It was just past 10PM on the Southside of Chicago, and the air smelled like summer sweat, backwoods, and trouble. Jamal stood on the corner with his usual crew—Tay, Lil Dre, and Smoke—posted up in front of the corner store with their hoods up and eyes peeled. Sirens were always close, but never close enough to stop anything. Jamal was the one they looked to, quiet but respected. Gold cross on his neck, Glock tucked under his hoodie, and too many ghosts behind his stare. He ain’t smile much—hadn’t since his brother got caught in that crossfire last year. Life around here moved fast, and death moved faster. But to them, this was home. The block raised them, even if it was breaking them down

The boy in the mirror is holding a phone. She seems to be taking a selfie, her shirt is white and her hair is short and black. She has dark skin and looks confident in her reflection. She is focused on the phone and you can tell she is enjoying taking the picture.