SOME PEOPLE TRY to make you feel bad about yourself. Well, I don’t. I’ma get a job. Next week. Doing something that pay good.

I push that rude man out my mind and the cart across the street at the same time. You not supposed to take it home, only I do. I can’t carry nine bags, a bucket, plus a baby. But when I get to the motel, I still got a problem. I need help taking everything upstairs.

The back door of the Starfleet Motel for the Weary Traveler is on the corner of Best Avenue and Juniper Boulevard. Boulevard traffic runs both ways, with a island in between. Cars shake the ground. Horns beep. People curse. A boy on that island selling water runs up to cars, almost begging people to buy what he selling.

I park my cart in front the motel. Drivers act like they don’t see me trying to cross the boulevard. I end up running so me and Cricket don’t get hit. He sitting down when I get to him. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you help me with them bags.” I look at his plastic chair, books, and papers on the ground.

The light turns red. He jumps up, running from car to car, talking fast. Back on his island with them same bottles he left with; he walks over to me. “Fifteen,” he say, like I’d ever pay that.

Instead of arguing with him, I lie. “Okay.”

We in front the motel when I hand him my key. “Room two thirteen.”

He my height. Around my age. Plaid shirt. Black jeans. Fingernails clean. Run-over sneakers. I remember what JuJu said about good shoes. “Hey,” I say when he reach for my bags. “I know what I got up there. Take something that ain’t yours—” My finger slides across my throat.

I watch too many movies, he say, picking up four bags. He ask me to watch his things. I laugh. “Don’t nobody wanna steal water.”

“People can be shady.”

I wonder if he talking about me.

Three runs and he done. Out of breath too. “Thanks.” I hand him a ten.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, it’s like that?”

I have to watch my money. “Yeah, it’s like that.” I walk the cart over to a tree near the curb and leave it. He still by the door when I get back. Stupid, I say to myself. You forgot to get your keys. My hand goes out.

“You want something? I want something.” His hand goes out.

“My keys. Please.”

“Oh, now you got manners?”

I fold my arms. He start walking. Then all of a sudden he stop and turns. “Catch.”

The keys sting when they hit my hand.

“They throw things out …” He pointing to the daycare center. “Good stuff. They want people to take it. Seem like you gonna need it.”

He runs across the street.

I feel bad, sort of, about ripping him off. But that was on him. If he wasn’t so soft people couldn’t get over on him.

I’m on the first floor of our building when I tell Cricket, “Do not let people take advantage of you. ’Cause they will. Somebody will, anyhow.”