We’d only been living in our van for four days when somebody stole my mom’s purse, which had most of our money in it because my dad’s wallet was falling apart.
After we told a policeman, he wanted to know our address so if they found the money they could give it back.
We are between addresses is what my mom told him.
“Ah,” said the policeman. He nodded like he’d figured out a hard math problem.
My parents and the policeman talked for a while. He gave them the address of two homeless shelters where people can sleep at night. The dads go to one place and the moms and kids go to another, he explained.
“No way,” said my dad. “Not happening.”
Robin said, “We are car camping.”
The policeman looked at Aretha, who was licking his shiny black shoe.
He said that no animals were allowed at either shelter.
I asked if that included puppies.
“Sadly,” he said.
I told him my teacher Mr. Vandermeer had pet rats.
“Rats are especially not allowed,” said the policeman.
There are good rats and bad rats, I told him. I said white rats like the ones my teacher had, Harry and Hermione, were very clean animals. But wild rats could make you sick.
Then I told the policeman how Mr. Vandermeer was teaching his rats to play basketball with a teeny ball for a science experiment. Rats are amazingly intelligent.
“Basketball,” the policeman repeated. He looked at my parents like maybe they should be worried about me. Then he gave my mom a little white card with phone numbers on it.
“Social services, shelters, food pantry, free clinic,” he said. “Check back with us about the theft. Meantime, hang in there, folks.”
We were almost to the car when I heard the policeman call, “Hey, Ratman!”
I turned around. He waved me back. When I got there he said, “How’s their jump shot? The rats, I mean?”
“Not so good,” I said. “But they’re kind of learning. They get treats when they do something right. It’s called ‘posi—’” I couldn’t remember. It was two long words.
“Positive reinforcement?”
“Yep!”
“Yeah, I could use some of that myself,” said the policeman.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Give this to your dad,” he said. “But wait until you’re in the car.”
I asked how come I had to wait.
“Because otherwise he’ll give it right back to me,” the policeman said.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I know,” he said.
When I was inside the car, I gave the money to my dad. He looked like he was going to throw it out the window.
I thought maybe he was going to yell at me, but he didn’t. He just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Finally he shoved the bill in his jeans pocket.
“Looks like dinner’s on me,” he said softly.