Even though Mom’s feet are extremely sore by now, we spent the last hour walking around the city in an attempt to make me feel better. Mom likes to show me all the parks and architecture each city has. Every city is different. Stockton is pretty nice-looking. The parks are big. The buildings are tall. And we stopped at Taco Bell for some bean and cheese burritos, which were really good. She filled out an application to work there too, which would be awesome because I love Taco Bell.
It’s eight o’clock now, and the shelter has a strict curfew; doors lock at nine o’clock sharp. So we head back and give Ani one last chance to pee in the grass before we call it a night. Mom is starting to worry about Emjay already. He hasn’t shown up yet. But I told her that there’s nothing to worry about because he is always gone for the first couple days when we get to a new city. A part of me likes when he’s gone. The other part of me wishes he’d stay gone, but a very, very small sliver of me wants him to come back. Not because I miss him, but because even when he’s missing, and it’s just Mom and me, it’s never just Mom and me. A part of her is off searching for my brother, even when she’s right beside me.
I won’t ask Mom how much money we made today. Any talk of money stresses her out. Even the slightest question can send her to chain-smoking or biting her fingernails or needing to breathe into a brown paper bag. I’ve learned how to avoid it. Sometimes I let it go, but if I’m really curious, I’ll count it when she’s asleep. Sometimes I just need to know how much we’re working with. Emjay hasn’t learned how to avoid it yet. Or maybe he has but maybe he enjoys seeing my mom all flustered and on the brink of tears. Like I said, he’s a pretty mean person once you get to know him. But for all his flaws, I’ve never once seen him take money from her. In fact, when she’s asleep, he often puts money in her bag. When he does that, it means he’ll be gone for a while. Which makes me happy.
“We can probably get to Los Angeles now,” I say, assuming today’s hunt was successful enough.
I climb up to the top bunk, with Ani hidden in my arms, and lie down. I don’t know why I feel the need to keep her hidden here. The NO PETS ALLOWED signs at shelters are more of a mild suggestion. I’ve seen all kinds of animals in places like these. I’ve seen dogs, cats, a parrot, a ferret, and I even met a girl who had a pet bearded dragon. And yes, I was surprised to find out when she showed it to me, it did not in fact have a beard. It wasn’t even a dragon. It was just a cute lizard. But this is my first time bringing a pet with me. So I’m being extra careful.
Mom is resting on the bottom bed. She’s lying on top of one of our blankets, and I have the other. Even though this place looks pretty clean, we made the mistake of forgetting to use our blankets once, and we slept with the shelter-provided blankets, and we all woke up with lice. It was awful.
Mom was so mad. Mostly at herself for forgetting. She always refuses to use their blankets. She said the government once handed out free blankets to as many Native Americans as they could, saying it was a friendly gesture … but it was not an act of kindness at all. That winter, more Native Americans died of the white man’s disease than any battle fought between the two combined. Smallpox. That was their gift. And although this happened long before my mom was born, she says the blood in her body will never forget it. But I bet she would make an exception if we were still in Eleanor’s room, lying on that gigantic, fluffy bed.
I know I would.
“Hey,” a voice says from below me. I roll over and look down. There’s a boy standing beside Mom’s bed, looking up at me.
He’s thin and wears glasses. His skin is dark, and he kind of looks like a nerd. But a cool nerd, like one of the rappers from Run-DMC, the one in the glasses, but way, way younger. I think he’s my age and a little taller than I am, but it’s hard to tell looking down from the top bunk.
“My mom says I should come over and say hi. She thinks I am antisocial,” he says.
“What do you say, Opin?” Mom says.
“Hi,” I say to the boy.
“In our language,” she insists.
“Boozhoo,” I add.
His eyebrows wrinkle. “That’s a funny word,” he says.
“It means ‘hello’ in Ojibwe,” Mom tells him. “That’s my son Opin.”
“His name is Open?” he asks with a smile.
“Yes. And what’s your name?” she asks.
“Leland,” he says.
“That’s a funny name too,” I say.
“Opin, why don’t you come down here and introduce Leland to Ani?” she suggests.
“Okay,” I say, and scoop Ani up in my arms as I climb down the top bunk.
I take a seat on Mom’s bottom bunk and place Ani in my lap. Leland takes a seat next to me and pets Ani’s head. “I have a dog,” he says. “Her name is Shasta.”
“Like the soda?” I ask.
“Like the mountain,” he says. “Mount Shasta. We lived there with my grandma,” he adds. “But Grandma had to go to heaven, so now we have to find a new home. Mom thinks it’s at a place called Shreveport. It’s a city in Louisiana. It’s where she grew up.”
“We’re looking for a home too. We think it’s in Los Angeles, where all the movie stars live,” I say.
“Are you gonna be a movie star?” he asks.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’m going to be an astronaut. I know all about outer space. I can name all the nine planets in order. Can you?” he asks.
“No. I just know our neighbors. Venus and Mars.”
“Did you know if you went to space without an astronaut suit, you’d immediately turn into ice because it’s so cold up there?” he says.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. And did you know that the universe is always expanding?”
“Like a rubber band when you stretch it?” I ask.
“No, because rubber bands snap back. More like if you spilled milk and how it spreads across the floor, but instead of just making a mess you got to clean up, the mess never stops. It just spreads and spreads and spreads forever.”
“Is that why it’s called the Milky Way?” I ask.
“That’s our galaxy’s name. But there are kazillions of galaxies in the universe.”
“That’s a huge mess … Where is your dog, Shasta, now?” I ask.
“When we had to move, the neighbor promised to take care of her. I was sad, but Shasta loved that place, and she had other dog friends there. And Mom said we’ll come back for her when we can. She’s big. She wouldn’t fit in my coat like your dog.”
“Leland, I see you made a friend,” a woman’s voice says from behind us.
I turn and see his mom. She’s my mom’s age, I think. She’s dressed like she works in an office or something.
“We’re just talking about space and dogs, Mama,” Leland says.
My mom approaches her and gives her a big hug, which catches Leland’s mom off guard.
“Wow. Okay. I see they let the huggers in,” she says, and laughs.
“Sorry. It’s a habit I’m not trying to break,” Mom says. “I’m Inde, Opin’s mom.”
“I’m Tessa. Leland’s mom. Where you guys heading?”
“South. Making our way down the river, you know?” Mom says. “And you guys are heading east?”
“Southeast. Back home to good ole Louisiana. Is it just you two?”
“My other son, Emjay, is somewhere around here, hopefully not getting into too much trouble. He’s a teenager,” she says.
“Gotcha. This your first night here?”
“It is. You too?” Mom asks.
“Third. Getting home isn’t as easy as I thought it would be,” Tessa says.
“It never is. At least we got these rug rats to keep us happy,” Mom says.
“At least. Can I ask you a personal question?”
“They’re the only kind I answer.”
“How old are you?” she asks my mom.
“Thirty-eight.”
Tessa shakes her head while smiling. “How do you keep yourself looking so young? I mean, you look twenty-seven, tops. And I know, black don’t crack, but I’m thirty-six, and it feels like the last two weeks aged me a decade.”
“You kidding? You’re beautiful, girl. All that growing old stuff, that’s just on the inside. Life on the road does that. You just got to ignore it. It’s your body telling you you’re tired. That’s all,” Mom says.
“Ah, yes. Sleep. I remember those days,” Tessa says.
Adults talk about the most boring stuff. I mean, why would anyone ever want to talk about sleeping? “Mom, can Leland and I walk around?”
“Just don’t go outside,” she says.
“We won’t.”
“You’re in bed in twenty minutes, Leland. Is that understood?” Tessa says.
“Understood, Mama,” Leland says.
“And leave Ani with me. She hasn’t met Tessa yet,” Mom adds.
I hand Ani to my mom, and Leland and I walk off quickly, before they bore us to death with more sleep talking.
Since Leland has been here longer and knows the place better, I follow him. He leads us out of the main housing room, and we enter a hallway. On the walls are bulletin boards crowded with notices. Some are job opportunity flyers, some are help group flyers, and some are even photographs of missing persons. I stare at all their faces. They look like normal people. How did they all get lost? Most of them are grown-ups, but some are boys and girls my brother’s age, and that makes me a little bit worried about him. He’s out there. Somewhere in this new city, knowing no one. He says he can handle himself on his own because no matter where he lands, he’s always the toughest and bravest, but Mom says that’s a dangerous way to look at the world because there will always be someone tougher, smarter, and faster than you are, and you’ll run into them when you least expect it. I just hope Emjay hasn’t met his match yet. He won’t take it very well.
“This way,” Leland says, and I peel my eyes off the hallway walls.
We go through another set of double doors and enter the cafeteria. “This is the soup kitchen,” he says.
He tries the door, but it’s locked up for the night. “This would stop most people,” he says.
“But not us?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says, and pulls out a key.
“How do you have a key?”
“I know people. Juan knows I don’t sleep very well, and my flashlight keeps people up at night, so he snuck me this key. I come in here to read when everyone else is snoring. That’s another thing you’ll notice about this shelter. It’s the home of the loudest snorers ever,” he says, and quietly opens the door.
We enter. It’s dark and empty of people but full of rows and rows of tables and chairs. “They only serve soup?” I ask.
“Sometimes they have other food. But they kind of make everything into a soup near the end of the day. You know what is the grossest one?” he asks.
“Egg soup would be gross,” I say, and he laughs.
“That was Thursday. But that’s not the grossest. The most awful soup award goes to … hot dog soup,” he says.
I picture it in my head. Yep. That would definitely be the most disgusting soup ever.
“Somehow, the grown-ups don’t mind it. I went on a hunger strike that night,” he adds.
We hear a voice from outside the room. Leland and I duck under a table and hide. The door opens. A man with a flashlight steps in and shines his light around the room. He doesn’t see us. Good.
“You have ten minutes, you little space cadet,” the man says aloud.
“That’s Juan,” Leland whispers to me. “He’s on a diet. He said he weighs two hundred twenty pounds, but I told him if he was living on Mars, because of the lower gravity, he would only weigh eighty-four pounds. So now he’s saving up to move to Mars.”
“Why doesn’t he just go to the gym?” I whisper.
“Why go to the gym when you can go to Mars?”
After Juan shuts the door and leaves, we burst out laughing.
We’re still sitting under the table when Leland turns to me. “My mom lied to your mom. She said we’ve only been here three days. But we’ve been here for two weeks. I like Juan, but I can’t wait to get out of here,” he says.
“It doesn’t seem so bad. At least there are beds. I tell my mom I don’t mind it, but I hate sleeping in our car,” I say. “Being homeless sucks.”
“You said the H word,” he says, shocked.
“H word? What, homeless?”
“Yeah. Mom says we’re not homeless. She says we’re just in between homes,” he says.
“My mom said that for a while too. But now she says I’m tough enough to face the what’s what.”
“What’s the what’s what?”
“The truth. We are homeless. Not because we did something wrong, but because something wrong was done to us. It’s a game that we got to play to win. It’s us against the world. Sometimes it knocks us down. But we get up and try to knock it down. It’s a game but also a battle.”
“My mom says that God is just testing us.”
“Maybe. But sometimes moms get it wrong too. My brother says our mom has a bad case of fire legs. No matter where we are, she feels the burn and just needs to keep running. And if she runs far enough and for long enough, maybe the fire will go out. But he says it will never go out. I used to think that was stupid. But sometimes I think he might be right.”
“You and your mom should visit us when we get to Louisiana. My aunt lives there. She has a house there. Probably even a bed for you guys,” he says.
“Can I bring my brother too? My mom won’t go unless he can come too.”
“Yeah. Maybe my mom will let you all live with us,” he says. “We can pour water on your mom’s legs and put out the fire.”
“We can stay just until the cavalry shows up. Then we have to run again.”
“The cavalry?”
“Yeah. They’re after us. We’re Native American, and the cavalry wants to kill us.”
“That’s terrible. What do they look like?” he asks.
“They are red, white, and blue. But mostly white.”
“Maybe they are after me and my mom too, because she says we have to take the long way to Louisiana because parts of this country aren’t safe for people like us,” he says.
“Because you’re a nerd?” I ask.
“Because we’re Black. And I’m not a nerd. I’m a stargazer. There’s a huge difference,” he says.
“It’s okay. I’m a nerd too. Emjay says only nerds read books. And you wear glasses, so you must love to read too. I love books. I know just about everything about some things.”
“I know a ton of stuff too. Did you know that it rains diamonds on Neptune?”
“Really? Diamonds? That’s not true.”
“It is true. That’s why I’m going to be an astronaut. I’m going to go to Neptune and bring back some diamonds. I’ll be so rich, and I’ll give them all away and make sure no one is ever homeless again.”
“Maybe I’ll be a movie star and I’ll play you in the movie they make about you,” I say.
“That would be epic.”
We finally crawl out from under the table. I have no idea how long we’ve been hiding, but Leland’s expression when he looks up at the clock lets me know we’re late. “She’s going to whoop my booty,” he says, and rushes to the front door. I notice a slight limp.
“Your feet hurt?” I ask. “My mom’s hurt after she dances.”
He stops. “Worst part about not having a home on three. One … two … three … Wet socks!” he says at the exact same time I say, “Soggy socks.”
We both laugh. We both know there is nothing worse than that. That’s why you’ll hardly ever see a homeless person step in a puddle. We avoid them as if they are infested with sharks. For people living on the streets, every deep puddle is like the deep sea. And if your feet step into one, you’re in deep trouble … And when it rains, forget about it. Not to mention how bad your feet start to smell after they’ve been wet all day and wrapped in a dirty sock and encased in a dirty shoe. It’s one of the worst smells in the world. Ask anybody.
We leave the cafeteria and enter the hall. It’s empty. We run back to the sleeping area. The lights are out. We have to be quiet. Which I am great at.
Leland and I tiptoe through the rows of sleeping people. He was right. This is the home of the loudest snorers ever. Some people are still awake, mumbling to themselves.
“I’m this way,” Leland says, and holds out his fist. “See you tomorrow.”
I bump his fist. “Tomorrow.”
He heads left, and I go right. And as I whisper-walk toward my bunk bed, a strange thought enters my head. Maybe scientists have no photographs of neighborhoods, houses, or people living on Mars because all the Martians are homeless. Maybe rent is way too expensive there too. Maybe they are all at a homeless shelter like this one. And we just haven’t seen it yet.
But on Neptune, it’s raining diamonds.