That's the girl, the velvet girl, the one my mother didn't like. Saying she's bad news, you can see it in her face, don't mess with her. I once saw her jump from a railroad trestle to the ground twelve feet below, and a hard-packed dirt ground, the boys who were with her and who'd dare her and boasted of not being afraid either had jumped only after hesitating -- the visible sweat of fear. I'd watched her striding across the asphalt school yard, I'd seen her running in my memory once a few years before leaping over a dangerous pit of an opening in a sidewalk on Fairfax where coal thundered down a sliding chute from a truck, and the delivery man shook his fist at her, swore at her and she just ran on not hearing. I don't know what challenges her to take such risks.