It was the winter after John F. Kennedy had been assassinated, and people were still talking about it, even kids. A group of them, seventh-graders from Morgan Junior High in Northwest D.C., were playing spin the bottle in an alley. Their game was played outside the rear door of a second-hand shop. Inside the shop was, of all things, a confessional. It was excellent mahogany a craftsman could repurpose. The lattice through which sins were once voiced was shattered, and the kids fulfilled their giggling pecks through the splintered opening. The owner barely noticed, and didn't seem to mind them going in and out.

There was something even stranger than the confessional in the shop. The kids called her Spooky Mother – a large, plaster bust of the Blessed Virgin, but chipped up to render a horrid countenance. Her eyes were gouged out. Her nose was shorn to a ghastly contour. Her mouth was shattered agape. They were genuinely afraid of her, and kept their distance.

The group thinned until only three remained in the alley. Diego, his girlfriend Frida, and Louis. Louis was the only white kid in their school. It was a problem for him. Diego had one arm tightly around Frida, and the other hand was at her mouth whenever she tried to talk.

"You still getting chased every day after school, Louis?"

"Pretty much. Yesterday they spun me by my arm into a bunch of trash cans. If I could get into a gang, it wouldn't be a problem."

"You're the wrong color, white cracker. Even I'm the wrong color. You gotta be careful, they're pretty mad about Kennedy getting killed."

"Kennedy was white."

"Yeah, well, when you walk into one of their houses, they always got two photos on the wall - Martin Luther King and JFK. So you tell me."

"I was in a gang when Ma and I lived in Northeast. I made up a gang song and they let me in."

"Musta been some song. I gotta go. Take care of my girl here." He let go of Frida.

"You're such a creep, Diego, go home. Don't bother calling me tonight. Louis, I want to walk down to the Peoples on U street, do you want to go?"

"Again? Yeah, I'll go, I can hit the comics stand."

At the Peoples drug store, Frida just looked at the jewelry showcases. She had her heart set on one particular bracelet. It was $14.99, all the money in the world.

"I'm going to have it some day."

"How?"

"I start helping my uncle this weekend, delivering plants in his station wagon. He's got bad feet, he just wants to drive while I make the deliveries."

"Uncle Tickles? You can't stand him."

"You're right, I'm probably going to tell him no. But I want that bracelet. It's cheap compared to ones in a jewelry store. It's not like I'm trying to be some rich girl."

"It's going to take forever to come up with that much money. You should switch to comic books, ten cents a pop. Frida, I need a favor. I notice Turtlehead is always talking to you. I want to get into his gang. I need a peace talk with him. Can you work that out?"

"I’ll ask him. I think he likes me, so there’s a chance he’ll do it."

"Turtlehead’s gang gives me more trouble than all the other gangs put together. If you could get him to talk with me and keep his fists down, it would really help me out."

"I'll try."

Louis walked home, his gaze keen upon the ground, hopeful of spotting a dropped nickel or dime among the litter. His eyes scrutinized the joints of the pavement. He kicked at flattened coffee cups and soda cans, hoping to uncover some silver. Candy bar wrappers, cigarette butts, bottle caps, bus schedules, spent matchbooks, all had been fed through the grinder of human activity, blackened by trampling heels, and spit out barely recognizable. Rarely, something of value glinted out from the debris. Only kids and vermin gave this quarter-inch high world of detritus any due.

Louis' mom got home at 7:00 and brought hamburgers from Little Tavern. They had moved plenty of times, from creepy efficiencies with a hot plate and a shared bathroom to tiny in-law suites. They were in a real apartment now and he had his own room for the first time.

"Ma, why do people call us white crackers?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess white crackers are...like, say, white bread...the upper crust." Her mind always seemed to be somewhere else. She knew Louis had trouble getting home from school, but thought all boys went through problems like that.

"Are we the upper crust?"

"Not hardly. If you finish your homework and bath, you can listen to the fights tonight."

"I only care about Clay and Liston next week. Do you think it will be on the radio?"

"I doubt it, they'll probably show it at movie theaters. I know you love your Cassius Clay, but I think it's a school night, so don't make plans."

"It's Tuesday night and he's going to win."

"Louis, from what I've heard, you shouldn't get your hopes up."

"He's going to win." Ma switched subjects, to an ongoing problem that Louis had.

“Have you been making good eye contact at school when you speak?”

“I try. It’s hard.”

“Just lift your head up, that’s all there is to it. I don’t want to read about it again on your report card. Okay, Louie?”

“Okay.”

On Monday morning, Louis was surprised to learn that Turtlehead would meet him after school. Frida had worked it out. They met on the blacktop behind the building. Turtlehead had a body nearly like a grown man and there was nobody in school big enough to make fun of his face. He had two of his gang with him.

"So, white cracker, what do you want to see me about?"

"I want to be in your gang." They laughed and laughed at Louis, and every time he tried to interject, they laughed even more. Finally Turtlehead said "My stomach hurts." He waved his hand and there was silence. "Hear him out." Turtlehead may have had muscles, but it was his wits that made him a gang leader. It was as if his brain had observed the rapid growth of his flesh, and decided to follow suit. But he didn’t know limits, and was often in detention after school. Louis kept track of that, knowing he could get home more easily on those days.

"I know stuff,” pleaded Louis. “I make good plans. Nobody knows the alleys like I do. Think about how many times I got away from you. And, I know a doorman at The Howard, we can get in for free sometimes."

"That's nothing, we sneak in the back door of The Howard all the time. We saw Marvin Gaye there, didn’t cost us a nickel."

"I know which buses to take to get to Glen Echo Amusement Park. They’ve got a roller coaster, and bumper cars, and..."

"You dumb white cracker! They ain't gonna let me in there. You ever seen anybody there that wasn't white?" Louis had never noticed. Scanning his memories of the amusement park, he realized Turtlehead was right.

"Yes, you are a dumb white cracker, but I am going to give you a chance. You can join - if you can pay the fee. And the fee happens to be fifteen dollars."

"Fifteen dollars! I don't know if I have fifteen cents. Why fifteen?"

"That’s the fee for white crackers. I'll bet you got a savings bond stashed away from Grandpa. That'll do."

Louis put his hands over his face for several seconds, then looked up.

"Okay. Okay, I'll have it by Thursday."

Louis went home and opened his sock drawer. From it, he retrieved a jelly jar of coins. He counted them out: three dollars and twenty-four cents. Ma was constantly reminding him to save that money, not to dip into it. When he reached five dollars, she would take him to the bank and open his own savings account. But Louis had an idea for the money he just couldn’t resist. If it worked, he’d increase his funds by a factor of seven. He was extremely pleased with how clever his idea was. All he needed was a little help from an adult.

He put the jar in his coat pocket and went back out to find Posey. Posey was a wino who had been a friend to Louis when he had none. They stood on corners often, talking and eating smoked herrings. The kind that came in a cellophane wrapper and cost a nickel. Louis found Posey on his usual stoop near a corner store. He was probably not as old as he looked. His clothes were shabby but he always wore a coat and hat. His pants had several deep breaks at the cuff. His mustache was the color and thickness of cigar ash.

"Youngblood, how you be?"

"Fine, Posey. I got something I hope you'll do for me." Louis pulled out the jelly jar. "There's a little over three bucks in here. I want you to give it to the bookie in the gold deuce-and-a-quarter, and bet Clay to win. The odds are seven to one. I just need fifteen dollars, you can have the rest."

"Are you crazy, boy? Cassius Clay can't beat Sonny Liston! Liston beat Floyd Patterson twice, knocked him out in the first round both times. It was like a man beating a boy. Get that money out of my sight."

"Please, Posey, I know Clay's going to win. I know it."

"What makes you so sure?"

"He's too fast, Liston'll never catch him. I can see it. Clay will pick at him all fight. But there's more to it than that. I get chased every day after school. This money could change that."

"How?"

"They'll let me in a gang for fifteen bucks."

"Fifteen bucks? I wish I had fifteen bucks."

"Fifteen bucks, that's the price."

They sat for a minute and then Posey extended his palm.

"Okay, give me that jar. Give it to me now." Louis did and went running away.

"You'll see, Posey, you'll see. I'll find you on Wednesday and we can celebrate the new champion - Cassius Clay!"

On Wednesday morning, Louis woke up to what he knew was inevitable: Cassius Clay was the heavyweight champion of the world. Liston quit fighting after six rounds. Right after the fight, Clay announced he was changing his name to Muhammad Ali. It didn’t matter to Louis. Whatever he called himself, he was a god. More god than God, maybe.

After school, Louis managed to evade trouble, then went to find Posey. He wasn't at his usual stoop. Louis asked around and could not find him. It started to drizzle. Then the rain became steady. He went up and down the browned sidewalks. It was almost dark when he saw Posey sitting in an alley.

"Clay won, Posey, Clay won! I told you! Posey didn't look at him.

"There ain't no winnings, boy, I done spent it up." He fidgeted with his thick mustache. "That same night you gave it to me, I spent it up."

Louis was determined not to cry. But what bothered him the most? That he didn't have the money now to join the gang? Or that Posey had let him down? He left running for home. He was determined not to cry.

The next day after school, Turtlehead’s gang caught Louis in an alley.

"I don't have it."

"How much you got?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I knew you didn't have fifteen bucks to your name, but I thought you could cash in a bond or something. Nothing? Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Kennedy's dead, white crackers tighten their grip, we just gotta take what we want." One of the gang grabbed Louis by the arm. "Nope, let him go. Let him go for today. We got more important things to do."

On Friday night, Diego called.

"Hey man, Frida's got a problem, she won't talk to me. I thought it was because I mess with her too much, but that ain't it. She tried to talk to me but she can't. She said she'd try and talk to you. Not on the phone. Tomorrow at noon, at that store in the alley. The place we play spin the bottle."

"Okay."

On Saturday, Louis met Frida in the alley.

"Hi, Louis. I feel pretty bad and can't talk to Diego about this. But I think you can help me. Will you come in and kneel with me in front of Spooky Mother?"

"Yikes, no."

"I can't do it alone. Please. Turtlehead tried to get that bracelet for me, and now he's in some big place with barbed wire all around it." She took his hand and he did not fight it. They went inside and Frida took some grains of rice from her pocket. She sprinkled them in front of Spooky Mother.

"Kneel with me," she said. "Spooky Mother, there is no church I can go to for what I did. You are the only one who can hear my confession. I wish you could make me as ugly as you are, and then I won't have problems like this. I told myself that I felt sorry for Turtlehead, sorry for his face, and was just being nice. But the truth is I just wanted that stupid bracelet. Please forgive me. I will spend the rest of my life being sorry. I promise." Her hands were folded in prayer, but she crossed an elbow over Louis's forearm to keep him in place. They knelt silently for what seemed to him like a long time. At last, they noticed the owner nearing them, and Frida and Louis rose.

"You kids always playing in my store... I don't mind, really. What are we having today, a make-believe wedding? You picked a fine one to perform that. This has been her home for years. Do you think I'll ever sell her? Would I miss her? I can't say. When people ask me who did that to her, I sometimes say 'El Diablo!' Do you think I'm right? The Devil?"

Once outside, Frida backed slowly away from Louis.

"Thank you, Louis, thank you. I hope one day things can be like they used to be." He looked down where she had walked, through the alley’s mosaic of broken glass, mashed Popsicle wrappers, aging headlines, shredded bus transfers. Through the lightning-shaped cracks in the cobble and the glaze of grime. This world underfoot, this anklebound cosmos, seemed to be fading. He would never again find a nickel or dime on the ground. He would keep his head level - look everyone he met straight in the eyes. Face the world.

Louis felt safe walking home on the pavement. No more rat-sneaking through the alleys – he could thank barbed wire for that. It began to rain hard - the steady downpour browned the sidewalks of the city. His sopping coat turned heavy. His eyelashes bunched. Louis started running. He imagined himself a prize fighter going ten rounds, dripping with sweat. His fists delivered left hooks and right crosses, his lungs gasped for wind. The torrent of rain had purified the filthy urban air. Every breath he sucked in was crisp and sweet and delicious.