She didn’t know him. He looked expensive—shiny shoes, gold watch, silk tie crumpled around his neck—but something about him looked… broken.
Most kids her age might’ve run.
But Tasha wasn’t most kids.
She crept closer. “Mister… what happened?”
“I—I think I was robbed,” he whispered. “They took my wallet… phone… my chest hurts…”
Tasha’s mind raced. She didn’t have a phone. But she knew where the corner store was—three blocks up. If she ran fast, she could get Mr. Coleman, the owner, to call 911.
“Wait here,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll get help.”
He managed a pained smile. “Not going anywhere.”
She took off running, wind slicing across her cheeks. The people at the bus stop stared, startled by the sight of a tiny girl sprinting in school shoes like her life depended on it.
And maybe it did.
