By mid-October the weather was getting worse. Colder. A lot more rain.
One night we were huddled in the van, bickering. Even though it was only six o’clock, it was pitch-dark outside. “I’m freezing,” I said. “Horatio’s freezing.”
“So you’ve said. Twenty thousand times.”
“Mel is freezing.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“And I’m bored out of my mind and I’m claustrophobic and it smells like old farts in here—”
Suddenly Astrid moved into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
“Where are we going?”
She didn’t answer. She just drove, up the hill and west, into the neighborhood of Point Grey.
She turned onto a block that seemed almost deserted. A lot of the homes were brand-new and appeared empty. She pointed to one that was maybe two-thirds complete. “I’ve driven past this one a few times. No one’s living there, I’m sure of it. And also, the garage door isn’t locked.”
“How do you know that?”
She didn’t answer. She just turned off the van’s lights and drove down the back alley. She motioned for me to get out and open the garage door. “Astrid—” I started.
“It’s your choice, Felix. You can open the door, or we can go back to the beach.”
I opened the door.
My worry evaporated after the first couple of nights. Whatever laws we might be breaking, it was worth it. When we lowered the door, no one knew we were in there. There was electricity, so we could turn on the overhead lights and plug in our fridge and keep stuff like milk and eggs, and we could read as late as we wanted. There were power outlets to charge our ancient laptop and our phones. We ate in our camping chairs inside the garage, but outside the van. It felt positively palatial. And because there was a tap beside the house, we could even fill up some buckets after dark and heat up the water on the stove in the mornings and wash our bits.
And yes, when it was dark, we peed in the yard.
But only peed.
Except once, when it was an emergency.
The houses to the left and right and directly behind us also appeared to be empty, but still, we were cautious when we came or went. It meant a much longer walk to school for me, but I didn’t mind. I felt better rested than I had in a while. Astrid looked less tired, too.
At school one morning, the girl doing the announcements said, “Mark next Friday on your calendars—it’s the first school dance of the year! Invite that special someone, or come with your friends and dance the night away! Well, until ten p.m., when the school shuts us down!”
“School dances are a joke,” Winnie declared at lunchtime. We sat across from each other in the cafeteria; Dylan was in line, buying fries. “Archaic. I should write a scathing exposé for the November paper.” Winnie had completed her article on Bob the Bard for the October edition. It wouldn’t be out until the end of the month, but she was already hunting around for her next idea.
“A scathing exposé on school dances?”
“Yes! They only disappoint. They set up unrealistic expectations. Sure, they say you don’t need a date, just go with your friends! But secretly all these poor girls—and boys, but usually girls even though it is the twenty-first century—are waiting to be asked. Hearts get broken. Tears are shed.”
“Um. Are you talking from personal experience?”
“No,” she said. A little too quickly.
“So you’re not going?”
“Of course I’m going! With you.”
I almost spit out a piece of my bologna sandwich. “Huh?”
“Research! I have to be there to be able to write about it, don’t I?”
“Couldn’t you just go by yourself?”
“No, dodo. Then I’d be too conspicuous.”
“So I’ll be, like, your cover?”
“Yes.”
My brain hurt. “Um…okay?”
“Good. You can pick me up at my place at seven p.m. And for a corsage, I’d prefer wrist, and nothing pink.” Winnie took a huge bite of her sandwich.
What had just happened?
And also, what the heck was a corsage?
Dylan and I talked about it on the walk to his house after school. “Yeah, Sophie asked me,” he said glumly.
“What did you say?”
“Yes. But, I don’t know…a dance? Ugh. I won’t be able to wear this.” He glanced down at his uniform of wrinkled T-shirt and frayed jeans.
I felt a little ball of anxiety in my stomach. “You think we have to dress up?” I only had one set of nice clothes. And it was in Soleil’s basement.
“Probably.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’d rather have bamboo shoots stuck under my fingernails.”
I thought for a moment. “I’d rather lie in a tub full of cockroaches.”
“I’d rather eat maggots for lunch.”
“I’d rather slide naked down a razor blade into a pool of iodine.”
That one cracked us up so hard, we had to stop to catch our breath.
When I got back to the garage that evening, Astrid was making sloppy joes for dinner and singing along to an old Monkees song on the radio. Even though it was cold outside, it was warm and toasty in our makeshift home. The space heater Abelard had left behind was running full blast. She grabbed my hand and twirled me around, then started kissing the top of my head.
“Aagh, stop!” I said.
She let go.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I had a couple of good interviews today,” she said.
“That’s great.”
“Fingers crossed.”
I started singing too. “ ‘Now I’m a believer!’ ” I fed Horatio and got out our plates. When we sat down to eat, I shared my news. “I’ve sort of been invited to a dance.”
“Really? Boy? Girl?” Astrid believes that a parent should never assume a child’s sexuality.
“Girl. Winnie Wu.”
“Winnie. What a pretty name. Do you like her?”
I opened my mouth to say no—but I stopped.
Because it wasn’t true.
The truth was, Winnie Wu had grown on me.
“Sort of,” I admitted. “But she’s very strong-willed and bossy and opinionated.”
Astrid smiled. “Then I like her already. And if she likes you, she has excellent taste.” She ruffled my hair.
“But the thing is, she wants me to buy her a thing called a corsage. And I need to dress up, at least a little. And my dress pants and shirt are at Soleil’s.”
Astrid nibbled on a cookie. “No worries. I’ve got it figured out.”
I wished I could say that made me feel better.
“Okay, I think we’re good to go in,” Astrid said. We were standing across the street from Soleil’s house sporting dark sunglasses and hats, which I thought made us look more conspicuous. We’d taken the bus instead of driving the van, because, as Astrid pointed out, Soleil knew exactly what our van looked like, down to its THE ROAD TO ENLIGHTENMENT HAS NO SPEED LIMIT bumper sticker (Abelard’s addition, not ours).
Soleil and her husband had just driven away with the twins in their Volvo station wagon. The kids were in soccer uniforms.
My hiccups started as we made our way toward the back alley. “I still don’t understand why we didn’t just call her—”
“For the thousandth time, Felix, she’d ask too many questions. And remember, it’s not breaking in. We’re simply getting a few things that belong to us.”
“It’s breaking in if we’re doing it behind her—hic!—back,” I said. “She doesn’t know we have a key. She doesn’t know we know—hic!—her alarm code.”
“Meaning she’ll also never know we were here. It will be like it never happened. You know that expression, ‘If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ ”
“Yeah, but if someone is around, like if Soleil comes home and catches us, she’ll make a sound,” I said as we entered their yard through the back gate.
Astrid turned to me. “Do you want your dress clothes or not? I’m trying to help you here.” She inserted her key in the lock and opened the door. The alarm system gave off its high-pitched noise. Astrid punched in some numbers.
The noise continued.
She tried again.
It still didn’t work.
“She’s changed the code.” We stood frozen. My whole body felt numb, and I worried I might collapse in a heap. “The alarm’s going to start wailing in about thirty more seconds,” Astrid continued. “Walk out through the back gate. Don’t run. Walk. Meet me at the bus stop.”
“But, Mom—”
“Go.”
So I did what she said. I walked slowly, even though every bone in my body told me to run as fast as I could.
As I left the yard, the alarm started to wail. It was so loud, I could still hear it when I was two blocks away.
I waited at the bus stop for what felt like forever but was probably five minutes. Then I saw Astrid walking toward me, calm and confident and wheeling one of our large suitcases. “I grabbed what I could. We won’t be able to go back there for a while.”
The bus came a minute later. I collapsed in a seat near the back, hiccuping over and over.
Astrid reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills. She handed me two of them. “Buy Winnie a wrist corsage. Maybe a yellow rose. She’ll like that. And use what’s left over for whatever you like.”
My mind flashed to the purse I’d seen lying just inside Soleil’s back door.
I pocketed the money without a word.