"Give me that ice cream."
"Make me," the older boy said, laughing. He nudged Tomas with his shoulder.
"Hands off," Tomas said. He pushed back, hard enough to make the boy stumble. Dirt flew. The cone toppled, a drip of melting chocolate running down Tomas's shoe.
"Aw, tough guy," the leader said. "Where's the big brave heir now?"
"You picked the wrong kid," Tomas said. His voice was flat. He stepped between them.
"Run, Tomas," one of the boys taunted. "Or cry to your daddy."
A woman in a red coat was arguing in a parked car half a street away. Voices rose, sharp and public. Tomas barely registered the words. He kept his stance.
"Take it," another bully said. He reached.
Tomas moved first. He grabbed the offending hand and twisted. The boy yelped. A knot of other kids laughed; someone shoved Tomas from behind. He spun and caught the shove with an elbow. Teeth met lip. Blood welled.
"Stop it!" A small voice cut through the noise. "Stop it now."
A girl of seven or eight stood on the curb, a half-melted cone in one hand and a tissue in the other. She wore a blue ribbon in her hair and no fear.
"Who says you can touch him?" she asked. Her voice was clear.
One of the bigger boys laughed. "Who are you, his babysitter?"
"I'm Emiko," she said. She crossed the street like she owned it. Her feet did not wobble. The
