To the world, he was the intimidating president of the Iron Eagles, a man whose tattoos and gravelly voice made people cross the street. To me, he was the man who made butterfly-shaped pancakes and read bedtime stories with ridiculous voices. Three years ago, a drunk driver took him away, leaving Mom pregnant and us kids scrambling to survive. We managed, barely, but the hole he left never closed.

So when Ethan whispered through tears that his mom had stage three cancer, I knew what I had to do. I worked the sidewalks day after day, ignoring the heat and the people who walked by as if I didn’t exist. Some even mocked me. And when Caleb, the rich kid from school, tossed a fat stack of cash on my table and grabbed all my