She smiled at three girls jumping rope on the sidewalk, their plastic snap barrettes dancing at the end of their braids. Together their sweet voices serenaded the street corner.

“Cinderella dressed in yella went upstairs to kiss her fella. Made a mistake and kissed a snake. How many doctors did it take? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5—awwww!”

The girls laughed as they tripped on the rope. In seconds, they were set up to try again. Two women watched from a balcony on the second floor, smoking their cigarettes and talking animatedly with their hands. Though engrossed in their conversation, one of them always had an eye on the girls. On the stoop sat four large men, looking comfortable and uninterested in Monica’s arrival.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking each one of them in the eye. No one moved. “I said excuse me,” she repeated a bit louder, popping her gum to get their attention.

One man stood, his ribbed shirt clinging to his muscles. He wore three gold chains and pristine sneakers. Monica knew his type.

“Yeah, we heard you,” he answered, stepping closer, towering over the tiny woman. “What you want here?”

“That is my business. I suggest that you and your friends move aside. While I appreciate the whole thug look you’ve got going on here,” Monica said, waving her hand across his body like a game show host, “I don’t have time for it. Take your disrespectful attitude, mooching off of some hardworking single mom, deadbeat ass out of my way before I perforate your skull with the heel of my imitation Jimmy Choos.”

A chorus of “oohs” rang out from his friends as he glared at her. Monica refused to back down, her neck aching from returning his gaze.

“I got shit to do anyway,” he said.

A few seconds later, he stepped away and let her pass. So did the others.

A light tapping at Josie’s door pulled her inside from her place on the fire escape. She knew, just from the patience of the knock, that it wasn’t Alex. She approached the door and spoke through the solid wood.

“Who is it?”

“Your friend Monica,” her high-spirited voice sang.

Josie rolled her eyes, unlocked the door, and motioned for her to come inside. She suddenly wished for a strong drink and a joint, some sort of chemical buffer between them. Monica immediately took a seat at the small kitchen table. She blew a bubble of her pink gum and sucked it back in. Josie didn’t like how Monica looked in her apartment, a perfect little package among motley furniture and chipping paint. If it weren’t for manners, she knew Monica might be tempted to clean her chair with an antibacterial wipe before sitting. Josie was almost positive the woman had them in her purse.

“I don’t have any friends,” Josie reminded her, taking a seat in the opposite chair and crossing her arms defensively.

Josie considered herself a solitary soul, always avoiding relationships and the human race in general. The interaction, attention, and conversation it took to maintain relationships required too much exertion. Most often, people’s true intentions were buried beneath fake smiles and how-are-you handshakes. Josie was unhappy that her worth was determined by the number of friends she had—or, in this case, didn’t have. Friendship was a commodity to be bought and sold, and she was not interested.

“You may not be my friend, but I’m yours. You have Alex too.”

Josie hated the way Monica always looked at her with pity and self-loathing guilt. The woman’s face, though usually smiling, always held this contrite intensity. Josie wondered if she always had that look or if it appeared only when they were within six feet of each other. They sat in a customary standoff, each trying to guess the intention of the other. Monica knew this visit wouldn’t end well; she could feel the hostility rolling off of Josie in battering waves. She could practically see the confrontation written across the girl’s face.

Josie stared out the window, hoping that when she turned back, Monica would be gone. No such luck. She could see all the pity that fueled her own anger. Monica’s face was masked in casual interest, but Josie saw right through it.

“Did you need something?” Josie finally asked.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“I’m fine,” Josie answered.

“Well, I had a cancellation and thought I’d check in on you. These people have no consideration. I drove all the way over here for our prearranged appointment time only to find out they are in Anaheim for the day. I mean, really.”

“Sorry you had to slum it for nothing. You better run along before someone steals your car.”

While Josie didn’t have ill feelings toward Monica, she wasn’t exactly a fan. As a state-appointed social worker, Monica had been free and clear of her obligation to Josie for four years now. Josie had always assumed that Monica’s feelings of failure would eventually wane and the woman would disappear from her life like everyone else. Yet here she was, still keeping watch over Josie.

“You always say you are fine. How are you really? Are you working? Going to school?”

“No and no.”

Monica leaned back in the rickety chair and crossed her legs. The toe of her shoe tapped anxiously against the table leg while she pondered how far to push today.

“Josie, you really should consider getting a job or at least decide what to do with the rest of your life. It’s great that you sit around drawing pictures and getting high all day. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d spend my time reading romance novels in front of the Home Shopping Network while munching on Oreos. But I live in the real world. It’s just not possible.”

Josie stood and grabbed a glass from her kitchen counter. She filled it with tap water and swallowed the whole lot down at once. She felt smothered by Monica, held down and accountable. But she wasn’t quite sure what she should be accountable for. The water didn’t cool her insides like she’d hoped, so she turned and faced Monica.

“Why isn’t it possible? If that’s what you want to do, I say do it! Your ass would be the size of a house, but you’d be happy. Go buy some stretch pants and Oreos. Dare to dream.”

Josie again turned her back on Monica. She focused on the pristine empty space of tile behind her sink. She pictured ink and paint in lines of fury covering the surface and seeping into the old grout.

“I know you have plenty of money from your inheritance, but one cannot live on sex and drugs alone. It’s going to kill you one day,” Monica said, ignoring Josie’s rant.

“I’m counting on it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Monica insisted. Josie sighed at Monica calling her out. “And I don’t understand why you live in this place when you can afford more. Get out and do something. Be productive. You should start contributing to society.”

Josie spun around and threw her arms in the air.

“Like they contributed to me?”

Her words seemed dipped in a guilty poison that would certainly hit their mark. Monica flinched at the verbal jab while trying to hide the sympathy that Josie detested. She could still remember their introduction. Monica was all smiles and hugs while shy Josie wrapped her arms around her middle protectively. Her eyes had stayed fixed on the speckled linoleum floor when they spoke. She was soft-spoken and placid back then.

“Hi, Josie. I’m Monica. I’ve been assigned your case. I’m so glad to be working with you,” Monica had said to the mute girl. Josie looked around the office and back to the floor. “Let’s see, your file says you lost your mother a year ago and recently your father passed away too?”

Josie looked up at her and shrugged. “If that’s what it says,” she’d answered.

“Wow. I’m so sorry, honey. I know we could never replace them, but I promise I’ll try my hardest to get you into a nice foster home soon. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“What can you tell me about yourself?”

“My name is Josie Banks,” she said, as if she’d been practicing.