Rudie swallowed. “Imagine what they’re going through right now.” Her eyes watered, the first time since the earthquake that she’d almost cried. She made herself focus on Hannah, trying to picture her parents but drawing a blank.
The other boys had drifted toward Jackson Square. Beanpole stayed, stared.
“It’s about levels, yo.” He leaned on the gallery window, wearily, one foot braced on the wall. Rudie shivered, fascinated. “Top level with money. Poor level, like us.” He gestured at Hannah.
“Not like us.” She began to fold the bundle buggy – if she held it under her arm and jogged, she’d make Swick’s with a minute to spare.
“Lady, you think we chose this life?”
“It’s Rudie.” He had a point. Kids who used Shawn’s Place for breakfast had good reasons not to live at home.
“Barth,” th
