Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless Page 7

  I pocket Ben's keys and head straight for my room, gathering up clothes and shoes and packing them in my duffel bag. I realize it's going to take a few trips. I also remember how smelly that van was, and I can only imagine what kind of junk might be in the back of it. So leaving my duffel bag in the house, I arm myself with cleaning products and garbage bags and go down to work over that van. I bag up a bunch of what I assume are Ben's clothes and personal items and drag these back upstairs, dumping them in my mom's room. Let her deal with them.

  Next I park the van by a dumpster and throw the rest of the junk away. Then I move the van, which I have named Darth Vader, over on the side of the street beneath a streetlight. And now I sweep and scrub and eventually decide old Darth Vader might not be so hopeless after all. It's after eleven by the time I park Darth in my mom's parking space close to our unit. Although I'm exhausted, I spend the next hour hauling everything I want to keep down to the van. I even put the TV and some other items that might be worth money down there. All my efforts might be futile if my mom and Ben show up, but it's a chance I'm willing to take. For all I know, I could be living in that van before long.

  With that in mind, I go back upstairs and launder my mom's bedding, which I plan to confiscate and carry to the van just in case. I'll remain in the condo for as long as I can, sleeping in my own bed. But if I get locked out, I'll have everything I need in the van. It seems crazy to go to these extremes. And I know I'll have some explaining to do if my mom shows up tomorrow. But she'll have some explaining to do as well!

  Finally, I fall into bed exhausted. Thankfully, I don't have to go to work until eleven so, unless I'm evicted first thing in the morning, I will sleep in.

  The next morning, I take a few more things down to the van. If I end up having to live in it for a while, it'll be like camping. It might even be fun in a twisted sort of way. Then I walk around the condo, looking at it long and hard, knowing full well this might be the last time I see it, and I drive the van to work.

  My job, I've decided, is a great distraction. The work keeps me so busy I don't even have time to think or obsess. And when I do have a free moment, I usually end up visiting with one of the residents. When my shift is over, I actually start to walk home before I remember Darth Vader back in the employee parking lot.

  Tonight I park the van in the visitor lot. I think it's probably better if the manager doesn't figure out that the van has any connection to our condo. I get my old backpack, which I've stuffed with everything I need for the night, then glance around to see if anyone is watching me before I quietly sneak up the stairs, fully expecting to see an eviction notice on the door. But there is no letter and my key works in the lock. So I get to sleep in my own bed again.

  On Sunday morning, I can almost make myself believe that my fear of being kicked out of this place is all in my head. Even so, I don't leave anything I want behind. And after another busy day at work, I come home and sneak up the stairs with my backpack only to find there actually is an eviction letter posted on the door. And a lockbox prevents me from using my key. I scan the letter, and my mom has been instructed to contact management immediately. Like that's going to happen.

  But just in case, I will leave one more message on her cell phone. I've already left a bunch, even informing her of Mark's visit and the warning about the eviction. But when I turn on my phone, I discover that it's out of service, which I'm guessing means that my mom hasn't paid that bill either.

  I'm tempted to just chuck my phone as far as I can throw it, but that's not too prudent. Instead I return to the van and have a good long cry. This is so wrong. Life is so unfair. I work so hard ... I try to make the best of a really messed-up situation, and I end up living in an old van. Wrong, wrong, wrong-

  Now I realize that I haven't even done my homework. But to do it in the van means I'll have to use a light to see, and I know that could run down the battery. I consider driving somewhere, like a coffee shop, where I can sit and study, but there's only a quarter of a tank of gas. I can't afford to waste a drop. Think ... think ...

  I remember the library isn't too far away, and I decide to go there to do my homework. I just hope I don't see anyone I know because I'm still wearing a work outfit (my mom's old clothes) and I'm badly in need of a shower. I grab my backpack, and as I'm going into the library, I remember the girl in the bathroom -the homeless girl.

  That girl is now me.

  In the library, I go straight to the bathroom where, feeling the full humiliation of being homeless, I clean up as best I can in a sink. Then I use a stall to change my clothes. I only do this because I'm worried I might run into someone I know, and I can't bear the idea of being seen in my work outfit. Then I brush out my hair and find a table in a corner where I start doing homework. The library closes at nine so I have just a little more than an hour to finish up.

  "Hey, Adele." I nervously look up to see Lindsey Nelson from my art class, wheeling a book cart toward me. "What are you doing here?" she asks in a friendly tone.

  "Homework." I force a small smile. "That's a lot of books. Are you checking them all out?"

  She chuckles. "No, I'm a student aide here."

  "A student aide?"

  "Yeah, I volunteer."

  "That's nice of you."

  She shrugs. "It's not as nice as it seems. My mom's the head librarian, and she promised me a trip to Europe after graduation if I put in a whole year as a student aide."

  "That's cool." I nod like it's just a normal thing-a mom who gives her daughter a European vacation like that . . . big deal. But inwardly I'm seething with envy. Why didn't I get a mom like that?

  "So I'll let you get back to your homework." She picks up a book from her cart, checking its spine. "I need to reshelve these."

  "Later." I turn my focus back to calculus, but all I can think about is how unfair life is. Totally and irrevocably unfair.

  Despite a restless night, I wake up early. Sleeping in a van will take some getting used to. My plan is to drive to school, where I will slip into the locker room, grab a quick shower, and get dressed and put together in time for my first class. My biggest concern will be running into someone I know, although that seems unlikely since none of my girlfriends frequent the girls' locker room. But just in case, I've already fabricated a story. I'll just say the water was turned off in our condo or something to that effect. I have a feeling it's not as much what I say, but how I say it that matters. I must manufacture confidence.

  Fortunately I don't see anyone I know and I have safely deposited my bulging backpack into my locker just as Isabella calls out my name.

  "Where have you been, Adele? I've been worried sick about you.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I called and called, and your phone's not working. I stopped to pick you up for school this morning, and you weren't in the parking lot." She has a stricken look. "Is it your mom? Did she get worse? Is she in the hospital or something?"

  Okay, I know this is crazy, but I just go with it. Nodding and trying to look seriously worried, I tell Isabella that my mom really has gotten worse. "It's turned into pneumonia."

  Her hand flies to her mouth. "Oh no."

  "Yes. Very serious."

  "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

  I shake my head. "No, it's just that I have to spend a lot of time with her, and I'm a little stressed. And I guess she forgot to pay the cell phone bill, you know, because she's been so sick." I sigh. "Life is a mess."

  Isabella hugs me. "I'm so sorry, Adele. That's just horrible. Well, if there's anything I can do, just tell me. You know I'm here for you."

  "Thanks." I release a shaky-looking smile.

  She pats me on the back. "That's what friends are for."

  "I really appreciate it. I guess I should get to class."

  As we part ways, I'm thinking this "mom in the hospital" story could really work for me. It will explain why no one is home, why I'm a little rattled, or why I might do something like grab a shower at
school. Naturally, after spending the night by my nearly dead mother's side, I don't have time to run home and do it. Okay, I know it's lame, but I think maybe I can pull it off. What choice do I have?

  By lunchtime, all of my friends have heard the "news" that my mom is "at death's door." And everyone is extremely kind and surprisingly thoughtful. Even Bristol is being unusually nice. It's hard not to like this.

  "Do you need a ride over to visit your mom?" Isabella asks.

  "No, I'm using her car now," I lie.

  "Oh right." She nods. "How about your phone? How do you call her?"

  "She's in bad shape, so she can't really answer the phone," I lie some more. "But I just used the pay phone to check with the hospital."

  "And how was she?" Jayden asks with concern.

  "The same." I sigh for drama.

  "What about the homecoming dance?" Isabella asks. "Please tell us this doesn't mean you can't go."

  I look sadly at Jayden. "I'm not sure."

  "Hey, no problem," he tells me.

  "I really want to go, but it's hard to say."

  "Don't worry," he assures me, "we'll just play it by ear ... see how it goes. I understand, Adele."

  "I appreciate that."

  "But if your mom gets better?" Isabella looks hopeful. "You'll go to the dance then, right?"

  "Of course."

  "But what about your dress?" Isabella's brow creases. "I'm guessing you couldn't get one with everything that's going on with your mom."

  "No, I just haven't had time." I frown and wonder just how deep I'll have to get into this ... before I get buried alive.

  "Don't be pestering Adele about dresses," Jayden tells Isabella. "I'm sure that's the least of her worries right now."

  "That's true," I tell him. And I am so not lying about this. Yet this attention and concern from my friends feels strangely good. Like I could get used to this. I even toy with the idea of letting my mom "die" in the hospital. Okay, that's pretty extreme. Even for me. But it's tempting.

  By the end of the day, I come up with an even better plan. I will have my mother get a little better in the hospital, but she'll be too ill to come home. So by the end of the week, I'll have her sent to a nursing-care facility to recuperate. There she will lie low until I can figure out some other kind of long-term answer . . . or until she comes home. That is, if she's coming home. And more and more, I suspect she's not.

  In the meantime, I'll see how much money I can get for some of the stuff in the van. Not only will it make more room, but it might finance a way for me to go to the homecoming dance. Because I am going. I deserve to go! And I just need to accept there is no such thing as a fairy godmother. No one is going to come to my rescue-nobody besides me. This Cinderella will create her own magic.

  After school I'm about to rush off-partly to make a getaway in Darth Vader without being observed and partly because I have "business" to take care of-when Isabella stops me.

  "What's your hurry?"

  "I need to get to the hospital and check on Mom."

  "Which hospital is it?" Lily asks.

  "Yeah," Isabella says, "we want to send her some flowers."

  "Uh . . . I can't remember the name offhand." I pause, trying to think of an answer. "I mean, everything happened so fast with my mom, and I'm still trying to figure out this town and-"

  "Well, it's either Saint Andrews or-"

  "Oh, yeah." I suddenly remember something I saw in the nursing home. "I totally forgot. My mom can't even have flowers. It has to do with the pollen or germs or something. But there's a sign on her door that says No Flowers. Thanks anyway, and I'll tell her you guys were thinking of her." I glance at my watch. "I really need to run now."

  They're still standing around talking as I hurry away. I want to get to Darth Vader without having to explain why I'm driving this big, ugly van instead of my mom's car. Although I'm already working on a story to explain that one, too. My life, like a house of cards, seems to be fabricated of flimsy lies these days. I just hope no big wind comes along to blow it all down. Or that I don't get my stories mixed up. I'm actually thinking about writing down all my lies in the back of my notebook just to help me keep track of them.

  On my way to work, I swing by the pawn shop I noticed when I was driving to the library last night. I park in back, then go inside to see a short bald man hunched over behind the counter; he's reading a gun magazine.

  "Excuse me, I-uh-I've never done this before so I'm not really sure of the protocol."

  He looks up over his reading glasses and chuckles. "Protocol?"

  "I have some items I need to sell. Do I just bring them in here or what?"

  He frowns. "What kind of items?"

  So I tell him about the TV, DVD player, and some of the other things. "They're all pretty new."

  "Why are you selling them?" He peers curiously at me, almost like he's suspicious. "You know we have cops coming in here regularly. So if they're stolen goods, you'll be-"

  "No, no," I say quickly. "I swear to you they're not stolen." And then I decide to tell him the truth. Or mostly. I explain how my mom ran out on me and how the rent was overdue. "And I got evicted. So I'm working part time at River Woods Care Center, and I'm trying to scrape up enough money to find another place to live ... so I can stay in school." Then just in case he's concerned about my age, I add, "It's my first year in community college, and I really don't want to lose my credits."

  He nods. "Yeah, that's tough. My parents weren't much good either." He folds his newspaper closed. "Well, go ahead and bring it on in here. If it's as new as you say, I'm sure I'll be interested."

  So I make several trips, carrying in the TV, small kitchen appliances, lamps, and everything. Even though he doesn't give me close to what I know my mom paid for all that junk, I do end up $360 richer. "Thank you," I tell him.

  "And you stay in school," he says with a wink.

  I nod eagerly. "Don't worry, I plan to. Now I better hurry if I want to make it to work on time. Thanks again!"

  As I drive to work, I'm surprised at how good it felt just then to tell the truth. Or mostly the truth. This house of lies I'm building is a scary thing ... and I'm sure in time it will cave in on me.

  enevieve, a nurse's aide at River Woods, is the only person there even close to my age. As a result, she and I sometimes take our break together. She's fun and laid back and good for a few laughs. Plus she's really good with old people. I know she has an apartment not far from work, and I had even hoped I might rent a room from her. But during our evening break, she confides that her boyfriend is moving in with her this week.

  "Naturally, I can't tell my mom about it." She makes a face. "She is so freaking conservative; she'd have a total fit."

  "She sounds like the opposite of my mom," I confess.

  Genevieve gets a sad look. She is one of the few people on the planet who knows about my situation. Not everything, of course, but she knows about my loser mom. "Still haven't heard from her?"

  I shake my head. Then to change the subject, I tell her about the upcoming dance. "I really want to go, but it's going to be so expensive. I'm thinking I should just forget it."

  "Why does it have to be expensive? Doesn't the guy pay for most of it? Or has that all changed since I was in school?"

  "Oh, you know, dress ... shoes ... it all takes money." I haven't told Genevieve about the eviction or how I'm "camping" in a van. I'm not sure if it's because I don't totally trust her or if it's my pride.

  "Hey, I have some old formals." She studies me. "I'm guessing we're about the same size. Want to borrow one?"

  I consider this. An "old" formal sounds a bit dismal. I imagine pink puffs and ruffles and am about to say "thanks but no thanks."

  "Yeah, yeah . . ." She rolls her eyes. "I know what you're thinking. That they'll be like ugly bridesmaid dresses. But I swear they're not bad. One of them is actually kind of elegant in a little-black-dress sort of way." She holds her index fingers and thumbs like she's framing
me. "In fact, you'd probably look very classy in it. Put your hair up, some fake diamonds. Very Audrey Hepburn."

  Okay, now my interest is piqued. "Really?"

  She nods. "Yeah. It's a very sweet dress. Great lines, sequins, really sweet. It's so cool that I've actually worn it a few times. I might even wear it again if Adam ever looks like he's getting ready to pop the question. Or maybe for New Year's."

  "Are you sure you want to loan it out?"

  "Why not? You seem like a very nice person, Adele. I'm sure you'll return it to me in the same condition that-"

  "I could get it dry-cleaned afterward."

  She waves her hand. "Oh, that probably won't be necessary."

  "But I need to check with Isabella first."

  "You're going to the dance with a chick?"

  I laugh. "No. But Isabella is my friend, and she wants our dresses to go together."

  "So call her."

  Now I explain about my cell phone and she hands me hers, but then I realize I'll probably have to lie about my mom in front of Genevieve. So I quickly explain about my rich friends and how they wouldn't understand about my runaway mom. "So I've kind of made some stuff up about her being sick."

  Genevieve just shrugs. "Hey, I don't blame you a bit." And so with her listening in, I call Isabella.

  "Who's Genevieve?" Isabella asks me after I say hello. She must've seen the name on her caller ID.

  "She's a nurse at the hospital," I say, which isn't a complete lie. "She let me borrow her phone."

  "Oh good. So, how's your mom doing?"

  "She's a little better. And it sounds like if she improves, they'll move her to a nursing-care facility until she gets strong enough to go home."

  "That's great news."

  "Anyway, Mom thinks I should go to the dance and

  Isabella lets out a happy yelp.

  "And I found this dress online that's really cool. Kind of a little black dress with sequins -very Audrey Hepburn."

  "Ooh, that sounds perfect."

  "Okay. I guess I'll order it then."