Chapter Nine

“Mattie Rollins.” The loudspeaker blares my name for the fourth straight day. “Report to the office to be checked out.” Mr. Z drops his chin to his chest and lets his arms flop to his sides. The choir stumbles to a stop.

“Again?” mumbles the girl next to me.

I step off the risers. A guy in the back row yells, “Mr. Z! Write out the pass before class starts so we don’t have to stop.” Mr. Z scribbles on the notepad, tears a page off, and slaps the pass in my hand.

I need to tell Mr. Z why I miss class, but students are constantly milling around his desk, chattering about concerts and new music or just hanging out. There is never a good opportunity to talk to him alone.

I grab my pass and hurry to the office. Mom is waiting. The minute she sees me coming down the hall, she turns away and heads for the front door. My stomach cramps into a fist-sized knot. She didn’t get an apartment. Not even a room. If she had, she’d be smiling at me, even with a split lip and purple bruises on her face. I scribble my name on the sign-out sheet and follow her.

Yesterday, I whined and fussed and sassed like a self-centered brat. Today, I cram all my mean, nasty words into my gut and let them swirl around with the other worries crowding the space. Mom wants a room as much as I do, maybe more. She is halfway across the parking lot by the time I catch up to her.

“Mom?” My voice sounds high and shrill, like I’ll break down and cry in the high school parking lot.

Mom shakes her head and won’t even look at me. We climb into the car in silence. Meg hops off the backseat, poking her head between the headrests. “When we get our new house, we’ll go back to Darren’s and get all our stuff, won’t we Mommy?”

Mom’s body goes totally still, like she’s frozen in place.

Meg swings her head over to me. “I’ll get my dollhouse and color crayons and story books and Barbie doll clothes, and Mattie, you can get your books and hair brush. And we’ll get our beds and all our stuff and the new place will look like Darren’s, only better because he won’t be there.”

Meg doesn’t wait for Mom or me to answer. She pops back onto her booster seat and buckles herself in like it’s all a sure thing. We’ll get an apartment. Meg and I will have our twin beds set side by side with my bookcase in between. All our stuff will be there. Clean. Neat. No Darren. Her picture of life is so simple and clear that my throat swells. I’d cry at the beauty of it all if I dared to believe in something so perfect.

Mom pulls herself together, backs out of the parking lot, and drives toward the library. Meg goes back to playing with her stuffed bunny, while I stare at Ruby’s windshield wipers whipping back and forth, clearing away the rain.

Jack is gone, our beautiful lunch shattered by reality. His friendship is nothing more than a dream like Meg’s, too perfect to be real. Even if he is ideal for me, I can’t have him now. Today, for just a little while, I let myself think I could. I knew better, but I slid into that beautiful, easy space of thinking we could be friends. I soaked up his words and dropped all my defenses. I close my eyes, pushing him out of my head and burying him like I buried all my other childish dreams.

“What was my dad like?” The question slips out of my mouth even though I know the answer. I’ve asked Mom the same thing a thousand times, but this time I need more than facts. Maybe I need to understand how Mom let herself get pregnant. How she fell for a guy and messed up her life, and how I’m supposed to keep from doing the same thing.

Mom glances across the car, her blue eyes softer, full of relief for my question. She needed to move away from Meg’s dream even more than I did. That picture too ideal to be real.

Mom gives me that same sad smile she uses every time she talks about Matt, my dad. “He was tall and slim, Mattie,” Mom turns back to focus on the road, “and very handsome, with dark eyes full of strength and kindness and a bit of mischief, just like yours.”

She says the same words every time, but they’re never enough. I want her to give me a guide for boys. Some bit of knowledge that will tell me which guys are liars and cheats, which are alcoholics and junkies, and which I can trust with my life.

“But was he a nice guy, Mom? Did you love him?”

“He was a very nice guy, but we were kids, Mattie. Younger than you. We liked each other. A lot. And I suppose we loved each other, as much as kids your age can love, but we were just way too young.”

“Did you try to find him?”

Mom hesitates, like she does every time she answers that question. “No.” She turns down the street and parks in the drop-off zone. I think that’s the end of the conversation, but Mom reaches across the car and clasps my arm.

“I should have.” She sighs. “By the time I knew you were coming and figured out what to do, he’d moved across the country and the relationship was over.” She gives my hand another squeeze. I think she’s done—story over—but she says, “I should have found him, Mattie. Keeping you to myself was selfish. Very, very selfish. If Matt knew you were here, he would love you as much as I do.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes. She’s never said that. Never told me my dad might have wanted me. Never said what I ached to hear all those years. “Is it too late to find him? Could we at least try?”

Mom studies my face like she’s looking straight into my heart. “When we get settled, okay?” She squeezes my hand a little tighter before she lets go and grabs the steering wheel.

Meg and I slide out of the car, stand on the sidewalk in front of the library, and watch Mom drive away. I take a deep breath and blink back tears. My body feels raw, like my skin has been scrubbed just short of bleeding. Love. Hate. Anger. Grief. Worry. Fear. Emotions keep coming, keep beating at me until I wonder how long I can stand them all.

I tighten my grip on Meg’s hand. We walk inside, and I steer her across the lobby to the young adult section. Last night’s run-in spooked me, so I’m not about to let the children’s librarian see us camped out in our little corner for another evening. I find a table by the window, and Meg and I spread out our homework. I drive Jack, my dad and mom, and living in a car—along with all the other junk that pushes at me—right out of my head. It takes too long, but I finally clear my life away enough to concentrate on my schoolwork.

Meg finishes her papers, and when she gets tired, I let her curl up on the window seat with a pile of picture books. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep. Our spot is perfect, warm and comfortable with an outlet for my phone and a bank of computers close by.

Teens sit in front of computer screens surfing the internet, playing games, and writing school papers. A group of kids huddle around the last computer on the row. One girl glances up at me. Dyed black hair sticks out from under the gray hood of her sweatshirt in short spikes. The girl studies me for a second or two before she focuses back on the computer screen.

I go back to my homework. Honors English is my biggest worry. I make a ton of notes on the original play, but I can’t do much more until I watch the two movies. My US History class isn’t much better. We’re supposed to be working on a PowerPoint presentation on the Civil War, but living in Ruby makes using Mom’s computer almost impossible.

I study the kids grouped around the computers. Maybe I could get the PowerPoint done here at the library and email it to my teacher. Could I use them to watch West Side Story for English? Do they let you stream films, or do I need a DVD?

The girl in the gray hoodie glances up and catches me staring at them. She steps away from her friends, slips into the chair across from me, and leans her arms on the table. “You’re so obvious it’s pitiful.” Her brown eyes judge me from under heavy black eyeliner.

My mouth drops open, but no words come out.

“You’ve been sitting here forever, you plugged your phone in where the whole world can see, and you’re obviously babysitting.” The girl nods at Meg curled up asleep on the window seat, “Is she your sister?”

“Y … yeah, she is,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You might as well wear a sign around your neck flashing HOMELESS in hot-pink neon.”

I glance at the main desk and then over to the smaller information booth. Did a librarian notice us? Are they stomping over here right now, ready to throw Meg and me onto the street?

“Don’t worry.” The girl gives me a twisted grin. “They’re not on to you.” She hesitates, glancing over at the woman behind the information desk. “Not yet, anyway. But move every couple of hours or somebody will spot you.”

“Will the librarians kick us out?” The thought of standing in the dark in front of the building shoots shivers down my spine.

“They don’t care what happens to you. You’re a teenager.” She nods again at Meg. “But they’ll want to know what’s going on with your little sister.”

“Would they call the police?” My stomach cramps. “Report us?”

The girl shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, they don’t care about you.” She tips her head to the side and twists up her mouth. “But you’re black and your little sister is white, so people will wonder what’s going on.”

Heat rises up my neck and flushes my face. “That’s not fair.” My jaw clenches and my teeth grind together. “Meg’s my sister. What does it matter if my skin is browner than hers?”

The girl leans closer. “I’m just saying it raises questions, but that’s enough, see?”

Acid swirls in the pit of my gut. Could Mom lose custody of us for being homeless? Officer Rodriguez hinted as much this morning. Meg and I would end up in foster care, or at least Meg would. The peanut butter sandwich in my gut threatens to explode.

“Thanks.” I manage a smile even though I can hardly breathe. “I’m Mattie, and my sister is Meg.”

The girl doesn’t smile back, just studies me with sad eyes. “Ebony.”

“Ebony?” My voice flips up at the end. “Is that your real name?”

Ebony scowls. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”

This girl looks younger than me, but she’s got street smarts that make me feel like an ignorant little kid.

I ignore the pain in my stomach and look at the computers. “How do you get to use the computers?”

Ebony points to the librarian at the information desk. “You show them your student ID and library card to set up an account.” She glances back at me. “And don’t worry. They don’t ask for an address.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks a lot.”

She stands up and flicks me a hint of a smile. “Good luck.”

Ebony wanders back to her friends at the computer. I look at the clock on the wall behind the information desk. Eight thirty. A half hour before Mom picks us up. I gather my homework, stuff it in my backpack, and wake up Meg. We go to the bathroom, get a drink, and wander through the library. I hunt for spots Meg and I can hang out and not be noticed, just in case we’re homeless for another night.

Mom hurries into the library at five minutes to nine. She drives us through a couple of neighborhoods, looking for a spot where we’ll be safe, but not obvious. The houses are smaller, more run-down, and much less expensive than the neighborhood where we spent our first three nights. Residential areas feel safer than busy streets, but we have no way of knowing if that's true.

The night is dark, cold, and drizzly. My shoulders droop, and my eyes threaten to close from exhaustion. Mom is tired too. I can tell by the way she hunches over the wheel, like she doesn’t have enough energy to hold herself upright.

The neighborhood dwindles to nothing, and we end up in an industrial zone with storage units and businesses of all sorts. The area is quiet and deserted, but is it safe? Are we better off away from other people, or are we more vulnerable?

Mom pulls off the road next to a clump of trees. She kills the motor, and we sit in the dark, listening to the quiet. The trees give me a feeling of privacy and maybe even safety.

Meg whispers in the dark. “Can we make our bed now? Please?”

Mom and I get out of Ruby and open up her rear door. I help Meg flip down the seat while Mom shoves plastic garbage bags aside. Meg kneels in the back and spreads out the quilts.

A car comes around the corner and drives right up behind us, flooding Ruby with light. Mom slams the back down and yells, “Get in the car, Mattie!”

We jump into Ruby and shut her doors. Mom hits the lock button, and the three of us swivel around, trying to see into the light. I expect the headlights to flick off, but they don’t. A door slams and the dark shape of a person, outlined by the glare of white light, stalks up to Ruby’s side.

“Get out!” The man pounds both fists on Ruby’s roof. “My spot. This is my spot.”

A gaunt face leans close and stares into the window by Mom’s head. Mom and I gasp, too afraid to scream. The guy’s eyes are big and wild, his cheeks sunken. The glare of the headlights turns his skin a sickly shade of blue. Raggedy clothes hang on his thin frame, making him look ancient, like a ghost out of a horror movie.

“Move!” he says. Some of his teeth are gone. Others are black and broken. “Move. Now. Move.”

Meg whimpers and scoots across Ruby, getting as far away from the man as she can. Mom grabs her backpack and fumbles through it, looking for her keys. She finds them and jams the key in the ignition. Ruby spits and sputters but finally starts up. We drive to one of the neighborhoods we passed and park along the street.

My body trembles. The guy looked and acted like he was crazy, but he didn’t hurt us. Was he harmless and just angry because we’d taken his place? Do street people stake out territory like a land claim? This is my bench, my corner to panhandle, my campsite under the bridge.

I understand his need for a space to call his own. If Mom finds us a safe spot to park, I want to go there every night. There will be a comfort to that, like walking in the door of our apartment. I can relax and go to sleep, knowing I’ll wake up to a new day and a new chance to make life better.

We finish making our beds in silence, too frightened to talk. I crawl under the quilts and hold Meg until she finally drifts off to sleep. Only then do I give in to tears, letting them leak out the corners of my eyes and soak silently into my pillow.