SAM, WAS SURPRISED, when they got off the train, to find they were at a station called Osgoode.
When they went up in the elevator, he found, not a hotel lobby with chandeliers, but a huge supermarket. When he saw the supermarket, Sam’s heart fell. He knew what they were buying—peanut butter, bread, milk. That’s how he knew his father was defeated. It was what he always bought when he had no money.
His father spent six dollars and ten cents at the supermarket. Which meant he had thirty-five dollars and sixty cents to pay for the hotel bill. And yet Earl Kellow didn’t seem to worry, and when he spent another two fifty on two tokens to get back to the hotel, he was whistling. Back in the hotel the lobby looked even grander than it had before. There was a famous film star checking in. There was a pretty fifth grader in a ballerina gown with a diamond tiara in her hair. She looked beautiful, like a real-life princess. She looked at Sam and smiled, but Sam—instead of smiling back—frowned and shifted his supermarket bag so she wouldn’t see the peanut butter showing through the plastic.
As he walked across the marble floor, he imagined everyone was looking at his pathetic little bag of groceries—cashiers, bellboys, a pair of twin boys in identical brown velvet suits and neat bow ties.
“There’s a lot of very rich people staying here,” he whispered to his father.
“These kids?” His father laughed. “They’re pretending to be like the kids in those shampoo commercials. Did you see the sign?”
Sam looked at the banner which was now draped across the high ceiling of the lobby. It read: THE KING REDWARD HOTEL WELCOMES FINALISTS IN THE PERFECTO SHAMPOO “PERFECTO KIDDO” COMPETITION.
“Perfecto Kiddo,” Sam said. “It’s not even English. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Why would it make sense, kiddo?” Earl Kellow grinned. “It’s a nonsensical situation. It’s a whole lot of crazy parents trying to make money from their children.”
“But they have jewels and stuff,” Sam whispered. “Why do they need more money?”
“They’re not rich, Sam. The parents are dressing the kids up in an unnatural way so they can make money from them.”
Sam turned his baseball hat around backward and pushed his hands deliberately in his pockets. He acted proud, but he would rather have been in their shiny shoes than his dirty sneakers. He felt ashamed of his sloppy sweater, his crumpled jeans, his baseball cap. These kids would still be hanging around the lobby when he was kicked out of the hotel.
In the elevator his father said, “You thought your life was strange, huh?”
“Yes,” said Sam, but he could not think what else to say. He just wanted to sleep, to forget everything. He ate his peanut butter sandwich and drank his milk. He cleaned his teeth and kissed his mum good night.
“You want a story, sweetheart?” she asked.
“Unh-uh.”
“You want to read yourself?”
“Unh-uh. I’m tired.”
“Okay, but take off your Blue Jays cap before you go to sleep.”
Sam began to dream immediately, his cap still backward on his head.