While the City Slept ‖ KV

4 | First Threads

Bianca Amina Jackson
August 17, 2008 (Two weeks later)
60th & South King Drive, Chicago, IL

The sun hung heavy and stubborn over South King Drive, the late afternoon heat thick enough to press against the skin like a second layer. The cicadas hummed in relentless rhythm, drowning out distant car engines and the occasional call of children playing tag on cracked sidewalks.

The faint scent of grilled chicken wafted from Harold's down the block, mingling with the sharp tang of exhaust and the metallic sting of heat-rippled pavement.

Bianca stepped out the worn front door of her grandma's house, the wooden steps sticky beneath her flip-flops. She paused for a moment, blinking against the brightness, and inhaled deeply—the mix of hot asphalt, charcoal smoke, and a hint of sweet purple Kool-Aid from a neighbor's window. The neighborhood pulsed with life in a way that felt both familiar and restless.

Though she told herself she was just going for a quick walk, a little trip to the corner store for a candy bar or a soda, her heart wasn't convinced. She tried to focus on the mundane: the worn paint peeling off the porch railing, the stubborn dandelions growing in cracks near the stoop. But beneath it all, a flicker of anticipation danced in her chest.

She thought of him.

Dayvon. Fourteen years old. From Parkway Gardens. Someone who didn't belong in her quiet corner of the block but had somehow planted himself in her thoughts like a stubborn weed.

As Bianca moved slowly down the sidewalk, the heat sticky against her back, her eyes flicked toward the corner store. The building sat like a relic, the paint faded and chipped, the Coca-Cola sign above the door yellowed and curling at the edges. A few older boys lingered near the entrance, leaning against the bricks, voices low but eyes sharp, watching the street with practiced vigilance.

Bianca's pulse quickened, but she tried not to look directly at them. Instead, her gaze drifted to the cracked glass windows, the flickering fluorescent light inside, and the promise of cool air within.

She wasn't supposed to be here, in this part of the block, not yet. Not by herself. But today, the urge to step outside her usual world was too strong to resist.

Dayvon leaned against the wall just inside the store's entrance, his black T-shirt damp at the back and clinging to his skin. The faint smell of stale cigarette smoke and fried food mingled with the cold air blasting from the ancient air conditioner overhead.

His eyes scanned the narrow aisles without really seeing the rows of candy bars and sodas. His mind was elsewhere—on the dice game rolling on the cracked asphalt outside, on the boy who had promised to bring change, and more than anything, on the girl who had been haunting his thoughts for the past two weeks.

He'd been hanging on this corner for a while, pretending to be normal, but every time the door jingled, his heart jumped, hoping it might be her. Bianca—the girl with the warm skin and quiet eyes who had looked at him like she saw something deeper than the usual eyes of the block.

To Dayvon, the corner store was a battlefield, a stage for hustlers and watchers, a place where survival meant keeping your head down and your guard up. But Bianca's presence unsettled the carefully constructed mask he wore—making him wonder if there was something worth lowering the shield for.

Bianca stepped inside the store, the sudden rush of cool air a relief from the unforgiving heat. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh glow that seemed to exaggerate every stain on the linoleum floor. The bell over the door jingled softly as it closed behind her.

Bianca's eyes adjusted quickly to the sharp light, flicking over the aisles stocked with candy bars, chips, and the cold hum of sodas lining the fridge doors.