I watched the traffic flow in and out and around the square. That summer, all these new faces popped up; they had moved from closed-up high-rises. On both sides of us, up and down State Street, there were blocks that looked like someone had dropped a bomb, leaving the destruction of brick towers. The wires clawed out from the sides of the high-rises that were ripped open, exposing colorful walls of vacated apartments. It seemed random, the Chicago Housing Authority’s choice of which buildings to destroy first; some blocks—like mine—were completely intact, others a mess. I’d seen these horror scenes from the State Street bus on trips downtown and knew that the construction vehicles would appear on our block someday, but someday could be translated into never when you’re a kid.

Once a building had been attacked, falling apart in this way, the residents were already settled into other project buildings or out in other parts of the city. Some people were relocated into my building, 4950. I kept an eye on these strangers but always watched for this one girl. She walked up and down the stairs all day. I couldn’t tell her grade, mostly because she had a body all curved and rounded out like a grown woman. I bet, that summer, she had developed fast, because she seemed to be bursting out of what was probably a free D.A.R.E. T-shirt she’d gotten at school. Some girls loved to show off their bodies, but she didn’t have that kind of energy. Instead, she acted more like a small, timid child.

We didn’t look like her; Stacia and I were bony, with no curves at our hips and bumps for breasts. Precious hadn’t shed her baby fat and still looked like a little kid. Even Tonya’s skin color was different. Her complexion was a few shades darker than Precious’s but still considered light, while Stacia and I were much darker. The four of us represented a gorgeous spectrum of tones.

She’d walk down the stairs, then I’d see her coming up again a few minutes later. The building served breakfast in the summertime on the first floor, so tons of people went by in the mornings going to Chokes—that’s what everybody called the food, though it actually wasn’t that bad. Sometimes, only ten minutes passed between her coming and going. Other days, I wouldn’t see her again until night. She rarely looked over at the square. It was like she couldn’t even see us. Then one day, as she passed our floor, she slowed down a little and looked over at us, as if she was going to say something, then she kept marching up the stairs.