The international flags over the entrance of the Fairmont were flapping so hard, I thought they might come undone and fly away like a runaway kite. Through the windows, I saw the rich people in their nice clothes, talking and smiling as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I wanted to sit on one of the red-velvet couches and dream of a future like theirs, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it – even if it meant getting out of the cold. Not now. Who was I kidding? I’m not one of them. I’m a street urchin, just like Mom always says I am. The girl from Powell and Clay whose mother wants her to steal, that’s who I am. How could I ever step foot into that hotel again? I kicked at the pavement as I walked to the park that separated the Fairmont from Grace Cathedral, then plopped myself on a bench. The cathedral looked beautiful. Its large rose window was beginning to come alive, as it did each night, acting as a nightlight for the park. The church reminded me of the pictures Madame Thibault showed our French class of the Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris – only this one’s not Catholic, it’s Episcopalian.