Fifteen year old Danny Stone, called Rock by his friends, had a secret.
It was 4:30pm when The Stone, signed off with his bros, and entered his brownstone house. “Ma, I’m home,” he called out.
“You’re late. You’d better get a move on,” his mother said. “You knew you had to be there tonight, Danny. Where were?”
“I got called out at lunch by a new kid, Ernesto something. Nothing I could do. I had to fight. You don’t stay on top by running.” Danny said, changing clothes. Off went the “Che” t-shirt and saggy jeans. On went his secret clothes. Then tight jeans, and long sleeved shirt.
“I’m ready mom,” he said, donning his hoodie.
Out the back door and into the garage they went. The Stone’s mom backed the car out while Danny ducked down in the back seat. The trip across town took 20 minutes. His mom parked in front of the old red brick building. Danny’s eyes swept the street before exiting the car. “I’ll pick you up in an hour,” his mom said. “Wait, Danny, you forgot your ballet slippers.”