Chapter 1
“I am Princess Chelsea — and I love all my subjects.” My doll’s hand waves to her rock family.
I hear a truck honk on the main street, but it won’t come this way. This little alley is too small for cars, so Daddy says I can play here as long as I don’t leave the alley.
And I won’t do that. I’m a good girl and I follow the rules.
The black milk crate Daddy said I could play with is easy to pretend is her throne. I like playing here. Daddy's shop smells like oil and stinky tires, and Dad's music is all drums and guitar and no singing.
Here I can smell the chalk and no metal and sing whatever I want.
“Yay Princess Chelsea! We love you!” I say in a funny voice so my pebble friends can thank my favorite Barbie doll.
She is the princess of the alley and stone people.
“And I am the mighty and beautiful princess of all princesses and princes and stone people. The empress of the alley. Empress Josie and Princess Chelsea.”
I smile as I fix her hair, but my smile drops the second I hear Cody’s mean laugh.
“Princess? Empress? Josie, do you see that doll?” He laughs again.
His shirt is still tucked in from his weird school. He goes for an extra hour every day and then none on Friday, which is super weird. He has to wear a belt and those ugly brown pants too.
“Please go away, Cody. I don’t wanna talk with you today. Thank you.” I turn away from him and face the gray bricks that make up one wall, curling my legs in.
It takes no time before Cody reaches over me and snatches my Barbie from my hands.
“Hey! Cody — that’s not nice to take. You need to ask! You never have any manners! Give her back!” I spin around, dragging my dress through the clay dirt.
“See how this doll doesn’t have round cheeks or a belly?” He holds her high. “See how flat she is? You really think you’re a princess — no, you said empress. Prettier than her?”
“That’s not nice — to talk about someone’s looks — and please give me my Barbie, Cody, stop it!” I reach for her as he grabs her blonde hair.
In a panic, I slap at his hand, trying to make him drop her, but he twists his foot out and my little kitten heel comes down hard on his toes.
“Ow!” he yells — and shoves me hard.
I fall back and hit the pavement. My knee scrapes, but it hurts worse in my chin.
“Ow!” I gasp, looking up.
Cody has my Barbie by the hair and her purple dress in his other hand.
“No! Please don’t break her!” I don’t notice the blood dripping from my chin.
Cody’s mean smile grows, slow and wide.
A shadow falls over me.
When I look up, there’s a boy I’ve never seen before. His shoes are too wide at the ankles, and there’s black dirt around his ankles where socks should be. His jeans are baggy and stained, with holes in places. His nails are long and boxy — he really needs to trim those. And wash his hands.
His red shirt is faded and darker at the neck and arms like it’s always damp there. There’s dirt on his cheek, and his nose is stained. His hair is cut so short I can’t tell if it’s brown or black.
His fingers curl into a fist. The split in his lip looks angry when he stares at Cody with dark eyes.
“Give her the doll.”
One of his knuckles pops.
“Or what?” Cody sneers.
Cody grins at me. At my tears.
Then he jerks his hands apart.
The head rips clean off my Barbie.
“AH! Princess Chelsea!” I cry. Tears sting my eyes. My chin burns.
“Or else,” the boy says.
He throws a punch.
It lands right on Cody’s face.
Before Cody can block, he gets hit again — and again — and again.
The boy knocks him down beside me and hits him two more times before, out of nowhere, my dad's big heavy hand comes out and grabs them both and yanks them apart by their shirts.
I don’t even see or hear him coming. But now I can't smell anything but the car oil and lemon cleaner he uses to get it off.
“Cut it the fuck out. Josie — what happened?”
“Cody was being mean — and he broke my Barbie, Daddy! And the boy was just being nice and he was punching him… for help?” I look at the boy hanging in my dad’s grip.
He isn’t looking at Dad. He’s looking at me. At my knee. At my chin.
My dad’s jaw tightens. The vein in his forehead jumps — the one that only shows when he’s really mad. His ears turn red.
“Cody — fuck off and tell your old man to come find me.”
Dad drops him from way up high. Cody hits the pavement with his hands and knees. Dad kicks him in the butt, knocking him forward again. Cody's face touches the gravel but just leaves some dirt on his forehead.
“Keep your beady little weasel eyes off my daughter and go get your father. Now.”
Cody scrambles away, shoes skidding when he turns the corner of the alley.
“Did he hit you?” Dad asks.
I shake my head. “He pushed me and I fell…”
My voice gets small.
“He broke my Barbie.”
“Grab your doll, babygirl. I’ll see if I can fix it.” Then he lifts the other boy again. “And who are you?”
“…No one. I just don’t like people being mean to girls.”
Dad sets him on his feet, easy and definitely not like Cody. “Hand hurting? You throw a strong punch, but you do it wrong. Why were you in my alley?”
“…I wasn’t stealing,” he mumbles.
“When you talk to someone, you meet their eyes and say it with your chest. Try again. Then your name.”
Daddy says those are rules for good people. He learned them in the military and only lets good people be around us.
“I wasn’t stealing,” the boy says, louder.
“My name is Kane.”
He picks up my Barbie’s body from the ground and hands it to me carefully. Like she isn't plastic or girly. Like she's important and something you have to be tender with.
“Thank you… Kane,” I whisper.
When our eyes meet, I feel like I see shining stars. My cheeks get hot and I wanna never look anywhere else.
“Get inside. I’ll wrap your hand so it doesn’t swell. And I’ll show you how to throw one without cracking your knuckles.”
He waves Kane toward the shop.
“Let’s go, babygirl.” Dad pauses, waiting for me.
I try to stand but it hurts, and Kane helps me without even being asked.
When I'm up my dad holds his hand out for my Barbie. He looks her over where Cody pulled her apart. Daddy can fix all kinds of things. Maybe Princess Chelsea won't be hard?
Dad takes my broken doll and puts her in his pocket as he opens the shop door. The bell dings above us louder than Dad's bad music.
The smell is so strong — I don't know how Daddy gets so comfy with it. Oil is so stinky.
Inside, Dad takes us to his small office and moves the stool he sits on around to give us some room.
He pulls out the blue and white first aid kit from its spot on the dingy wall and sets it on the metal desk.
He snaps a cold pack and presses it into Kane’s hand.
“Shouldn’t you help her first? She’s bleeding,” Kane says, sitting down in the open cubby hole.
“She can tend to her own wounds. It’s just a scrape.”
Dad looks at me. He doesn’t say it, but I know the rule. I have to try myself first. I have to be brave.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, reaching into the kit.
“Don’t move,” Dad tells Kane. “I’ve got some food for you as a thank you. Nothing in this world is free. That’ll be your payment. Got it?”
“Yes sir,” Kane says.
Dad leaves the room to go into his break room. He has an old fridge there that's a pale pink that's super cute, but Daddy says not to cry when it breaks because it probably will soon since it's so old.
I hate putting medicine on. I open the wipe and my hand shakes when I bring it near my knee. I take my time lifting the skirt just above my knee so I can see it better.
I know it’s going to sting.
I go around the edges first, like Daddy showed me before.
“It’ll burn, huh?” Kane says quietly.
Before I can stop him, he has a pack open and gently cleans the blood from my chin with a wipe. Then he kneels and does my knee too, soft and careful.
“Daddy said I have to… so I’m brave,” I whisper.
“You are brave,” he says. “I saw you try to stop him. I just should’ve been faster. It’s my fault you fell.”
He smooths my dress back down and looks at my shoes. “I’ve never seen ones like that.”
“They’re kitten heels. The lady at the store said they make me look taller and my clothes prettier.”
“You don’t need to look taller. You’re pretty now.”
My face burns hot again. “Thank you…”
“I said stay in your seat.” Dad’s voice fills the open doorway.
He looks at the bandages. “Josie — did you do that?”
“I… I—”
“I helped,” Kane says quickly. “She did half.”
Dad grumbles low in his chest — the sound he makes when he’s thinking.
He sets sandwiches on waffled paper plates and clear bottled water in front of us. Daddy keeps the waters for me here. He likes cans of soda and stuff. But I don't mind sharing with Kane. He has been so nice.
We eat in silence, just the sound of us chewing and the crumbs on the paper plate. I can still hear Dad's shop fan making the whirling sound that’s so loud, but it feels like he never notices.
Dad watches Kane the whole time, like he’s looking at a puzzle or one of those broken cars he likes to work on.
“What’s your last name, kid?” Dad asks once Kane is finished eating.
“Hicks.” He remembers to look Daddy in the eyes.
“Your old man Tommy?”
Kane nods. Then fixes it. “Yes sir.”
Dad crosses his arms. “I got a spare cot here. I know Tommy’s got a full house in that single wide. I need work done at the shop. You work hard, you earn it. You don’t work, you’re out. You bring trouble, you’re gone. Got it?”
Kane’s lips turn up just a little at the corners.
“Yes sir.”
I hold my breath for a second — like if I move, he might change his mind.
And I can’t stop smiling.
Kane is staying.
