I pressed my fingers up against the glass, hunger growing in the pit of my stomach as I looked down upon the baked goods. There were shiny éclairs, fluffy hills of whip cream adorning the tops of mini cheesecakes, and rows of perfectly iced cupcakes displayed carefully around the bakery. The coolness of the air conditioned room sent shivers up my sweat glazed arms, and I could feel the heated glare of the cashier on my neck. I was an outcast in the neat little shop, my ragged sneakers an abomination in comparison to the tiled floor and my wrinkled uniform an oddity. The knowledge of being unwanted was enough to send me running from the store right then and there, but I needed to get what I came for first.

“Can I have a single slice of vanilla cake, please?” I asked the irritable cashier, meeting his scowl with a small smile. Kindness begets kindness, as they say. Not that it is actually true. He fetched the pre-cut piece of frosted bliss from its plastic pedestal, and I dug into my frayed wallet for a five dollar bill. I did not have to dig far. As he punched the order roughly into his cash register, I examined the wall behind him.

It announced the Wednesday specials with bubbly pink letters, the ink freshly applied and shiny against the whiteboard. The curled writing reminded me of my classmates, who were all back at school. They must have been with Mr. Kipper by now, listening to his voice drone on about alternate energy resources with a tone not dissimilar to the dishwasher I could hear chugging along somewhere in the kitchen of the bakery. I wondered if they noticed I was missing from class, but dismissed the thought immediately as impossible. Most of them did not know I existed. Maybe they had to take notes, in black pen and not in pencil, while he scribbled on his whiteboard with that messy handwriting of his. Perhaps they were taking a test. Whatever it was that they were doing, I was jealous of them. I would have given anything to not have a reason to be out of school today.

“Five dollars,” the cashier said quickly, his eyes glaring daggers into me. I handed him the bill, and he snatched it out of my hand with disgust. I scooped the white box off the counter, hooking it under the crook of my arm as my shoes squeaked across the floor. Just as I stepped out of the automatic door, I could hear him grumble something aloud.

“Stupid kid... skipping school... parents these days...”

I rushed down the sidewalk, cradling the box in my arms as I flew down the flight of stairs and into the subway station. People pushed and shoved me forward as we moved as a mob onto the subway car. With a mechanical chirp, the doors shut and the train was on the move. I stood beside the door, one hand clutching the boxed cake to my chest and the other gripping tightly to the metal rail for stability. The bumps in the ride caused people to knock into me, jostling the box I held in my arms. Most of the the crowd seemed far too used to the closeness of the subway, many partaking in private discussions as if no one else could be listening to them. Beside me, a woman in a grey pant suit shifted on the heels of her shoes. She chattered into her phone, flicking some of her bleached blonde hair over her shoulder as she gossiped.

“I know, right? How could she possibly think we wouldn't notice that she was sleeping with him? It was written all over her face. Honestly, I have no idea why she even went to school if she was going to spend her career sleeping her way through the ranks,” she yammered on into the device, casting a sidelong glance at me and sneering. “Right? Exactly! Ugh, I’m even standing next to one right now. Why do they cut class and still wear their uniforms? They’re just asking to get caught. I blame their parents...”

I glanced out the window of the train, watching the underground graffiti race past my eyes as blurred rainbows of profanity and vulgarity. It was easier to watch the millions of spray painted curse words and gang signs that were aimed directly at me then listen to others gossip. Everything was easier than listening to people gossip. It was something I learned in school. Gripping the box to my chest, I allowed myself to get lost in the colors and let the din of the subway become no more than a mosquitoes hum in my ears. Soon, a noise broke my concentration to release me from this cake-crushing prison.

With another cheerful chirp, the doors let loose the swarm of people and I quickly lost sight of the chattering woman in grey. I hugged the box even closer, the cardboard cracking softly, as I hopped up more concrete stairs. The open air greeted me with the burn of the sweltering sun as I moved down the nearly empty street.

As if as a warning, my tiny wrist watch beeped. I glanced down at its tiny face to see its black hands settling directly on top of each other and pointing towards the north. I was running late. Taking off down the sidewalk, I found myself checking over my shoulder more often than watching to see I turned on the right streets. A quick turn on Cherry Street, and there he was. Right on time.

I slowed to a jog, working my way down to a casual walk as I came closer to the patrol officer. He sat in his car, eyes fixated on me as I strolled down the sidewalk with the box hugged to my chest. Soon as I was near enough, he rolled down the tinted window of his police car.

“Shouldn't you be in school?”

“Extenuating circumstances allowed me to be absent... today.”

“Do you have any proof of these ‘circumstances’?”

Shoving my hand deep into my skirt pocket, I produced a piece of paper that clearly had been opened and closed numerous times. The beady eyes of the police officer sped across the page, analyzing the small scrawl as if he were expecting to find proof of forgery. His faith in my honesty was as slim as usual, not that I ever gave him a reason to believe me. When he finished reading it, he snorted condescendingly from his nostrils and shoved the note back into my expectant palms.

“Go home. Just because you got out of school does not mean you can wander the city as you please. Your parents should have taught you that by now.”

I did not think twice about it. As quickly as I could, I made my way to the crumbling apartment. The air conditioner hummed tiredly as I climbed the stairs and turned into the hallway. 3A, 3B, 3C, 3D... Finally, I reached 3H. With the click of the lock and a kick on the aged door’s hinges, I entered into the silent apartment.

“Dad, I’m home!” I said, pulling my shoes off and leaving them by the door. “I got your favorite.”

I walked into the dimly lit room, my socks creating static friction against the musty tan carpet. Shrugging my jacket onto the couch, I headed into the kitchen. I set the white box on the yellow counter and felt badly about how bruised it was now. It looked so much better in the bakery, where the world was not able to crush it. The nicest plate I was able to find, buried deep within one of the dust collecting cabinets, only insulted the pristinely white cake. Glazed and slightly battered, it sat upon a Disney’s Ariel plate, its white frosting tinting her fiery hair pink. To add to the mockery, the only candles I could find were plaid.

“I’m sorry Mom couldn’t make it today, but she said she had a lot to do at the office. She’s been saying that a lot lately.” I said to him as I searched for the lighter. She was always much too busy, my mother. “People kept saying that I should be in school, but I think it was worth it to skip for your special day.”

I carried the abomination of a cake into the living room, its horridly designed candles sparking occasionally like the trick lights they were. I set the plastic plate upon the glass table, right in front of him. I wanted to sing the song at the top of my lungs, loud enough to bother the neighbors, but he never did like when people sang to him. Humming the tune softly, I patted the metal urn.

“Happy Birthday, Dad... I miss you.”