WRITING LIFE: Excerpt

I’m excited to share another excerpt of my work-in-progress, the Misty Dreams prequel. This scene is written from the perspective of twelve- and thirteen-year-old Richard and Tony. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into their world!

Shards of golden light from the low-hanging sun burst between the tall buildings, casting a warm orange glow over the cracked blacktop of the makeshift half basketball court. It was breezy but unseasonably warm, one of those rare late-autumn days in New York when staying indoors felt like a crime.

Tired of shooting hoops, Richard let the ball bounce away and flopped down cross-legged on the faded sideline. For a while, he watched the sun sink behind the sliver of New Jersey skyline across the river that peeked between the buildings.

This might be one of the most beat-up streets of Manhattan, but it had one of the coolest views he’d ever seen.

Tony sat with his back to the chain-link fence, a Mets ball cap low over his eyes, idly bouncing a semi-deflated basketball between his palms.

Richard wiped his damp brow on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I start community service this Sunday,” he said.

Tony grunted.

“Mr. Bishop says it’s supposed to boost self-esteem or whatever.” He sneered. “Like, how much self-esteem am I supposed to get cleaning up after sick kids?”

“Zilch,” Tony muttered. “It’s just another trick to wear us down.”

A sharp gust ruffled Richard’s hair as the sun slipped away. He never talked about the stuff that worried him, but with Tony, it was easier. Maybe because he got it. His mom, too, had died when he was little, except she hadn’t abandoned him like Richard’s had.

“Between school, counseling, and community service, it feels like doing prison time.”

From somewhere inside the Second Chance Haven building came a burst of laughter, then a door slammed shut.

Tony pushed his cap up and squinted at Richard. “What if we had some fun tonight?”

Richard sat up straighter. “What kind of fun?”

“What if we snuck out to see the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center? You ever seen it in real life?”

Hazy bits and pieces of memories floated in Richard’s mind. He was sitting on a man’s broad shoulders, high above the crowd. Flickering lights were everywhere, loud music blaring in his ears. A woman’s hand on his back, holding him steady. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew it had to be his mother.  “No,” he said, jaw tight. “You?”

“Once, when I was real little. Don’t remember much.”

“We don’t have money for the subway.”

Tony’s hands stopped flipping the ball. “So we walk. It’s like thirty, forty minutes. Subway’s crawling with cops, anyway.”

That familiar buzz started up in Richard’s chest—part excitement, part fear. “But what about curfew?”

“They’ll think we’re asleep. No one will even know we’re gone. A couple of hours, and we’re back.”

Richard hesitated. Breaking curfew was a big deal at the home. It could cost him another write-up, a weekend without privileges—maybe even extend his community service. But the chance to see the tree—or maybe just to feel free, for once, was too good to pass up.

He raised a hand for a fist bump. “Let’s do it.”

By the time the building quieted down, it was past ten o’clock. Most of the younger kids were already in bed, and a few older ones were half asleep, watching a rerun of Boy Meets World in the common room. Old Mr. Ambrose, the night staffer, was in the front office with his feet up, but he usually liked to nap or play Solitaire with the radio on.

At lights-out, Richard and Tony sprang into action. They zipped up their jackets and pulled beanies over their heads. Their room was at the end of the hall on the second floor. The window didn’t open all the way, but the one in the hallway bathroom did. They’d tested it earlier, just to make sure.

“You sure the alarm on the windows is still down?” Richard whispered.

“Positive. I heard the super tell some inspector last week. It hasn’t worked since the hurricane last year, and they don’t have the cash to fix it. Only the doors work.”

Richard went first, being more experienced in breakouts. The window groaned on its hinges, but they moved carefully, slipping out onto the rusted fire escape. A few steps down the ladder, and they dropped into the dark alley behind the home.

By the time they reached Midtown, their legs were sore and their breaths came out in clouds. As they turned onto 49th and Fifth, the city exploded in front of them like a giant glittering stage. Music blasted from hidden speakers. People shoved past them from every direction, all trying to see the tree. The warm, sugary aroma of caramel-roasted nuts made Richard salivate, and his stomach growled. His busted knee ached. But none of it mattered when the tree came into view, bigger than he’d imagined, glowing with what seemed like a million lights.

They pushed through the crowd and stopped at the railing. Skaters circled the rink below, bundled in coats and scarves, spinning and laughing. Some posed for pictures under the golden statue by the fountain.

Grinning, Tony elbowed Richard. “Totally worth it, huh?”

“You bet,” Richard said, his eyes glued to the skaters below.

They were barely aware of time passing as they soaked in the party atmosphere around them. Richard’s knee throbbed, but he barely noticed. “I wish I had money for skates,” he said. This time they hadn’t stopped at community service and counseling; they’d even cut his allowance. Something about “learning accountability”.

He waited for Tony to say something, but his friend didn’t answer. He was gripping the railing, eyes locked across the rink like he’d seen a ghost.

“What?” Richard asked.

Instead of answering, Tony grabbed his arm and took off running.

“Hey—where’re we going?” Richard shouted. They passed a speaker blasting out Carol of the Bells, almost blowing out his eardrums.

Tony didn’t answer. He just ran faster.

Richard followed, heart pounding like a drum. Were the cops chasing them? Had someone from the home seen them?

He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t see anything suspicious, just people minding their business.

They zigzagged through the crowd until they burst into a quieter area. Tony skidded to a stop beside a velvet rope and stared ahead. Richard almost slammed into him.

“What are you looking at?” he asked. But all he saw were empty tables and a gleaming white grand piano in the center.

“Sweeeet,” Tony breathed, sounding a little like the Fonz in one of those Happy Days reruns.

Before Richard could speak, Tony ducked under the rope.

“Dude—what the—?” Richard glanced around. The street was quieter here, but someone could show up any second.

Tony reached the piano and ran his fingers over it like it was a rare car. Richard hesitated, then slipped under the rope too.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “You’ll get us into trouble!”

Tony just smiled like he was in another world. “You don’t get it. This is a real Steinway.” He ran to the side and flipped open the lid. “See?” He pointed at something inside.  “It’s signed Henry Steinway.”

Richard blinked. He sounded like he actually knew what that meant.

Tony sat and played a few notes, and something soft and beautiful flowed from his fingers—a tune Richard didn’t recognize.

His mouth hung open. Where had this come from?

Before he could say anything, a man burst out of a nearby storefront. “Hey! Get away from there!”

Tony jumped up, knocking over the stool.

“Run!” Richard shouted.

They tore down the street, sneakers slapping the pavement.  They didn’t stop until they were back on Fifth Avenue. Both doubled over, laughing and panting. Richard’s knee burned. He checked his pant leg, but it was clean. At least it hadn’t started bleeding again.

The smell of caramel-roasted nuts seeped into his nostrils, making his mouth water. His eyes looked up at a glowing clock. Eleven-thirty.

“I guess we should head back,” he said, trying not to sound disappointed. He hadn’t had this much fun in so long.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, still catching his breath.

They walked south, jackets zipped, hands stuffed in their pockets. The lights faded behind them, and the cold crept back in. Tony whistled the same tune he’d played.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano,” Richard said.

Tony shrugged, eyes down. “It’s no big deal.”

“Did you take lessons, or something?”

Tony laughed, like he’d said something funny. “Nah, just an old piano I used to mess around with. There was this lady I used to stay with after school, when my grandfather worked late. It was her son’s, before he moved away. She said I had a good ear.”

Richard didn’t ask what happened to his grandfather, why Tony wasn’t staying with him anymore. No one at the home did, not after the time a kid called him mob-boy and ended up with a bloody nose.

Richard dug into his pocket and pulled out a small packet. He brought it to his nostrils, sniffing the sweet smell.

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Dude . . . are those caramel-roasted nuts?”

Richard grinned and popped one in his mouth. “Whaddaya think?”

He tossed the packet to Tony, who caught it mid-air. “I thought you said you didn’t have money.”

“I don’t.” Richard shrugged.

Tony stared. “Wait . . . you stole these?”

Richard smirked. “I didn’t plan to. The guy turned around, and . . . I just grabbed it.”

Tony doubled over laughing. He slung an arm around Richard’s shoulders. “Real smooth, bro.” 

This excerpt is an unedited draft and may contain errors, inconsistencies, or changes from the final version. It is shared for early insight and enjoyment only. Thank you for reading!