I grew up in Chicago on the south side. A pretty rough part of town full of gangs and violence. To keep me out of all that, my mom insisted I work h...rd through school. It worked since now at 18 I had been accepted into a special college in San Francisco, the SFC school for gifted writers. I was excited and so was my mom. She said she only knew one person out there. Her name was MS Carlson, the white lady mom used to house clean for. The two women had kept in touch, Christmas cards. “You’re in my home,” he explained. “I found you half dead in the desert.”That made sense. Sort of.“Who are you?” was my next question.“Name is Karter, and this is my son, Kenni,” explained the dog. Kenni waved his paw when his name was mentioned. Though I had only just met him, I could tell he was fidgety. It would not have surprised me had he dropped to all fours and started running after his own tail.“I’m Ava,” I said. “Ava Long.”“Avalon?” asked Kenni.I shook my head.“Ava Long,” I repeated,. More

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