Alex sat by herself on the hard wood seat and starred at nothing out the streetcar window. The car rattled and clanked its way with awkward cadence towards Sacred Heart Academy, the last true bastion of good Catholic girls in New Orleans. One more year until her parole, and she couldn’t wait. Her mother refused any discussion about her going to a public school. It just wasn’t done in New Orleans. No way could they afford Newman. That was reserved for the blue blood elite, the future kings and queens of Rex. There was no way they would have admitted her, even if she had the money. For God’s sake, her father delivered bread for a living, until that day last fall a loaded out crack-head ran a red light doing 50 at Claiborne and State. The bastard T-boning her dad straight into St. Patrick Cemetery Number 2. She sighed inwardly, and let her shoulders droop a degree. I hope he didn’t see it coming. But dead is dead no matter how you slice it. No, it’s Scarred Heart for me.