Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero: April 24–July 4

“Gotta help my mama,” I say. I watch the black tufts of hair falling to the floor. “I could come after school and sweep up hair and stuff.”

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce our short-story contest winners, here’s Marsha Priest, president of the Hamilton Plaza Library Literacy Foundation!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a round of applause to our second-place winner, Gary Dunn, whom we honor posthumously tonight. His wonderful son, Isaiah, submitted his piece and will be accepting the award on his behalf.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a round of applause to our second-place winner, Gary Dunn, whom we honor posthumously tonight. His wonderful son, Isaiah, submitted his piece and will be accepting the award on his behalf.”

“Ma’am? Sleep Inn management notified us that you have not made a payment in three weeks, despite repeated attempts to collect. I’ll have to escort you off the premises if you are unable to make payment at this time.”

“Ma’am? Sleep Inn management notified us that you have not made a payment in three weeks, despite repeated attempts to collect. I’ll have to escort you off the premises if you are unable to make payment at this time.”

Charlie kicks me in the butt, literally, and I officially wake up.

She’s saying something about washing my face and swishing some water around in my mouth, but her words sound muffled, like I’m inside a giant bubble.

I trudge to the bathroom and do what Mama says: swish water in my mouth and wash my face with a cold paper towel.

I turn and see Angel with a smug look on her face.

I can't stop bawling.

As I’m tossing the bags into the huge bin, an old lady comes hobbling in with her trash bags.

“Baby, you know the elevator’s broke again—ain’t surprised—but my friend up on the eighth floor can’t be carryin’ all them bags down the steps, old as she is. Would you mind toting her bags down for her?”

There’s a sewing machine in the corner and this mannequin thing that freaked me out the first few nights, because it looks like a person in the dark, especially with the huge hat Miz Rita has on its head.

“See, perfect!” Angel gives me dap, and we start drawing logo ideas.

Four guys saunter in with him, and from the angry look on Angel’s face, one of them is probably Alex.

I’m glad the shop has cleared out from earlier; nobody here to clown me. I put the broom to the side and sheepishly walk over to Rock.

Rock starts picking out my hair, and I grit my teeth as he cuts through all the naps.

The lady on the song keeps sayin’ something about the breath of life, and that’s when Sneaky grins at me with this mischievous look on his face.

“He said words were little legacies that stay around much longer than he would.”