Disclaimer: No, I do not own Slumdog Millionaire, or the book, Q & A's by: Vikas Swarup

I looked around, she has to be here. She just has to! I whipped my head around frantically in search of the small girl in the yellow dress. Then I saw her, my best friend, aside from Salim, my brother, there was Latika. My only friend. When we were back in out slum I was not as lonely. Sadly the Muslim religion had its faults. An image flashed through my mind, a fresh image:

I couldn't understand her. 'What is she yelling? Is it, Salim? Or Jamal? Or just run? Oh, mum! Yell louder!' I thought as she screamed at us. Salim and I quickly scrambled out of the muddy water. Almost out, I turned to her once more as if to say, 'Hurry! Come!' but a man with a stick came up behind her. She must have heard him for she redirected her attention from our safety to her death. The stick came down on her neck, snapping her head back, sending her flying backwards into the brown water. "Come Jamal!" Salim called. I turned, tears threatening to fall. With one deep breath I pulled myself out of the pool and ran after my brother. 'She's gone.' In my head I wept, in my heart I wept. 'You must be strong, Jamal.' I told myself. 'Don't let Salim see you cry.' My bare feet slapped against the dirt as we sped through the streets. 'Be strong.'

Salim and I found Latika soon after our mother's death. That very night, she became the third musketeer, at least in my mind she did, not in Salim's.

"Latika! Come, come play!" I called to her, a smile upon my face.

"No, Jamal. I think what would be best now is to wait for Salim to give orders." She came and sat beside me though, giving me at least some company. So we waited. We did not have to sit long, for soon Salim came out of the car, arms raised and already shouting.

"Get to work! Do you think this is some type of picnic?!" He called. "Give me the child." He demanded to a boy as he came closer to us.

"Salim." I smiled at him. He turned to me as if surprised I would be here.

"Hey brother, got a problem?" he walked right past me to Latika who was sitting directly behind me. "Here, you can have her today. Keep her crying and that's triple the profit." Latika glared at him.

"I don't want her." She murmured.

"Huh?" He asked leaning closer, still clutching the screaming child.

"She said she doesn't want her." I cut in, also glaring at my elder brother. He smirked and raised an eyebrow.

"Take her or I'll drop her." He threatened. He waited for a few moments and then almost did drop the baby. Latika took her reluctantly and set out for the day.

…

I was eight. Salim was eleven. Latika was nine. That was then, this is now. Now, sitting on a train, just barely surviving with Salim, I still haven't forgotten her. Not once. I haven't forgotten the last time I saw her either.

…

"Run Jamal! Run!" I heard Salim's cries, and looked over my shoulder to spot Latika. There she was, a stupid smile plastered on her face. Sometimes I just think she's happy just to be with us. Like a family.

I sped up. The rocks were hurting my bare feet once more yet; I had no care, except just to escape. Why did Salim have to throw that stuff in his face? Why couldn't I just continue singing? I don't think my voice was that bad…

I was breathing hard through my nose as I almost reached the train. "Run Latika! Faster!" I hollered. I quickly scrambled onto the train and turned to find Salim with an outstretched hand. I took a hold of it and pulled with all my might.

We fell backwards, breathing heavy. Salim then went toward the entrance of the train once more and reached for Latika's hand next.

"Run Latika!" I screamed. Salim had a hold of her hand. It was tight, she was running. He looked up at her face and smiled then let go. He let go. My heart seemed to stop, if only for a moment as I watched her face fall. She turned toward her fate and then back at us. Sadness and confusion written all over her small face. "LATIKA!" Maman and his henchmen were creeping closer and closer. They lifted her up and watched as the train sped away.

…

Not once did I forget. Not once.

Author's Note: Um, yeah… well, I tried to get this to sound at least ok but I don't know how well that's working out for me… Um, Happy Easter! So here's a fanfic for Slumdog Millionaire. I wasn't second but I was fourth and four is my favorite number. :) Please review. I need some confidence boosters with this one! Even if all you have are negative comments, all I want are reviews.