I didn’t know her name. She never told me. I was scrounging around a Best Buy for a new pair of headphones when I saw her staring at me with startling, milky-blue eyes, almost as if she knew me. She was wearing a Minecraft blanket depicting a pixelated, green creeper.

I smiled at her.

I smile at everybody.

I wandered alone in the store, wondering where I could find the headphone aisle, when I felt someone behind me. Probably another store employee passing by, I thought. I kept searching.

“Um, excuse me?”

She nearly gave me a heart attack. I whipped around to see her: curly, dirty-blonde hair and pale skin, thin frame and those stunning blue eyes. They were wide open, pleading.

“Oh … hi,” I said.

“Hi …”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Am I in your way?”

“No, not at all,” she said softly. “I’m homeless, and I come from Ohio. I’m twenty. I … I can show you my I.D. if you want. I’m not crazy.”

“I don’t believe you’re crazy,” I said, but she fished for a card in her pocket anyway. I looked around.

“Here,” she said, grabbing my attention again. I glanced only closely enough to see her face in the corner of the card. It was her.

“I’m trying to get home to my family, but Texas cops aren’t really nice to homeless people. And you’re the only one here who seems friendly. Everyone else looks like they want to rip my head off or punch me in the face. And I’m cold and hungry and my head hurts … somebody gave me this blanket out of their car.” She looked down at her dirty, green blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” I said softly. “Do you need a hug?”

She laughed a little. “A hug wouldn’t hurt.”

So I hugged her. She felt thin and bony and cold. But she didn’t exactly reek; she smelled like an air freshener in an old car.

“Here,” I said, opening my wallet. I had no dollar bills, just change. I scooped up all the nickels and dimes and quarters I had and, opening my hand into hers, carefully let the change spill into it.

She thanked me, over and over again.

“No problem,” I said. “I wish I could give you more, but I’m 15, and I don’t really carry around much money.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You’re 15!” she exclaimed. “Oh my gosh, if I had known that, I wouldn’t have stopped you!” She handed the money back to me, but I pushed her hand away.

“No, you need it more than I do.”

She thanked me again, then hurried away. A new subject in mind, I forgot the headphones and went to find my dad.

It took what seemed like hours to locate him, searching with precision I never knew I had until I saw him browsing iPhone cases in a corner of the store.

“Hey Dad,” I said urgently. “I need a bottle of water. Please. And hurry.”

He furrowed his brow, but obliged. I walked quickly to the front of the store and opened the clear refrigerator by the register. I picked the largest bottle they had – a 24 oz. – and my dad paid with a credit card.

When we turned around, she was gone. I looked all over for her; we spent the next hour searching. At Target, at Gamestop, and even the Ulta nearby. But I didn’t think she’d be shopping for makeup.

She seemed so alone.

I begged my dad to keep going, but we didn’t see her.

I cried. I was at more of a loss than merely a loss of change.

So dear homeless girl at Best Buy, if this reaches you, please listen: You will make it out alive. You will do something valuable in your life; you did for me. And thank you. For less than a dollar, my heart grew so much warmer. You changed me. And although I didn’t save you, I hope I made you feel a little more
human.