Anonymity by Janna McMahan Page B

do to help here?”
    The angry demeanor of the street kids immediately cooled.
    “Are you in charge of these boys?” Barbara asked.
    “Not for this event,” he said. “That would be the Street Youth Ministry. Is there a problem?”
    “I don't know,” she said. “Is there a problem here, boys?”
    They all shook their heads and mumbled.
    “Great. Then let's all get back to doing our thing. How about it? We're all happy, right? Can't wait for the big party tonight, right?” she said.
    “Like we'd be welcome at your stupid party,” one of the punks said under his breath.
    “Of course you guys are welcome to come. We'll have hot dogs and popcorn and all sorts of goodies. I'll give you some shirts.”
    “Like those?” One of the street kids pointed to the frat boys in Barbara's bright-green creations. “No thanks.” His group snickered and the students bristled.
    “Guys, stop it,” David said. He had a strong masculine voice that got their attention. Trash bags rustled open and both sides turned to their tasks.
    “Barbara Bryce, and this is,” she said, motioning to Travis.
    “We know each other,” Travis said. “What's up, David? I guess you're the person I really should ask about this. I heard about an altercation between some UT students and a Drag kid last week. Said a boy ended up with a bloody nose. You know anything about that?”
    “It was no big deal. We diffused the situation.”
    “Was it students bum hunting?”
    “No. That's not the case and don't write that.”
    “Look, man. We're on the same side here. People should know what it's like to live like these kids do. Face the things they have to face every day just to survive.”
    “I'll let you two talk,” Barbara said. She handed the reporter her card. “If you want to discuss the cleanup, give me a call.”
    “Yeah, okay. I got all your releases and stuff already,” he said, dismissing her. Sometimes it was easy to hate reporters.
    “Great, then,” she chirped. “Maybe I'll see you at the afterparty.”

Lorelei
    EXHAUSTION OVERTOOK Lorelei just after daybreak, so weary she forgot her fear of giant insects. She had crawled back into her sleeping bag and cinched the opening around her face.
    The voices started far away. Was she dreaming? She could hear people stomping through the underbrush like awkward animals. Without warning, three adults, all in the same DayGlo shirts and gloves, stepped into her fuzzy vision.
    “Oh,” one of the women said. “People are living here.”
    “This must be a hobo camp,” another said. No apology. They just stood and stared, obviously unsure how to react.
    They held garish green garbage bags and sticks with metal ends for collecting trash. The man gripped his stick tightly, but the women held theirs loosely at their sides.
    Lorelei's head felt as if it would split down the middle, and she pulled her hood tightly around her face. She longed for dark glasses to cut the flash of sun through the trees. She could hear other people moving through the woods, apparently stumbling upon other camps. She heard Mook.
    “Hey folks. How y'all doing?” he drawled cordially.
    “Oh.” They were startled and obviously a little frightened.
    “This must be cleanup day, huh?” Mook said.
    “That's right,” the man said.
    “That's so nice of y'all to help keep the city clean. How about we take care of this spot right here and you can find somewhere else to clean up? As you can see, some of us are still sleeping.”
    Lorelei moved to get up, but when she pushed up on her arm, pain seared her right side. She collapsed to the ground in a whimper.
    “What's wrong with her?” one of the women asked. “Is she drunk?”
    “Centipede sting,” Mook said.
    They looked as if they didn't believe him. He crouched next to Lorelei.
    “Let's see that hand,” he said.
    She could barley move her arm away from her body. Mook pushed up her sweatshirt sleeve and there was a collective gasp.
    He gave a concerned whistle.