Franklin had seen Times Square in movies, but standing in the middle of it felt like being on another planet. Giant screens covered every building, flashing advertisements bigger than his house. People packed the sidewalks - tourists taking pictures, street performers dressed as cartoon characters, businesspeople rushing past with coffee cups.
"Keep close," Jerome said, putting a hand on Franklin's shoulder. "Easy to get lost here."
They stood at the red stairs in the center of Times Square, looking up at all the lights. Even in daytime, the screens were bright enough to hurt Franklin's eyes.
"This is crazy," Marcus said, shaking his head. "How much power you think all these lights use?"
"Probably enough to run all of South Central," Lisa answered.
A woman dressed as Mickey Mouse waved at Franklin. He waved back until Jerome steered him away.
"Don't encourage them," Jerome said. "They'll want money for pictures."
They walked through the crowd, Jerome pointing out different buildings and billboards. Franklin tried to look at everything at once, almost tripping over his own feet.
"That's where they drop the ball on New Year's," Jerome said, pointing up at a tall building.
"For real? The one on TV?" Franklin asked.
"That's the one. Gets packed here on New Year's Eve. Can't even move."
They passed a massive toy store with a Ferris wheel inside. Franklin pressed his face against the window until Gloria promised they'd go in later.
Street vendors sold hot dogs and pretzels on every corner. The smell made Franklin's stomach growl, but Jerome had other plans.
"Save your appetite," he said. "Taking you somewhere special for dinner."
They walked a few more blocks, leaving the chaos of Times Square behind. The restaurant Jerome picked was fancy - not the kind of place they went to back home. A man in a suit opened the door for them.
"Mr. Saint," the host said, nodding at Jerome. "Your usual table?"
Franklin looked at his uncle. He had a usual table?
Their table was near a window overlooking the street. The chairs were covered in dark red leather, and the tablecloths were so white they almost glowed.
"Jerome," Marcus started, looking at the menu. "This is too-"
"My treat," Jerome cut him off. "Can't have my family in town and not show them a proper New York dinner."
Franklin opened his menu. The prices made his eyes go wide.
"Thirty dollars for chicken?" he whispered to his mom.
"Pick whatever you want," Jerome said. "And that includes dessert."
The waiter came and talked about specials Franklin didn't understand. His parents ordered carefully, but Jerome and Gloria knew exactly what they wanted.
"And for the young man?" the waiter asked.
Franklin panicked. "Uh... chicken fingers?"
"The chicken Milanese," Jerome corrected. "And bring us some of those garlic knots to start."
After the waiter left, Franklin asked, "What's Milanese?"
"Like chicken fingers, but better. Trust me."
The food came on plates fancier than anything in Franklin's house. His chicken didn't look like fingers at all, but after one bite, he didn't care.
"Good?" Jerome asked.
Franklin nodded, his mouth too full to speak.
The adults talked while they ate. Franklin half-listened, more interested in his food until he heard his name.
"Franklin's school is okay," Lisa was saying, "but the district keeps cutting funding. Last year they dropped the science program completely."
"That's crazy," Gloria said. "Schools here have robotics classes in elementary school."
"Yeah, well, that's the difference," Marcus said. His voice had an edge to it. "Money goes where money is."
Jerome set down his fork. "You know, that offer still stands. Construction's booming here. Companies are always looking for experienced foremen."
"Jerome..." Marcus started.
"Just saying. Something to think about."
The conversation moved on, but Franklin noticed his parents got quieter.
After dinner, they walked back toward Times Square to catch a taxi home. The city looked different now - all the lights turned on, making the streets bright as day.
"Can we come back tomorrow?" Franklin asked.
"Got something even better planned," Jerome said. "Ever been to a real baseball game?"
Franklin shook his head.
"Well, tomorrow you're going to Yankee Stadium. Got tickets right behind home plate."
"For real?"
"For real. Better wear that cap I gave you."
Franklin touched his Yankees cap, grinning. His feet hurt from walking all day, his stomach was full of fancy chicken, and tomorrow he was going to see the Yankees play.
A taxi pulled up, yellow paint glowing in the night. As they piled in, Franklin took one last look at Times Square.
"It's something else, isn't it?" Jerome said, following his gaze.
Franklin nodded. He wanted to say more, but he didn't have the words. How do you tell someone that a place you've only known for a day feels important somehow? Like it matters more than just lights and tall buildings?
The taxi headed back to Queens, leaving the bright lights behind. Franklin leaned against his mom, suddenly tired. Through the window, he watched the city pass by, wondering what Yankee Stadium would be like, wondering if his parents were thinking about what Jerome said about moving here.
After a week of being in New York, the flight back to Los Angeles felt longer than the trip to New York. Franklin kept his face pressed against the window until the last lights of the city disappeared beneath the clouds. His Yankees cap sat in his lap - the same one Uncle Jerome gave him years ago, now worn around the edges but still his favorite.
"You're quiet," Lisa said, touching his arm.
Franklin shrugged. After a week of Yankee Stadium, Times Square, and late nights playing video games in his Uncle's basement, going home felt strange.
Marcus slept in the aisle seat, worn out from the trip. When they landed at LAX, the LA heat hit them like a wall. Their house looked exactly like they'd left it, the patch of brown grass in the front yard baking in the sun.
Franklin went straight to his room and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The street sounds were familiar - distant cars, a dog barking, music from the neighbor's party. He fell asleep still wearing his Yankees cap.
Three Years Later
Franklin ducked under another punch. Three boys from the grade above him had cornered him behind the school, looking for trouble.
"Think you're better than us?" the biggest kid said, swinging again. "Walking around with that Yankees cap like you're somebody."
At eleven, Franklin was tall for his age but skinny. He'd learned to be quick - had to be, in this neighborhood. He slipped past another grab, looking for an escape route.
"Ain't running today, Saint."
A fist caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. Franklin stumbled but kept his feet. His Yankees cap fell off, hitting the ground.
The sound of a car horn made the bullies jump. Mr. Rodriguez, Franklin's science teacher, leaned out his car window.
"Everything okay here?"
The boys backed off. "We were just talking," the big one said.
"Better do your talking somewhere else."
They scattered. Franklin picked up his cap, dusting it off.
"Need a ride home?" Mr. Rodriguez asked.
"No thanks. I'm good."
Franklin waited until the car drove away before touching his shoulder. It would bruise, but nothing too bad. Nothing worth telling his parents about.
At home, he found his mom in the kitchen, talking on the phone with Uncle Jerome.
"That's great about the new job... Yes, he's doing fine in school... Getting tall, just like his father..."
Franklin tried to sneak past, but Lisa caught his eye. She saw the dirt on his clothes, the way he favored his right shoulder.
"I'll call you back," she said into the phone.
"It's nothing," Franklin said before she could ask. "Just playing basketball."
Lisa gave him a look that said she didn't believe him but wouldn't push it. Not yet, anyway.
"Uncle Jerome says hi. He sent you something - it's on your bed."
Franklin found a package wrapped in brown paper on his bed. Inside was a new Yankees jersey - a real one, like the players wore. A note fell out:
"For my favorite nephew. Heard you made the honor roll. Keep making us proud. - Uncle Jerome"
Franklin pulled the jersey on over his t-shirt. In the mirror, he looked different - older maybe, or just less like a kid who got pushed around after school.
The front door opened - his dad coming home from work. Voices drifted up from the kitchen, his parents talking about normal things: bills, work schedules, what to have for dinner.
Franklin touched his bruised shoulder and looked at himself in the mirror again. The jersey felt like armor somehow. Next time those boys tried something, maybe he wouldn't run. Maybe he'd stand his ground.
Franklin took off the jersey and put it in his closet. He had science homework to finish before dinner. His shoulder still hurt from the fight, but at least he had something good to tell his Uncle next time he called.