People always told her to write what she knew. Her English teacher gave her a D on a paper that she had written about a 35-year-old man who abused his family. The comment at the top, written in a harsh red, was "You're not a 35 year old man, so why write about one?" The teacher didn't understand that when she wrote it was a way to escape, a way to become someone else. The teacher didn't think she knew anything about abuse and 35 year old men. But the teacher was wrong. Mckensie's dad was a 35-year-old man who abused his family. It was just she, her mom, and her dad living in a small flat in New York. Down the street, her best friend, Hunter lived. She liked to tell him that her dad didn't mean it, that he really loved her, but Hunter knew the truth. He'd been there when her father had gotten angry with her. He'd seen the bruises her dad left on her arms, face, and back. Hunter and Mckensie were in English 11 together and they sat diagonal from each other, in the little wrap around desks that tipped over if you leaned too far forward.

Mckensie Randolph and Hunter Burr were in the 11th grade at Lyon's High School in Manhattan. Mckensie was a tall, thin girl, at 5'10" she towered above most of her classmates. She had straight brown hair to her shoulders and seldom did anything with it. Her hair hung in her face and hid a pair of blue-green eyes that seemed to pierce your soul. She was very shy and had only one good friend, Hunter. Hunter was one of the few boys at Lyon's High that was taller than Mckensie. He was 6'5" and because of his height, the basketball coach was always after to him to join the team at the city Y. But Hunter would rather go to Central Park, feed the squirrels, and draw than spend his afternoons in the hot, sweaty Y on 36th street. Hunter had blond hair to his ears and his mother and grandmother were always after him to get a haircut. He lived with those two women right down the street from Mckensie. It seemed that someone was always after Hunter to do something, whether it was the coach to join the team, his mom to get a haircut or his teachers to do his homework.

That humid June afternoon in room 215, English 11, something different happened. It all started when Mckensie shifted in her chair, and hit her arm on the wrap around desk attached to it.

"Ow!" she said aloud. Her voice broke the quiet of room 215, as everyone was silent, working on their compositions of "What I Plan To Do This Summer." It was a routine for Mrs. Cazaro to assign "What I Plan To Do This Summer," and then at the beginning of next year, "What I Did This Summer."

At the sound of Mckensie's normally quiet voice, everyone turned to look back at the shy girl with brown hair in the back of the room. She blushed a furious crimson and hid behind the curtain of hair that fell in front of her face as she bowed her head to work on her composition. The rest of the class, deciding that nothing ever interesting ever happened, and that she must have just hit her funny bone, went back to scratching their pens and pencils across the cheap, gray paper. Hunter, however, knew that something was wrong, as Mckensie was normally always silent in English 11, leaned back in his chair, causing the desk to come with it. His paper and pencil slid into his lap. He picked them out of his lap, and turned back to whisper to Mckensie.

"Psst!" Mckensie looked up into Hunter's brown eyes.

"What?" she responded quietly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said furtively, pulling her sleeves down over her hands.

"Something must be wrong, as it's gotta be ninety degrees and you're wearing a long sleeved shirt," noted Hunter.

"I'll tell you later at lunch," Mckensie said. "Now I've gotta finish this." She leaned forward and began to write again, symbolizing the end of their conversation. Hunter blew his bangs off his forehead and put all four chair legs on the floor. He replaced his paper on his desk and resumed drawing a picture of the girl in front of him.

Mckensie's pen whirled across the paper, as she told a story of a young girl who lived in the moors of Heathrow, England. This little girl was to be the queen of England when she grew up. Technically, she was the queen already, but, as she was only five, the councilor would rule for her, until she was15. The little girl's name was Mary and she had a loving father, who was the Duke of Milan. He was supposed to be the king, but he had his hands full with Milan and had no time for the title of King of England. He loved his little girl very much, and took her out regularly to buy new fancy dresses with elaborated headdresses. When she turned six, he promised to buy her her first pair of high heels. That was big to little, future Queen Mary.

No one in English 11 took Mrs. Cazaro's class seriously, and many used the hour given to them to do homework for other classes. Mckensie just wrote what she felt like and turned it in. Normally, Mrs. Cazaro graded it as if it had been the assignment given. She probably figured that if she got her class to be quiet and work on something, then she was ahead of the game.

When the bell rang at 11:25, Mckensie stuffed her work into her folder, and closed up her bookbag. She slung it over one shoulder as Hunter turned around to leave.

"Whacha been working on?" he asked, gesturing towards the English 11 folder in her hand.

"A story," she replied, looking back down the hall as they walked out of room 215.

"Fine, keep it to yourself. I don't care." Hunter looked followed her gaze down the hall where it landed on Jay Tarasco. He watched Mckensie as they passed Jay at his locker, and as she turned a deep red. "Girl, what would you ever do if he talked to you?" Hunter teased her, gently bumping her with his elbow. Mckensie winced and drew away from his elbow. "Oh man, I'm sorry," sighed Hunter. "I didn't mean to… hurt you…"

Mckensie sighed and looked out the hall window as they passed it. The bright sunshine shown down on students milling around in the courtyard.

"So…" Hunter said, trying to make conversation. "Is Jay on the basketball team?"

"I guess so…" said Mckensie looking at her shoes. "He tried out. I don't know if he made it…"

"Oh. Maybe we could go down to the Y today and watch them practice." Hunter leaned to look into Mckensie's face. "Sound good to you?"

"I guess so…" Mckensie replied.

"I just hope the coach doesn't see me though. Last time…" Mckensie tuned Hunter out as she thought about last night. She hadn't meant to get in his way. But she had been doing her homework in her room, when her pencil broke. They had an old electric sharpener in the living room where her dad was watching TV. So, she tiptoed into the living room, as the blue and white light flickered over her living room furniture, and her dad sleeping quietly on the couch. He looked almost comatose with a beer in one hand and the remote in the other. The volume blared loudly as it told about a knife set you could get by calling a one-eight-hundred number. She turned the volume knob to the left to almost silence the loud announcer. She turned to look at her dad, and for a moment, she hoped he was dead. Then she shook her head and walked to the bookcase where the pencil sharpener sat silently on the shelf. She gently eased the pencil into the mouth of the sharpener and it came to life. It hungrily ate shards off her pencil, bringing it to a sharp point. Mckensie turned to leave the room, and saw her mom standing in the doorway.

"Hi mom," she whispered. Mrs. Randolph waved to her and continued to watch her husband sleep in front of the TV. Mckensie moved between her father and the TV and momentarily blocked the flickering light. As she walked towards her mom, her mother held a finger to her lips to signal not to wake her father. Ironically, as she did that, Mckensie tripped over her father's outstretched foot. This jarred his body, causing his relaxed hand to release, and Mckensie watched in horror as the can of Bud fell to land on the work shirt her dad was wearing. He jumped to his feet, suddenly awake, at the cold beer on his chest.

"What the devil!?" he roared. Mckensie scrambled to her feet and ran to her mother in the doorway. "What do you think you're doing, young lady??? Running around like that in front of me. You ought to watch where you're going!!! Now look at this mess! My new work shirt! What will my boss say when I come to work smelling like beer!?" Her father took a menacing step towards the two women in the doorway.

"Now, dear, calm down. I'll wash it right now with some Spray'N'Wash and that smell will come right out." Mrs. Randolph went to her husband's side where she began to unbutton his collar.

"GOD! Stay away from me!" Mr. Randolph flung his arm out and knocked her mom off her feet. Her mother fell backwards and hit her head squarely on the TV stand. She slumped into a heap and laid there, passed out.

"Now look what you've done!!!" Mckensie sobbed.

"What I did??? I don't think so! Look what you did!!! I'll teach you to treat your mother like that!" Mr. Randolph came towards Mckensie, as she backed from the doorway, down the hall. She turned and ran into her room and leaned against the door. Her dad threw all this weigh into the door, and the force knocked her against her dresser, and bruised her arm. Then, her dad came into her room and began to yell at her.

Mckensie shivered as she remembered the events of last night. She was brought back to the reality of school, and her and Hunter walking down the hall towards the outside door. Hunter was still talking about what had happened last time he'd visited the Y and Coach Barns had seen him.

"…gave me a try-out form, even though I told him I had no interest. It's in my bookbag." Hunter finished his story and looked at Mckensie for a reaction. She looked back at him, her face blank. Hunter shook his head. "You didn't hear anything I said. But what else is new."

"I'm sorry Hunter," Mckensie said earnestly, putting a hand on his arm. "I was thinking about… other things."

"Well, let's go eat and maybe you'll tell me what you were thinking about?" Hunter pushed open the door to outside and pushed Mckensie through it. Mckensie nodded as she walked through, with the air of a small, bewildered child.

Hunter and Mckensie surveyed the campus and saw students in every direction. Most were collected under the trees across the street Some lay sprawled on the stairs of the school that led down to the sidewalk and street.

"Let's go eat over there," Hunter gestured towards some trees that hadn't been taken by students trying to get out of the heat. Mckensie and Hunter crossed the street and sat under the trees. Hunter spread out his lunch, and Mckensie sat, with her knees pulled under her chin and her arms wrapped around them. Hunter looked at her quizzically.

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?" she asked, tearing her gaze away from some people playing Frisbee, and looking at him.

"I mean, where's your lunch?"

"Oh, I didn't have time to make one this morning," she shrugged. Hunter tore off half his sandwich and offered it to her. She took it, with a simple thanks and began to eat. Through mouthfuls she said, "I didn't have time to eat breakfast either." After a pause she added, "Frank stayed home from work today, so I just kinda grabbed my stuff and left."

"Why'd he stay home?" Hunter asked.

"He's sick." Mckensie replied, looking at the remainder of Hunter's sandwich in her hand.

"Wanna see the picture I drew in English?" Hunter offered, changing the subject quickly.

"Oh sure," she said gratefully. Hunter dug through his bookbag to produce a piece of paper. "Hey, it's the back of that girl's head… what's her name… oh shoot…." Mckensie said.

"Cindy…" said Hunter staring at his picture.

"That's it! Cindy!" Mckensie laughed. "I knew it was one of those cheerleader types." Hunter stiffened at her remark.

"What's wrong with 'cheerleader types'?" he asked quietly, taking his picture back from Mckensie and smoothing out the corners. Mckensie didn't notice Hunter's change and she continued to talk.

"You need some good paper, Hunter. The cheap stuff that you buy at the A&P isn't good enough for your drawings. You need some real drawer's paper."

"I don't have any money, and it's real expensive." Hunter said, sadly, as he folded the drawing of Cindy into a small triangular football. He held the paper football between his finger and knee, and flicked it with the other hand. It went flying and landed about five feet away.

"Oh well." Mckensie shrugged as she stared at the paper football on the ground.

"Yeah… oh well…" Hunter trailed off.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, as the sounds of people talking, laughing and yelling surrounded them.

Hunter sat, drumming a rhythm on his knees.

"What's that?" Mckensie nodded, indicating his drumming fingers.

"Oh, it's the drum part to a song I thought of. Mom and Grandma might get me a drum set for my birthday." Hunter's birthday was about three weeks away and he would be sixteen. "It's my sixteenth birthday and all, so I guess they're getting me something big. And I don't need a car, since I have the bus and I can walk almost anywhere. That's what Mom says anyway."

"Oh…" was all Mckensie could think to say. The conversation dwindled, and died. They sat in silence again.

About ten minutes later, Hunter spoke up. "So, what happened in English?"

Mckensie squinted her eyes and looked confused. "What happened in….?"

"You know… it was all quiet and you yelled 'Ow'?" Hunter prompted.

"Oh that. Well, last night Frank got kinda… mad…"

"Jeeze, Kensie. Why do you put up with it? Why does your mother?" Hunter sighed and blew his bangs upward in frustration.

"Well, he says he doesn't mean to do it. He just has a temper." There was a long pause as Hunter watched the Frisbee throwers, obviously not believing Mckensie. "Anyway… I was wondering if you could come over today and help me clean up my room… Most of the stuff in there is broken."

Hunter leaned forward and grabbed Mckensie's arm, careful not to grab her bad arm. "Kensie, come live with me. Grandma and Mom love you. You'd be totally welcome. You could live in the guest room. It's real nice. Curtains and everything." Mckensie shook her head as Hunter said this.

"I couldn't, Hunter. He knows you're my best friend. And I couldn't leave Mom by herself." Mckensie shook her head and got to her feet. "I couldn't…. no… I couldn't… not now… not with Mom…" She muttered to herself as she backed away from Hunter. Then she stopped and looked right at him, as he sat on the ground, bewildered at her behavior. "Thanks anyway… Hunter… Happy Birthday…" With that she turned and ran away from the trees, away from the school, away from the Frisbee throwers.

"KENSIE!" he screamed to no avail. She ran with her hair streaming behind her, looking like an apparition. Hunter watched as she turned the corner and disappeared. Just then the school bell rang. Hunter, torn between his friend and school, gathered his and her books and took a few steps towards school. Then her turned towards the direction Mckensie had gone in and trotted after her, his brows knitted in confusion. 'If I get caught out here,' he thought, 'I'm in big trouble.'

Hunter wandered the streets, looking for Mckensie. His bookbag strap began to cut into his shoulder. He stopped momentarily to adjust his books and shift her books from his left hand to his right. Soon, the sun began to drop below the tops of the buildings, drawing long shadows across his face and the street. One by one, the street lights came on. Soon, the sun was gone completely, the only trace of it being the heat that radiated from every surface. Hunter stopped on the sidewalk and looked around in bewilderment. Slowly, he turned towards home. When he reached the steps of his house, he looked in the direction of Mckensie's house. He wondered if she was there. On the porch, his grandmother looked through the curtains covering the window and saw him standing on the porch, with two armloads of books, looking west. She quietly opened the door. Warm light spilled out onto the porch at Hunter's feet.

"Then sun's long gone, honey," she said softly.

"Oh no, Grandma, I wasn't looking for the sun…" Hunter said. His grandmother turned back into the house and said, "Elaine, he's home.

A few seconds later, Hunter's mom showed in the background, peeking over her mother's shoulder. "Hi Hunter," she said. "Where have you been? It's long past school time." Hunter sat down on the porch swing and dropped all the books he had been carrying for the past four hours at his feet. The warm wind blew and swept his hair off his forehead.

"I was… looking for someone…" he said softly.

"A friend?" asked his mother, stepping out from behind his grandmother and onto the porch.

"Yeah…" said Hunter, turning away from her and looking across the alley into the neighbor's window. Inside was two young people, dancing in the kitchen with their baby girl. The young father held her high, as if not believing that he created such a miracle. Then the mother and father cuddled their baby between them as they danced to music, unheard by Hunter.

Hunter slowly pushed the porch swing with his toe, creating a cool breeze that blew across his face. He looked far out across the city, as the lights came on and people got ready to go home from work.

"Well, you wanna eat dinner?" asked his mom, breaking into his reverie.

"Oh… I guess… I gotta go see Kensie for a minute, though. Won't take long." Hunter stood and walked down the porch steps. He turned left at the bottom.

"Hurry back, love," cried his grandmother. Hunter waved back to them. Quickly he navigated the streets to Mckensie's house. He stood at the foot of the porch stairs, wondering if he should go up and knock on the door. He finally summoned his courage and walked up to knock.

Mrs. Randolph opened the door.

"Hi Ms. Jane. Is Mckensie here?"

"No Hunter, I haven't seen her since last night." Jane shrugged.

"Well, I'm sure she'll be back. But I have to go eat dinner now. I just came to ask her about… Chemistry. I guess I'll talk to her tomorrow. Bye Ms. Jane." Hunter turned and walked back down the stairs and turned to go home.

"Hunter," Mrs. Randolph said. "You don't know where she is?

Hunter shook his head. "I can honestly say I don't. Sorry." Hunter continued on his way home.

Hunter got to his house and opened the door. He walked past the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen.

There he saw his mom and his grandma sitting at the table, with dinner sitting out, waiting for him. The warm overhead light spilled a soft glow across his mom and grandma's faces as they sat, discussing their day. The curtains in the window above the sink blew inward as a slight breeze blew through the window. The scents of the soup, corn and bean salad mixed together and created a pleasant aroma. The homeliness of his house enveloped him like a warm hug as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Hi Hunter," said his grandmother, softly as usual.

"Hi Grandma," he said, as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

"What did Mckensie have to say?" asked his mother.

Hunter traced the blue and white patterns on the metal base of the fork, which lay on the new green and red placemats that his grandmother had picked up at Rite Aid. Hunter had protested about the color, because it was no where near the holidays and it was downright odd to have Christmas placemats out during the middle of June.

"She, ah, wasn't home." Satisfied with that answer, his mother picked up her fork and dug into the bean salad. "What is this stuff again?" Hunter joked, waving his fork in the direction of his plate.

"It iz zee finest beans in all of zee country," his mother said in a fake, snooty accent with her nose in the air.

"Vell, I think it stinks," proclaimed Hunter in the same accent.

"You vill eat it anyway, because it iz all ve have." Hunter laughed and started to eat.

The next day at school, Mckensie wasn't in her seat in Chemistry. Hunter hoped that maybe she was just late to school. But the day wore on, and she hadn't showed up. After English 11, at 11:25, Hunter stood on the steps of the school looking out at the campus. It seemed odd to think that just yesterday he and Mckensie sat under that tree over there and had a conversation about what's-her-name, Cindy. Hunter shook his head as he thought this.

'I'm talking like she's dead!' he thought. Hunter saw a group of his friends under some trees, near where he and Mckensie ate yesterday. He hurried to join them.

After school was finally over, Hunter trudged home. Halfway home, he started to think about Mckensie. When he came to the street where he went straight and Mckensie turned left to go to her house, he turned left. He followed the familiar path to Mckensie's front door. There he hesitated.

"What would her mom think of me coming by twice in two days?' He then figured that if she was at home, he could just say that he was bringing her her schoolwork because she hadn't been in school.

He knocked and Mrs. Randolph answered.

"Hi Ms. Jane. Mckensie here?" he asked.

"Hi again, Hunter. No, she's not here. I don't think she's been in all night. But, I left at seven last night to go to work and didn't get back until seven this morning, so if she came home, I wouldn't really know." Mrs. Randolph shrugged tiredly.

"Could you ask Mr. Frank if he's seen her? It's kinda important," Hunter persisted.

"I'll ask him, but he might be asleep. I don't want to wake him again." She gently touched the side of her face, which looked a little red.

"Is you're face OK, Mrs. Jane? I don't mean to pry, but I heard that Mckensie and Mr. Frank got in a fight, and I know that sometimes he… gets a little angry at you too." After a long pause where Ms. Jane said nothing, Hunter took a step towards her and looked inside the house. "You say he's asleep?"

"Yeah, he's asleep. I'll go… see if he's maybe… awake." Aware of how stupid she sounded, Jane slipped quietly into the house. She returned a few minutes later. "He said that Mckensie hadn't been home. But he wasn't exactly sober last night, and he fell asleep in front of the TV. So he's not the most reliable source. But I didn't want to press the issue."

Hunter nodded. "I understand Ms. Jane. Again, I don't mean to be nosy, but I think Mckensie ran away. I was talking to her at lunch yesterday and she got real upset and ran away from school. I haven't seen her since." Mrs. Randolph stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

"I'm getting worried about her. She goes and spends the night in the park sometimes, but she's never missed school when she wasn't sick."

"She spends the night in the park?" Hunter sputtered. "And you don't mind?"

Ms. Jane rung her hands. "Well, she's a smart girl, and I can understand wanting to get away from the house every once and a while. But I hope she hasn't done something rash this time."

"Well, she left all her school books. They're at my house. And she can't travel anywhere or anything, because she doesn't have any money," Hunter said.

"Hunter will you tell me if you see her? I love her… she's my baby girl…" Mrs. Randolph stared out at the house across the street.

"I'll tell you. Don't worry," said Hunter, backing off the porch nervously. Ms. Jane never seemed quite right in the head. Why someone would put up with such abuse was a mystery to him.

Hunter ran the few blocks home. He arrived at his house gasping for air. He threw open the door and darted into the living room, where he dropped his bookbag onto the ground with a thud.

"Why Hunter," said his grandmother coming into the living room. "You're breathing like a fish out of water. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he said, plopping down on the couch.

"Boys your age and size shouldn't run like that," chided his grandmother.

"I know, Grandma. But sometimes, you can't help yourself."

"I know how that is," she said, sitting next to him and patting his knee. "I feel like that all the time."

Four days passed, and Mckensie hadn't shown up. Hunter was really worried, but he didn't want to go to the police. He'd seen plenty of people get arrested, and the police didn't seem too friendly to him. He didn't think they'd understand Mckensie, Ms. Jane and Mr. Frank. They'd probably take Mckensie away to a foster home. And, selfishly, Hunter didn't want her to leave. Ms. Jane had almost worked herself into a nervous breakdown, not that she had that far to go. Mr. Frank didn't seem to even notice that she was gone, or maybe he did and he just didn't care.

The day things changed was one day after Hunter came home from school. The summer was approaching quickly, and Hunter was looking towards it with a gleeful eye. He was eager to spend his days loafing in the park, doing nothing but drawing. Maybe, if he felt like it, he'd get a job stocking shelves at the A&P, but only so he could buy new art supplies and draw some more.

That day, he walked up the stairs to his house, and his shoes clomped on the wooden stairs. He twisted the black handle, which had been worn golden where people's hands touched it most, and pushed open the door. The cool house greeted him. His grandmother must have turned on the air conditioner while his mother was at work. The white, sheer curtains were open so sunlight came in and danced in little squares on the blue carpet. The delicate blue and white flowered wallpaper framed the windows that the sunlight came in and that the curtains hung on. There was little furniture in the room. A white couch sat against the far wall, and a deep blue chair sat to his left, with a blue and white striped footstool in front of it. His grandmother prided herself with this room. She always said that it might be small, but at least it was nicely furnished.

Hunter heard slight voices from the kitchen, so he dropped his bookbag on the stairs in front of him and went to investigate. He walked through the living room and into the kitchen. The yellow sunlight streamed through the window and landed on his grandmother and Mckensie's faces. The green and red Christmas mats had been set out and sitting on them was a plate with nothing left but crumbs, which had presumably been Mckensie's food.

"Mckensie!" he said, in a surprised voice.

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