Part of a short story, hope you like it.

A cold, salty breeze pushed it's way all the way from the ocean into town, changing things. I pulled my sweater closer, cursing the fallen off buttons. I could go inside, if not for all the yelling. I had left the way I always did...I scooted past them, not making any noise, slid out the door and across the yard. They wouldn't see me, it was dark enough.

I didn't know where I was going, I never did. sometimes I would leave mindlessly and end up somewhere I didn't want to walk all the way home from. Stuff like that could be dangerous, someone said to me once. Yeah, but they weren't local. Anywhere over here would be dangerous for them. Especially with that Louis Vuitton purse and those fake nails. What was a rich person doing overhere anyway?
I turned the corner and got slapped in the face by hanging, dry palm leaves. I knew they were there, I just seemed to always forget. Through the alley, around the broken couch, away from the familiar places, I was trying to get lost on the main road. I always thought that maybe, just maybe , someone would find me, love me, take me away. But it never happened. Usually it was just Paola and the kids, on the way back from church, or Claudio and Marco. People I knew, people who would make me take a ride home when all I wanted was to just leave. It seemed like someone was always bringing me back home. I'd smile, say thank you, and hop in. Hop out when we got there, thank them again and promise to stay out of trouble, to not walk so far. But they knew...they knew the next time things got loud I'd be gone. I hope they didn't feel bad for me. I never liked that.
Half a mile and no one stopped me yet. I was glad. Maybe I'd make it wherever I was going. My chanclas made a skidding sound when I walked, brushing against the concrete and fallen leaves. Sounded good with the swish of my corderoys. Like a song.
Chanclas. Paola taught me that word. I liked it, for some reason. Really, Paola had taught me almost everything I needed to know in order to get along there without making trouble. I tried to tell my Ma but she wouldn't listen. She thought she could just do and say whatever. That's why she got heckled so much on her way home. Sometimes I was scared for her...but what can I say, she kind of brought it on herself. But I always knew she'd be alright, Marco knew she was my Ma. That meant she'd be safe.
But she should have learned, like me, that there are some people you don't look in the eye unless they say it's ok. You have to earn that eye contact, that respect. You don't just get it, and if they ask you to take something down somewhere, make a delivery, you do it. You never say no, especially to Marco. He was nice enough, but you just didn't want to say no. I felt kind of honored because after a while he started coming straight to me when he had a package needed delivering. That was a big deal 'cause believe you me, I was the only skinny white girl he let deliver for him. In fact, I think I was the only skinny white girl that was allowed to talk to him, that he liked talking to. That's why he liked me...he said, because I wasn't as white as I looked.
Sometimes, we'd sit on his front lawn across from each other, and he'd smoke his weed and blow the sweet smoke in my direction. A gift in the form of a little contact high. That's when I knew he trusted me.
He never let me smoke though, said I was too pretty and that smoking destroys your face."that's why my old lady has wrinkles already" he coughed, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nostrils "she smokes more 'n I do...trust!"
I don't think he thought that through, but I trusted him at the time. I trusted him, and sometimes I thought I'd do anything for him.