Kimberly pulled the elastic from my ponytail and began attacking my hairwith a comb and brush, painfully pulling out the snarls. "Ooh, you'vegot such...nice hair. Too nice for a boy." It was then that I discoveredthe joy of having someone brush your hair.Ashley, meanwhile studied my face, like an artist looking at a freshcanvas. "It's a good thing that I brought some lilac eye shadow," shesaid.My hair is a little long for a boy, but perhaps not to long for aclassical musician. Kimberly kept. John wasn't mean; I'll give him that. That's when the slow trip down started. I won't tell you about those years, but I ended up homeless a year ago, and hit bottom in the spring this year. An angel named Ridley saved me, picked me out of the dirt, and drove me to a free clinic. I'd been raped and beaten. I was malnourished and sick. Pneumonia. I almost died, Flint. At first, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to die or live, but Ridley visited me, convinced me that my life wasn't over. 'You're. More

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