Adam didn’t say anything. He and Uncle Henry had seen their small share of thieves in the bakery—a muffin here, a doughnut there. But Uncle Henry always let them go. He had once told Adam, “If they’re desperate enough to steal food, you leave them alone. No one ought to go hungry.”
“I’m sorry about your friend Tito,” Adam said.
Francine stiffened. She pretended to be busy adjusting her cloak.
“Tito and I are more than friends,” said Francine after a long silence. “He’s like family. He’s an orphan like me. Same age, too.” She kicked at the snow. “I always said ten was a lucky number, but guess not.”
Part of Adam couldn’t believe Francine was only two years younger than he was. The girl acted so much older.
He had learned in history class about polio, the crippling disease that had left numerous children paralyzed and bedridden. It had been eradicated in the United States in 1979. There was no doubt about the snow globe’s time traveling properties now.
“Who are you really?” Francine blurted, changing the subject. “How do you pop up out of nowhere? Are you a magician?”
Adam didn’t know how to respond.
“That snow globe has something to do with it, doesn’t it?” Francine said knowingly as she stared at the glass orb in Adam’s hands.
Surprised, Adam nodded. He hesitated, then said, “It kind of transported me here. It did the same thing on that day we first met, the day you lent me your blanket, however long ago that was.”
“You mean two days ago?”
Adam blinked. “Um, I guess so,” he replied.
He expected Francine to give him a weird look or to call him crazy, but instead he saw her eyeing the bright neon on his sneakers. “So what,” she said flatly, “you’re from the future?”
“Yes.”
Francine shook her head and said, “I knew it,” before hoisting her canvas bag on her shoulder. Adam was surprised by her nonchalance, as if time traveling was as ordinary as rainy days. “Well, thanks, kid.”
“For what?”
“For saving my hide back at the butcher’s.”
She turned and started to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Adam, startled.
“Home,” Francine answered without looking back. “Tito and everyone’s waiting. You wanna come?”
What choice did Adam have? There must have been a reason the snow globe brought him right to Francine both times. So he followed her up the street.
They walked briskly in silence. After a while, Francine spoke about Tito some more.
“Before he got sick, he’d find all sorts of stuff in the streets—rings, unused movie tickets, boxes of half-eaten chocolates. We’d sell them with the candles. That butcher’s place was our favorite spot for special days. Birthdays, Hanukkah, Christmas, Easter…We wouldn’t take much, just unsold leftovers that he’d tossed in the bin in the alley. And when we did swipe the occasional hunk of meat from the window display, we’d take just enough to get by.”
“You said Tito got you those candles from a factory, right?” said Adam.
“No, that’s my other friend Daisy. And yes. The factory is in Daisy’s hometown. It makes tons of candles, and throws away the rejects. Daisy brings bundles of them to orphans like me so we can resell them and make some extra money. She says the factory owner gets mad at her, but seems like a shame to have the candles waste away, y’know, all because of a missing stripe or what have you.”
“Where is this factory, exactly?”
“Not far, in a small town just north of the city.”
They walked several more blocks until they reached a noticeably less wealthy part of town. Here the brick buildings were fenced with rusty chain wire. Several windows were boarded up.
Francine led the way to what looked like an abandoned warehouse. She crouched and pushed open a small, ground-level windowpane in the side of the building. It was wide enough for them to slip through.
“I don’t know about this,” Adam said. He knew what Uncle Henry would say if Adam had willingly entered an abandoned warehouse.
Francine rolled her eyes. “It’s just me and the other kids here. We don’t bite.”
Adam heard distant laughter from somewhere inside. He also thought he heard a radio playing.
Reluctantly, he slid through the open window. The floors and walls were dusty and bare, but there was plenty of sunlight, and the room looked like someone had attempted to make it more welcoming. A row of chipped flowerpots sat next to the wall, along with shiny pebbles, stacks of colorful dinner plates, and piles of random items, including several worn picture books, paper dolls, and a small silver cassette player. Five cardboard boxes had been pushed together to form a makeshift table, complete with a thin sheet that served as a tablecloth. On the opposite side of the warehouse, rows of sleeping bags and blankets were set up. A group of children were giggling across the large space, absorbed in a game of marbles, while a dusty-looking gramophone played nearby.
“We fend for ourselves here,” Francine said. “Some of us sell newspapers. A few shine shoes—those businessmen types downtown love them shiny. Although lately, times have been tough for them, so we haven’t had as many customers,” she added.
“But what do you eat?” Adam couldn’t help asking.
“Like I said, unwanted leftovers,” Francine answered easily, as if they were talking about the weather. “We know where to find the best leftovers in New York City. French fries, steaks, you name it. You won’t believe how many people throw away entire plates of food. We pool our money together, and sometimes we save up enough to buy hot pretzels with mustard to share on birthdays.”
Once again, Adam wanted to tell her about his uncle’s bakery. Maybe he could bring a cake back next time.
He followed Francine to the far corner of the warehouse, where someone had stacked a
