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searched for something to say. “Miami must be really different from Brooklyn, huh?”
    â€œHell, yeah. But I love it here. The palm trees, the beach. It’s a total paradise compared to Brooklyn.”
    â€œI’d love to go there sometime. I’ve heard it’s the most amazing place.”
    â€œIt is, but . . .” She sighed. “I was ready to leave. Junior year of high school was kind of crazy. My dad and I ended up moving to Queens so I could finish. It just wasn’t the same. Brooklyn will always be where I’m from, but it’s not home anymore.”
    I wanted to ask what crazy stuff she was referring to, but I doubted she wanted to spill it. Whatever it was, it sounded like trouble. And Julia didn’t seem the type to get into trouble.
    â€œI feel the same, in a way,” I said. “My mom married this asshole and it’s been a rough ride ever since. She finally woke up, but he’s stalling the divorce. I’ve been dying to leave Miami. To start over.” I was surprised at myself for being so open, but why not? I liked her. “Moving to Tallahassee’s just what I need.”
    She nodded, like she totally got me.
    A game of poker started, and we headed back to the living room. There was a huge piece of artwork on the wall, a gritty Miami street scene. Julia told me how Eric had brought the canvas to his favorite street artist and paid him fifty bucks to do it. I guess having an eye for art was something Eric and Iz had in common.
    Julia sat down on one of the couches, and shooed away a guy so that I could sit.
    â€œThese are Eric’s boxing buddies,” she explained.
    One of them was Corner Store Guy. He was sitting on a chair next to the couch, beer in hand. When our eyes met, he actually said, “Hey.”
    Julia noticed. “You know Ortiz?”
    Ortiz. So that was his name.
    â€œI—we’ve—at the store.” Way to impress a guy. I hoped the darkness masked my red cheeks.
    â€œHe and Eric beat the shit out of each other last week,” Julia said, glaring at him. “I wasn’t impressed.”
    â€œThat’s ’cause you didn’t see it,” Ortiz said, a glint in his hazel eyes. “You missed a fight, Julia.”
    â€œI didn’t miss the bruises. Why can’t you guys play tennis, or something that doesn’t leave you messed up?”
    â€œTennis wouldn’t feed the beast. Your man Eric’s got the Brooklyn in him.”
    â€œI’ve got it in me , too,” Julia threw back at him. “Next time no black eyes, ’kay? I don’t think his boss at the restaurant was too happy about it.”
    â€œDeal.” That’s when Ortiz turned my way. To my surprise, he reached out his hand. “Maddie Diaz, right?”
    â€œYeah.” His palm was callused, a boxer’s hand. I felt a shiver go up my arm.
    â€œYou have some funny friends,” he said, his mouth curving up. “You’re not like them, are you?”
    I smiled. I suspected he was flirting with me, but I couldn’t be sure.
    â€œI heard all about you, Maddie Diaz. I admire what you did.”
    I was startled that he brought it up. I couldn’t accept the compliment, though. “Don’t admire me. I didn’t do enough. I wish . . .” I broke off. The intense look in his eyes silenced me.
    â€œYou told the truth,” he said.
    I couldn’t argue with that. And I had to admit, Ortiz’s praise meant a lot. No one else had reacted that way to what I’d done. They’d reacted with worry, horror, or curiosity. Never admiration. Not even my mom.
    â€œHector practically lived outside the store,” he said. “I used to give him overstock before we threw it out, and he was always grateful. The guy was more polite than most customers.”
    A lump rose in my throat. “I can believe it.”
    I felt a hand on my