Every afternoon, Chauncy Jones followed the same routine. When the final bell rang, while other kids rushed home without a second thought, Chauncy headed the other way—past stores with things he’d never own, all the way to the grocery store on the edge of town.
He never hurried. Not because he had time, but because he needed to get his mind ready. By the time the automatic doors slid open, he’d already rehearsed everything a dozen times. What to say. How to say it. How to make it sound like he was offering a hand… not begging for one.
Because asking felt different. It made people uncomfortable. And uncomfortable people always said no. Chauncy tugged at the strap of his worn-out backpack and took his usual place near the entrance—far enough to stay out of the way, close enough to catch someone before they passed him.
