need to head southeast since her home was in the southeastern corner of the island.

Valentina smiled and cupped my cheek. I blinked In surprise and she laughed lightly, striding away with purpose. I watched her for a bit, wondering if I could be bothered with such a continuously busy job. I turned the opposite way and ventured further into the YLSP slums.

Originally Posted by Maroon-Back 313 “So, where’s this building we’re heading to?” Valentina and I’d been walking a bit, 'a bit' isn't very descriptive, try something like: for a little while as I scanned the office district street for our destination. “In the ghetto. It’s a medical center that’s gone relatively untouched, due to its great value to the citizens in the area.” I don't really understand this part, if the medical centre is valuable to the citizens then why is it untouched? I nodded. I wasn’t afraid of the ghetto, after all, how bad could it possibly be? I’d grown up in the Bronx, where grown men wanted me dead if I looked at them funny, despite my age. Everything was tentative, be it friendships, street ownership, or one’s hold on life. On YLSP, it was just a bunch of hyped up teens and kids. I’d never been bested in a fight by anyone, nor any combination of people, except for the occasional jumping I’d received from unnecessarily large numbers of adults claiming to be the uncles or brothers of those I’d wronged. I took those beatings in stride; if I’d lived through it once, I could do it again. Experience had proven that it’d be much easier the second, third, and fourth times. In the following silence, I contemplated my earlier experience in Valentina’s office building. Her brother was the boss. “How’d your brother come to run the business at PlayGear?” Valentina didn’t answer for a long moment, her blue-green eyes staring coldly ahead at the street we’d yet to traverse. I bowed my head as I awaited an answer that may not come. Finally, minutes later, Valentina answered, turning her nose up at her words as she did. Love this part, it clearly shows her dislike/disgust. “I used to run PlayGear, along with a small group of respected economists.” I felt my brain blank as I tried to absorb this information. “Economists?” “People who study business.” I knew what economists were; I was shocked this small development of children and teens had them. “So you’re good at that?” Valentina nodded curtly. She grabbed my wrist and tugged me out of the way of a dazed looking youth, his eyes blank, his face haggard. We were approaching the slums of YLSP. “So was Mr. Ferreira. I introduced him to the well paying business, and he immediately took a liking to it. He became greedy and discreetly eliminated the other members of our group by informing them of job openings that sometimes didn’t exist, that paid better than their current posts. As he did so, the money being made was divided into fewer portions, so we all got paid more.” “And he did this to you?” “I didn’t fall for his crap. Neither did Neil. However, Mr. Ferreira had also been buying PlayGear stocks, until he owned the majority of the company in terms of shares, as well. Once he firmly grasped the reins of power, he did away with the stirrups, so to speak.” “He fired you and Neil.” “Mhm.” “This is your brother,” I stated, What? Her brother is a scruffy looking shop? This was my first impression, but after reading it over a few times I began to see what you're getting at. Maybe you could do something to change that first reaction though. eyeing the familiar sight of graffiti and broken glass in shop windows. I smiled a bit when I saw a poor duct tape repair job at one window, similar to the one in the corner store I’d buy a bagel from every morning when I was younger. “Yeah.” “Why do you call him Mr. Ferreira?” “He insists on it. I work at PlayGear at his mercy. I have to comply.” “Well, he’s not here, why do you still refer to him that way?” “In the beginning, I did so to become used to it, so as not to slip up in front of him. Now it’s a force of habit and I can’t help it.” She made a face like she bit For me 'she'd bitten' seems to run better here into a sandy meal at the beach and Again, personally 'then' seems to work better than 'and'flipped her streaked hair out of her face. I shook my head. Caitlin’s way of life seemed so simple, so peaceful. Now I was experiencing big city life, and it was full of political and cutthroat moves, all for the benefit of the individual. “Do PlayGear’s hard times have anything to do with Mr. Ferreira’s domination of its executive branch?” Valentina stopped and stared hard at me. I stopped and took up the challenge, You used stopped in the last sentence, try a different word like: haltedstaring her straight in the eye and challenging her will to mine. Here you use very similar words again, 'challenge' and 'challenging' try substituting one of these. Or to cure both cases try something like: Valentine stopped and stared hard at me. I followed suit, looking her straight in the eye and challenging her will to mine. It was a test of both confidence and audacity. Healthy doses of both self-confidence and narcissism fueled the fires in our eyes, Love it! and respect quickly welled up in both our gazes, though we didn’t give an inch of ground. Finally, Valentina cracked a smile. “You’re a smart guy. I’d like to see you in our line of business. You’d do PlayGear well.” “You and I perhaps.” “Maybe.” “Watch out, man, damn!” I felt someone shove me from behind, but rather than stumble forward, I took a step and leaned into it, bowing my back in a half duck. My attacker was completely unready for my volatile reaction. I spun on the ball of one foot, snatched the jerk’s jaw up in one hand, and pulled him close. My hand was squeezing the hinges of his jaw, no doubt causing exquisite pain. I knew this well, and I hissed into his face: “Next time, you die.” The guy was around my age and well built, but my threat made him blanch and his lip quiver. “It’s just, you know, you were kinda in the way, and I-“ I shoved him away with the one hand that had been clamped onto his face, and he stumbled, falling on his rear. I glared at him, rage burning in my eyes, boring into his soul. The guy scrambled up and away, but his eyes didn’t leave mine until he turned to scurry away. I turned back to Valentina, whom I expected to be wearing a mask of shock or fear, maybe both. She only stared at me, one eyebrow arched slightly upward in a subtly expressive, almost seductive gaze of interest. It was called “the look” in my family, not to be confused with “the stare”. The stare was the sharp, deadly look a parent gave their child when they’ve misbehaved. No scolding was necessary, only a shame and fear inducing glare. Both traits were inherited by the oldest child born to a family member. It never failed, there were no exceptions. I had gotten both, (I often exercised “the stare” on my sister) and apparently Valentina had at least one. “Sorry,” I muttered. “It’s fine. I’m impressed. You lived in a rough neighborhood before coming to YLSP?” “For a period of time.” “Come. We need to go. Cowards are often spiteful.” “Yes, Ms. Montalto?” the girl at the front desk said into the phone. Valentina and I stood in front of the smallish desk in the smallish lobby of a smallish office building. Although I've mentioned about repetitive wording 'smallish' seems to work well here. The paint peeled out front, the workers were unfriendly, the lights were dim. It was the slum version of PlayGear’s offices. The nameless girl at the desk waited while Ms. Montalto responded, a perpetual look of annoyance on her face, which would have been pretty if not for the ugly smirk that hid behind her more immediate emotions. “She’ll see you now.” Valentina and I strode toward the elevators, which I noted went only as high as the third floor, and the secretary made an unnecessary comment with the purpose of agitating us. “Don’t keep her waiting. She’s a busy girl.” I shook my head. What a bitter person. I pressed the button for the elevator. There was only one, with an arrow that was supposed to be pointing up, but had come loose and now pointed to the left. The button lit up for a split second, then fizzled. We heard the elevator grind as it moved behind the heavy metal doors. We waited for the elevator a long while, but it never came. Eventually, the secretary called, “It don’t work. Take the stairs.” Valentina flashed the girl a dirty look, then moved to the nearby stairwell. I was close behind as she pushed the creaky door open, and the smell of cheap cleaner and something moldy wafted to our noses. I crinkled my nose, reminded of my grandmother’s apartment building, but Valentina didn’t flinch. She was impossibly stoic when she was in her professional mode. We ascended the steps to the third floor, stepping over and around various stains and unidentified substances before we reached the door that opened up to a single room. I was startled to find Ms. Montalto sitting at a desk considerably larger than her secretary’s in a room that was surprisingly tidy and well taken care of. I was also startled because I’d been expecting a waiting room of some sort. “Hello,” she greeted without looking up from her papers. “Hello,” Valentina responded. “Hey,” I added, somewhat out of place. Ms. Montalto looked up, startled by the presence of another person. She stared into my face for a long moment, allowing me a good look at hers. She was pretty in a simple Average Jenny kind of way. Her hair was a pure shade of brown, her eyes matching. She had a small pointy nose and full pink lips, all held together with her straight jaw line and pointed chin. She was petite, maybe Caitlin’s size, but she looked slightly older. She wore a casual white top, but that was all I could see of her outfit from where she sat. She was missing the massive hoop earrings that seemed popular in this part of town, instead settling for two glinting studs. “Hey,” she responded spritely. “Who are you?” “Joel Sanera. You can call me Joe.” “Angelina Montalto. You can call me Angie,” she extended a hand, which I shook politely. Valentina stared on, again with “the look”. She took a seat when Angie motioned for me to take one, and began to speak. “Ms. Montalto, we spoke over the phone.” “Yes, yes,” Angie turned her face toward Valentina, but her eyes lingered on me a bit, delayed in following the direction she pointed her nose. Then, I caught the look Valentina flashed me. “The look”. I knew what that meant in this context, as I’d grown up interpreting it in many situations, and using it in many more. She was trying to get a point across, I needed only to read the signals she was sending. I thought about her short exchange of words with Angie so far. Ms. Montalto, we… Valentina had called her Ms. Montalto, despite the girl giving me permission to call her by her casual name. She was subtly pointing out the quick familiarity Angie had established with me, despite her and Valentina’s previous contact. She was suggesting that I’d be doing much of the persuading here. The girl was sly, that much was clear. “Um, you want UMed to become a branch of PlayGear?” “Rather, I wish for UMed to become a branch of Industry F, which PlayGear belongs to.” “Not for free,” Angie said bluntly. “No, of course not,” I interjected. “Joining Industry F would give you its complete financial backing, which would result in increased profit, and, possibly, an expansion out of the, erm, Central Region of this town. All Industry F would require is a percentage of your revenue. Even with the reduction, you’d be making many times what you make now. ” I had never heard of Industry F before a couple of seconds ago, but I was aware of the general plan behind the meeting and I was a good orator. Angie mulled it over, sort of. She was staring hard into my face, but I could tell the business proposition was only partially on her mind. Well, if she was going to go and be awed by me, I may as well exploit it for Valentina’s cause. “There’d be a lot of meetings with Industry F employees, as well as those of PlayGear, both of which I happen to be closely associated with.” The last portion of my statement was seemingly innocent, if unnecessary, but I knew Angie would pick up on the hint. She’d see a hell of a lot of me if she accepted. “I’ll tell you what. I hate running this place. It’s rundown, it’s ugly. It’s all I can do to keep my workspace clean. Pay me a small sum, maybe enough to buy a small house, and you can have the damn place, and all of its branches.” My eyebrows arched. “Hold on, Angie. Allow me to speak with my associate, Ms. Ferreira.” I was careful to mention Valentina formally in the same breath that I mentioned Angie casually. It made it seem as if I were more comfortable around the UMed CEO than the PlayGear spokeswoman. Valentina and I stood in front of the door from inside the stairwell and spoke in hushed tones. “How much for a small house?” Valentina shrugged. “A few thousand, I guess.” “That cheap?” “Things are different around here, Joe.” I blinked when she said that. Caitlin was fond of saying the exact same thing. “Is that a sizable portion of Industry F’s remaining fortune?” “Industry F’s fortune is massive. PlayGear, however is in crisis.” “Why isn’t Industry F backing PlayGear anymore?” I asked. “It was costing them too much because Mr. Ferreira ran it to crap. When we start making more money, Industry F will back us again.” “Do we have enough to pay Angie off?” Valentina’s eyes glinted when I said Angie’s name, and the glint was accompanied by a knowing smile, but she answered as normal. “Yes, we have enough. It’s a bargain actually.” “Okay, then.” I moved to enter Angie’s office, but Valentina grasped my wrist, halting me as surely as a linebacker in the doorway. “Thank you, Joel.” I nodded, but then Valentina wrapped her arms around my torso and hugged me deeply. I clasped my arms behind her back and held her for as long as she stayed. After a long moment, she released me and nudged me out the door. I walked in casually and placed my hands on the desk, leaning forward on my palms. “Angie, it’s a deal.”

I'm amazed at your skill as a writer, you're incredible! Especially for an eleven year old. This chapter was pretty much uncritable so I had to try pretty hard to find the few things I did. I like the way you describe your character's emotions and also the scenery. I can't wait to read more, keep up the good work! I hope this helps.