by Bobbie Pyron
Next, we come to my favorite subject: brownie sales! Did I mention selling gourmet brownies is my superpower?
“This year,” Karina says, “the troop in our city that sells the most brownies gets to go to Camp Cloudmont this summer for free.”
“Everybody in the troop?” Luz asks in disbelief.
Karina nods. “Everybody. For free.”
“We’ve never sold the most, though,” Carmen points out.
Sapphire tosses her a look. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“I don’t want to go up in those mountains anyway,” Angel says. “Too cold. Too many bugs.”
For the first time in the whole meeting, everybody starts talking at once. But I don’t listen. All I can hear is that beautiful word: mountains. I feel determination swell up inside me: I will sell enough brownies to go to Camp Cloudmont or my name’s not Piper Elizabeth Trudeau.
At the end of the meeting, we gather in a circle.
Karina’s voice rings out strong and true, “We are Firefly Girls!”
“We are Firefly Girls!” we all say.
“We are family!” she says.
“We are family!”
“We are somebody!” Sapphire hollers.
My heart fills with light. “We are somebody!”
“And we,” Karina says with pure certainty, “will make a difference.”
After the meeting’s over, I ask Mama, “Can I run over to the park real quick and check on Baby?” I’ve told Mama all about him.
Mama’s in as good a mood as I am after the meeting. She hands me her phone. “Twenty minutes, Piper, that’s all. Call as soon as you get there and as soon as you leave to come back.”
I can’t wait to see Baby and tell him all about my new Firefly troop!
23
The Girl
Baby watches the girl walk across the park
past the swings and the empty pond
where he and Duke barked at ducks
when the weather was warm.
Yesterday, when the girl came,
her feet dragged through the dead leaves,
her head down
shoulders hunched.
But today
he can feel excitement and happiness
in her steps.
Always, she smiles for him.
Always, she has food in her pockets
to share.
He can feel her heart lift,
he can sense this burden she carries
grow lighter and lighter
as he licks the crumbs from her fingers.
Sometimes, they sit together,
her arms holding him close,
her whispers tickling his ears.
And that is enough for them both.
Other times, they run
walk
explore
play together.
And that is enough for them both.
Until Baby feels the pull of his place with Jewel
and returns to the brown bag and blue blanket
and waits.
Today
Baby watches as the girl walks across the park.
Her head lifts. Her face lights up.
She waves her arm in wide arcs
of happiness.
Baby feels the hug in her eyes.
For the first time, Baby does not wait.
He leaps from the blue blanket
and rockets
to her outstretched arms.
Oh joy!
24
The Homeless Bus
Monday. It’s the first day of school for me, and kindergarten for Dylan. There’s a bus that picks up all of us kids from the shelter and takes us to the different schools. Our school, Olympia Elementary, is only a few blocks away. I said I could walk, but Mama says I have to ride the bus because she’s not too sure how safe the neighborhood is. So far, everybody around here seems okay to me, but I don’t argue.
This is Daddy’s first day too. He got temporary work at a big home improvement store. He doesn’t seem real happy about it—says a monkey could do what he’ll be doing—but it’s honest work.
The bus pulls up and I climb on board. I slide into a seat in the back and drink in the familiar smell—chewing gum, lunchboxes, stinky socks, and gasoline—that makes up a school bus. I never thought the smell of a bus could be comforting, but it is now.
“Hi,” a voice says.
I look up. It’s Karina from my new Firefly troop. I’m super glad to see a familiar face.
I try to smile around my nervous stomach. “Hey,” I say back.
She slides in next to me. Doesn’t ask, just does it.
“Olympia Elementary?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“First day?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I hate starting a new school.”
“Me too,” she says, “but it’s a pretty nice school. What grade?”
“Fifth,” I reply.
“I’m in sixth,” she says.
A bunch of other kids from the shelter load onto the bus. Some look like they just woke up but most of them look happy to be going to school. Not grumpy and whiny like the kids I rode the bus with back home.
That little spitfire of a girl Sapphire, from the Firefly Girls meeting, skips down the aisle, grinning. “Hey, Kar B.,” she sings out. “What’s the word today?”
Karina smiles. “The word for the day is ‘magnanimous.’”
The word tickles the edges of my brain. I know what it means, I just can’t remember.
“Magnanimous,” the girl repeats. “Sounds big and important.”
“It is,” Karina says. “It means generous, giving.”
I repeat the word to myself and make a silent promise to Mrs. Monroe I will use it in a sentence three times today.
“Take your seats,” the bus driver calls. “Time to get moving.”
Sapphire plops down in our seat and smooshes me up against Karina.
She grins at me and sticks out her hand. “Hi! Remember me? I’m Sapphire Creede, but everybody calls me Fire.” She grabs my hand and shakes it like she’s trying to wring out a wet towel.
“I’m Piper,” I say. “Just Piper.”
A girl across the aisle waves and says, “I’m Luz. I was at the meeting too. And this is my little brother, Marco.”
A kid behind me taps me on the back. “Hey, I’m Jerome. This is my running buddy, Noah.” Jerome punches Noah in the shoulder. “I’m the good-looking one, he’s the smart one.” Noah blushes and looks away.
Sapphire hoots with laughter. “Don’t you wish!”
I smile and relax. I like how they tease each other, just like my old friends did.
I let their voices wash over me while we make our way through the neighborhood. We pass the Sixth Street Community Kitchen. There’s a long line of people waiting to get breakfast. We pass the Christian Center. We got winter boots there on Saturday. I curl my toes in my warm boots and smile. I run my hand over the bright-red-and-blue backpack I got full of school supplies. All of it donated. Some of the other kids on the bus have the same backpack. I hear Mrs. Monroe say, “Use the word in a sentence, please.” The people who donated the supplies and backpacks are magnanimous.
We stop at two more shelters to pick up more kids. The bus is full now. I didn’t know there were so many kids in the world without a home. I always thought homeless people were grownups. Not kids.
The bus comes to a stop in front of a school. The sign says Ridgeline Middle School.
Karina and some other kids get up. She slings her backpack onto her shoulder.
She eases past me. “See you later,” she says.
My heart jumps. “Wait, why are you—” But she doesn’t hear me.
I watch her on the crowded sidewalk, wondering why she got off at the middle school instead of the elementary. A few other kids join her, including Jerome and Noah. They turn away from the school instead of going in it and walk in the same direction we’re goi
ng.
I look at Sapphire. “Why did they get off the bus?”
She fidgets with something in her coat pocket. Finally, she says, “They don’t want the kids at school to see them get off this bus.”
“How come?”
“Because, ‘Just Piper,’ then the kids will know they live in a shelter. This,” she says like she’s explaining things to a two-year-old, “is the homeless bus.”
I never in a million years thought of that.
Sapphire juts out her chin. “I don’t care, though. Nobody messes with Fire.”
Right around the corner—just a hop, skip, and a jump from the middle school—is Olympia Elementary.
For half a second I think about not getting off. I don’t want kids knowing I live in a shelter.
Sapphire nudges me with a sharp elbow. “Come on, Just Piper.”
I take a deep breath and line up behind her. Her shoulders are thrown back and her head is held high. The truth of it is, I wish some of that self-confidence would rub off on me.
As if reading my thoughts, she looks back at me, a fierce light in her eyes. “Don’t you let nobody tell you who you are because of where you live.”
I square my shoulders and hold my head up too. I follow her down the steps and into the crowds. I hear Mama’s voice say, “Act like you know where you’re going.” The problem is, I don’t. Fire stops and says, “I’ll show you where the office is. Mrs. Graham will get you all set up. She’s real nice.” I take a deep breath and follow Fire into my new school.
My new teacher, Mr. Koehler, waves me into the classroom. He takes the paper from Mrs. Graham, reads it over, and nods. Kids bump into me and past me getting into their seats. I can’t get over how many kids are in this one classroom! As many as the whole fifth grade in my old school, I bet.
The bell rings. Mr. Koehler claps his hands. “Good morning,” he calls above the clatter of voices and desks. “We have a new student joining us today.”
My heart stops. What if he asks me to tell the class where I live? Where I’m from? My mouth goes dry as crackers.
“This is Piper Trudeau,” he says, smiling. “Let’s all make her feel welcome in our class.”
Mr. Koehler touches my shoulder. “Piper, why don’t you take that desk over by the window?”
I am so grateful I don’t have to tell them anything about who I am, I want to give Mr. Koehler a hug. You better believe he will be on my grateful list tonight.
I hurry back to the desk. I am so, so ready to be sitting in a school desk like any kid with a normal life.
I hear a snicker or two as I pass. I hear someone whisper, “Shelter kid.” My face burns. I slide into my chair and look down at my desk. How did they know?
At lunchtime, I stand in line with my tray and my school lunch ticket. It’s a different color than the tickets of kids in line ahead of me. I fold it up in my fist so no one can see it.
After I get my lunch, I look around for a place to sit. Never in all my years on God’s green earth have I seen so many kids in one place. And it’s so loud! It’s like there’s a million of Dylan and his friends yelling inside my head. I close my eyes.
“Hey.” Someone touches my arm. I open my eyes. It’s Noah, the kid from the bus this morning.
“Hey,” I say.
He nods. “Yeah, I know. Come sit over here with us.”
I follow him over to a table in the corner. Sitting there is Jerome, Karina, Luz, and a couple of other kids I don’t know. I am so relieved to see them I almost cry.
But I don’t. Instead, I sit down next to Karina.
“First few days are hard,” she says. “But it gets better.”
“I hope so,” I say.
“We got your back,” Jerome says. He leans in and says, “The secret is to just blend in.”
Luz rolls her eyes. “When have you ever blended in?”
Noah and Jerome laugh, trade insults. I relax. Maybe it will get better.
But as the day goes on, it doesn’t. It only gets worse.
I kick leaves off the sidewalk as I walk back to Hope House. After the day of stares and snickers and under-the-breath names I got called today at school, I decide Karina has the right idea: don’t be caught dead riding the Homeless Bus. I guess I’m not as brave as Fire, even though she’s younger than me.
I need to see Baby in the worst way. I need to feel like there’s some good in this world. Plus, I saved him half of my cheese sandwich from lunch.
Baby yips when he sees me. He even comes running across the grass. I scoop him up. He covers my face with kisses. I hold him close and kiss the top of his head, right on that white snowflake.
“You don’t care that I live in a shelter, do you, Baby boy?” I ask as we walk back over to the bathroom.
Baby lays back his ears and looks at me like he’s hugging me with his eyes. All the bad stuff from the day starts to melt away.
I pull the sandwich from my pack and feed it to him one bite at a time. I smile for the first time all day. I feel like I matter, even if it’s just to this little dog.
I hear dogs bark. There, sauntering across the park, is Ree and two dogs. The dogs are having a big time chasing each other through piles of red and yellow leaves.
Ree holds up one hand. “Hey,” she calls.
The dogs stop their chase and look over at me.
Baby wiggles all over and pulls his lips back in a big ol’ smile.
“You got a new dog?” I ask.
“Nah,” she says, sitting down on the grass next to me. “I’m just watching Duke while Linda goes to the Fourth Street Clinic to get her meds.”
I smile. “That’s magnanimous of you.”
Ree raises one pierced eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Before I can answer, she says, “Speaking of magnanimous, I think I know where Jewel is.”
If Baby wasn’t busy licking my chin, I would jump up with joy. “Where? How?”
Ree takes a piece of paper out of her back pocket and hands it to me. On the blue paper is written “Mercy Memorial, Room 102.”
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“A magnanimous friend who lives on the streets did some checking around and tracked her down. You’ve probably seen him,” she continues. “He dances on the corner of State and Main Street sometimes.”
I feel my jaw drop. “The dancing man? How in the world would he know where to find Jewel?”
Ree’s eyes narrow. Not good.
“You think he’s just some crazy old guy who dances on the street corner?”
I shrug.
“That man, whose name happens to be Jesse, knows everybody and everything that goes on in this pathetic excuse for a city.”
I decide it’d be best to change the subject.
I read the paper again. “What do we do now?”
Ajax plops down next to Ree with a groan. She rubs his ears between her fingers. Then, like she had just now decided what to do, she says, “I’m going to have Linda watch Ajax and Jewel’s stuff tomorrow so Baby and I can go check on Jewel.”
I blink. “You and Baby? How will you get Baby into a hospital? I mean, she couldn’t get into the Community Kitchen with him; I don’t think a hospital is going to let you just waltz in with a dog.”
Ree snorts. “Jewel’s a lot more honest than I am. I’ll sneak Baby in. It’ll be easy,” she says, tossing her long dreadlocks back. I look at her hair, her tattoos and pierced eyebrow. I shake my head.
“What?” she demands.
“You might want to lose the eyebrow ring,” I say.
She squints at me hard.
I gulp. In just outside of five minutes, I’ve made Ree mad twice.
Then she looks pointedly at my bright-blue-and-red backpack. “Let me guess: Hope House.”
I can feel my neck and ears turn red.
“How long?” she asks.
“Just six days,” I say.
She nods. “Before that?”
I sigh. “The emergency s
helter.” I fiddle with the collar around Baby’s neck. “Before that is kind of a long story.”
She nods. “It usually is.”
For the first time, I wonder what Ree’s story is, but I decide it’d be best not to ask. Instead, I find myself telling her all about my first day at school and how the kids knew I lived in a shelter because I rode on the Homeless Bus and I had this stupid backpack, which I didn’t think was stupid at first. I thought it was great.
Ree shakes her head. “There’s all kinds of ways to brand a person.”
I’m not exactly sure what that means.
Finally I ask, “Do you think if Jewel sees Baby she’ll get well?”
Ree sighs. “I hope so. A kiss from Baby would be the best medicine, don’t you think?”
I nod. “I do.”
We sit there without saying anything for a while. I listen to the chatter of the squirrels. The air smells like carved pumpkins on Halloween. I know I need to get back to the shelter. Mama’ll be wondering where I am. But I want to stay here with Baby.
Ree nudges my knee with hers. “Let’s go over to the Christian Center and get you a different backpack. What do you say?”
I look at her scuffed boots, her rough hands. She sleeps out here in the cold every night. At least I’m inside where it’s warm and dry.
I nudge her back with my knee. “I say that’s awfully magnanimous of you.”
25
Family
Baby listened to the beat of Ree’s heart,
strong and steady and true.
He felt Ree’s body rocking gently
back and forth
in time with the bus as it made its way
across the city.
Baby heard different sounds
in this part of the city when he and Ree
got off the bus.
Carefully, Ree zipped Baby deep into her coat
and whispered, “Don’t make a sound.”
Now Baby wrinkles his nose against the sharp smell
of the hospital.
Now Baby perks up his ears
when he hears a word,
a name:
Jewel.
He wants to yip with joy