Cashay

In her fourteen years living in a Chicago housing project, Cashay has never ridden in a taxi cab, seen the city lit up at night, or set foot in a museum. She’s not pretty, or graceful, or bubbly like her little sister, Sashay. She gets her family by on a couple of dollars and food stamps every week.

No, Cashay has never felt much like a treasure. “Your name doesn’t signify who you are,” Cashay tells her sister.

But that was before Sashay was killed. Before her mother started using again. Bef...