Amber Beulah stood at the guardrail of the footbridge, studying the streambed below for signs of life. http://www.barryhickey.com/
She was barely seventeen, but the weight of the secret baby ball inside her skinny kid belly made her feel thirty. What have I done? Two minutes of a strange new terror and pleasure while I leaned against a dead tree. What have I done? I’m a mistake. Worthless.
She pressed her arms against the pair of library books that were now a month overdue. She adjusted her flimsy black waistcoat, pulling it down. It was a good buy. Two bucks at the secondhand store, according to the price tag. What made it even better was that she stole it. Just slipped it on and walked out the door. Amber didn’t like stealing, but there was no job, no allowance. You didn’t get an allowance at the group home for wayward girls.