Unity Club

by Karen Spafford-Fitz

  Papa sets down his laptop and briefcase. While he peels off his coat, he glances at me over the top of his little round glasses.

  “Did you notice the sign in front of your mother’s house?” Papa is trying to be gentle. But he must know that I couldn’t have missed it.

  “Oui,” I say.

  The silence hangs in the air between us. Papa is shuffling about the kitchen and rubbing his gray-brown beard. He always does this when he’s upset. He’s been doing it a lot lately.

  “Are you okay about that?” His face is serious.

  “I don’t have much choice.” I try to say it lightly. After all, the divorce wasn’t my dad’s idea. And, like me, he wasn’t thrilled when my mom announced she was leaving town.

  Papa sighs. “Désolé, Brett. This probably feels extra final now that someone has bought your mother’s house.”

  I nod, still keeping my gaze directed at the stove. “Yes. But it’s not like I thought she was ever coming back…”

  My voice drifts off. I realize that’s exactly what I hoped would happen. I shake my head. Come on, Brett. It’s not like you’re six years old and don’t know any better.

  When we sit down at the table, I mostly move the food around on my plate. As soon as Papa finishes eating, I set down my fork too.

  “I’m going upstairs,” I say. “I have a science assignment to finish.”

  Papa is rubbing his beard again. “Do you want to talk?” he asks.

  “Non.” I shake my head.

  Papa looks relieved. But he looks sad too. “Okay,” he says with a sigh. “You go ahead. I’ll clean up.”

  Upstairs, I flop onto the bed and pull out my phone. Even though I’m still not going to reply to Maman, I scroll through her texts again. I learn that Zoltan’s kids are at their mother’s place tonight. My mom and Zoltan are having a quiet dinner together. Definitely more information than I need. Also, she tells me they are planning to watch the hockey game on TV. Really? Since when did she become a hockey fan?

  Maman also says that Zoltan is a good cook. That he made cabbage rolls last night. Who cares? Part of me wants to tell her that for months now, Papa and I have been eating the same four ingredients a dozen different ways. Maybe that would get her attention. Then I remember that I’m not giving her the satisfaction of replying to her texts.

  I toss my phone aside and wipe away the tears streaming down my face. Clearly my mother has moved on with her new life. And no matter how many texts she sends me, her new life does not include me.

  Chapter Four

  In the days ahead, I look the other way whenever I pass my mom’s house. Most mornings Amira has caught up to me by the time I get to that corner. Her chatter helps tide me over. But today she must be running late.

  Maybe it’s dumb, but I’ve actually been wondering if I will feel better if I sort of say goodbye to Maman’s house. I come to a complete stop in front of it. Then I take a few steps up the driveway. I take a hard look at the front bay window that catches the morning sun. At the porch that wraps around the front and side of the house, where we used to read. At the little blue spruce tree that we planted together in the front yard.

  With four bedrooms, this house was way too big for just the two of us. But Maman always said it was perfect because it was close to Papa and me. Now some house across the country is perfect, apparently. Despite the wind and the swirling snow, heat is building inside me.

  “Can I help you with something, miss?”

  I spin around. The man standing behind me is zipping up his parka.

  “No, that’s okay,” I say. “Um, are you the new owner?” I nod toward the house.

  “No.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I say. “I assumed that because the house just sold…”

  “Actually, this house is being converted into a group home for teenagers,” he says. “I’ll be working here soon as a supervisor. I’m Mike, by the way.”

  “I’m Brett.” I pause to think about what he said. “So this place will be for kids who don’t live with their parents?”

  “That’s right.” Mike hunches his shoulders against the cold. “We’re starting renovations to create six bedrooms for the teenagers. The house is pretty big. We just have to add a few walls to make two extra bedrooms. It already has all the bathrooms and parking spots we need.”

  I know exactly the spaces he’s talking about. I’m still angry that I don’t get to live here with Maman anymore. But it does seem good that some other teenagers will get to live in the house. Especially since they probably have worse problems than I do.

  I’m about to move on when I hear a voice behind me.

  “A group home for teenagers? You’re kidding me, right?”

  I turn and see Mr. Jamieson. He lives just down the street. He’s scowling, and his arms are crossed.

  “The community is not going to like that,” he continues. “Definitely not on our street.”

  “Why not?” My voice sounds tiny and choked.

  “Because I know exactly what’s going to happen once a gang of teenagers moves in. Property damage. Noise. Partying all day and night. And the value of our homes will fall.” He’s counting these things off on his gloved hands as he speaks. “Trust me, this is not a good idea.”

  “Then where will those teenagers live?” I ask.

  “I realize they need to live somewhere,” Mr. Jamieson says. “But anywhere other than this neighborhood would suit me just fine.” With that, he stomps off down the street.

  I’m too angry to speak. Mike looks almost as shocked as I do.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about that,” I say. “I think Mr. Jamieson is wrong. I think building a group home here is a good idea. And I think the rest of the neighborhood will agree.”

  “I hope so.” Mike shakes his head. “Unfortunately, NIMBY is a common response.”

  “NIMBY?”

  “Yes. NIMBY is short for not in my backyard. It’s when people agree with the idea of something—like having a safe place for teenagers to live—but not if it’s going to happen right in their neighborhood. Or anywhere near where they live. They’re afraid they might be affected personally.”

  “Well, I think that attitude stinks.” Something else occurs to me. “Just wondering…the teenagers who move in here—will they be coming to Addison Junior High?”

  “Probably,” Mike says.

  Hmm. Maybe this is something the Unity Club can help with.

  “Hey, Brett!”

  I turn and see Amira hurrying toward us.

  “I’d better let you get to school,” Mike says.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mike.”

  As Amira and I walk to school together, Mr. Jamieson’s words keep running through my mind. I can’t wait for the kids from the group home to start attending classes at Addison. And for Mr. Jamieson to realize that he is wrong.

  As usual, the Unity Club members are sprawled on the floor and across the risers in front of me.

  “Last week,” I say, “Mrs. Rashid and I got all the squares stitched together in time for Valentine’s Day. A group of us wanted to take the blankets over to Fairview Court. But they’ve had a flu outbreak.”

  “Oh no!” Suresh says. “I’ve heard the flu can be dangerous for elderly people.”

  “Yeah,” Amira says. “Like for all the seniors who live there.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “So they’re not allowing any visitors at Fairview for the next couple of weeks. So I just dropped off the blankets at the front desk.”

  “It’s awesome that we got the blankets done in time,” Amira says. “Hurray for us!”

  A cheer goes up around the room. I wait a moment before I move on to the next point.

  “We have some new business to discuss.” I try to keep my voice even as I remember Mr. Jamieson’s words. “A house down the street from where I live is being converted into a group home for teenagers. Some renovations are already happening there. The teenagers will be moving in soon. Som
e of them will probably register here at Addison.”

  “That sounds great,” Dionne says.

  “I think so too,” I say. “I talked to a man who’s going to be working there. I also did a little online research. Kids who live in group homes often don’t have parents who can care for them. Or sometimes the teenagers have problems that mean they can’t live at home anymore.”

  “That must be so hard,” Cohen says.

  I nod. “These kids have already been through a lot. And now they have to switch to a new school. Since the Unity Club is all about compassion and community involvement, I think it’s up to us to make them feel extra welcome here.”

  Everyone takes a moment to think about this. Amira is the first to speak up. “Maybe some of them would even like to join our club.”

  “That would be great,” I say. “We can’t push them. But if you get to know any of the students, you could invite them to join us.”

  “It’s too bad we already gave away all the blankets,” Dionne says.

  “Yeah,” Suresh says. “Some of these kids might not have many personal belongings when they get to the group home.”

  “Or many clothes,” I say. “And since it’s still cold out, maybe we could make them hand-knit scarves instead.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Amira says. “A personal gift that also helps keep them warm.”

  “Yeah,” Liam says. “Scarves knit up pretty fast.”

  “Maybe for some of you,” Eliza says.

  I decide not to tell them what Mr. Jamieson said. I want to keep things positive.

  Hopefully, Mr. Jamieson is the only person who won’t want them living here.

  Chapter Five

  I was going to ask Mrs. Rashid if she would knit a scarf too. But then I learn that she has come down with the flu. She isn’t allowed any visitors until she has fully recovered. So the Unity Club is on its own for this new scarf project. In the days that follow, I knit like crazy.

  On my way to and from school, I’ve seen more and more people coming and going from the old blue house. New students could arrive at Addison any day.

  “Mon Dieu,” Papa says. “You’re knitting hard.” He dumps yellow curry sauce over tonight’s chicken, onions and peppers.

  I finish knitting the row I’m on. Then I take the rice off the stove and dish it out.

  “Yeah, we’re knitting scarves for the kids who are moving into Maman’s old house,” I say. “You know it’s going to be a group home, right?”

  Papa nods. “Oui. I’ve heard some talk around the neighborhood about it.”

  Oh no! After what Mr. Jamieson said, I’m afraid to ask Papa what he’s heard. Then again, I need to know.

  “What have you heard?”

  Papa pauses before he answers. “Some people think that a group home for teenagers is needed in the area. They don’t have a problem with it being opened in our neighborhood,” he says. “But other people are certain that they do not want it here.”

  Once again the heat starts building inside me.

  “I can’t believe people are so mean!” Suddenly I can’t eat any more chicken and rice.

  Papa nods, then he tries to change the subject. “Have you heard from your mom lately?”

  “Oui,” I say.

  “Have you phoned or texted her back?”

  I can’t sit here any longer. I stand up and take my plate to the dishwasher.

  “Non. Maman made her choice.” I blink back tears. “I’m going to my room. I have more knitting to do and some homework.”

  Papa scratches his beard. “Okay, chérie. But the hockey game is on soon, if you would like to join me.”

  My dad is a lifelong fan of the Montreal Canadiens. I sometimes watch the games with him. My mother never did. I think again about how she became a hockey fan as soon as she moved in with Zoltan. My jaw clenches into a knot.

  When I get to my room, I text Amira, Dionne and Liam.

  Hey guys. How’s the knitting going?

  Within minutes all three have replied. Each of them has almost finished a scarf. Counting the two scarves I’ve already made, we just need one more.

  I remember something. I reach into the back of my closet and pull out a bag. Inside is a beige scarf. Knitting needles and a ball of yarn are still attached to it. The scarf has a stitch running down the middle called a cable. It looks like a twisted rope. In Ireland especially, people started working this cable pattern into the sweaters and scarves they knit for their loved ones who worked out at sea. The cable is a symbol of the rope they hope will guide them safely home. I thought that was a cool story, so I started making a cable scarf for my mom. It was supposed to be for her birthday next month. But after she moved away to be with Zoltan, I tucked it away.

  I glance over at the homework I’m supposed to do tonight. I have some math problems and a short English essay to write. But the scarf just needs another eight or twelve rows.

  I sit down and quickly finish it. As I’m casting off the last stitches, another text comes through. I glance at my phone in case it’s my friends again. But it’s from my mother.

  “Quel dommage, Maman,” I mutter. What a shame. She’s missing out on a nice scarf.

  Chapter Six

  The first kid I meet from the group home is Jude. He turns up in my drama class. For the first few days he sits at the back of the room, his dark curls covering most of his face. Our class is pretty small. It isn’t long before Mr. Silva pairs us up for a drama exercise. We have to tell a story where each of us adds one word at a time.

  Before Jude can say anything, I start. “The…”

  He jumps right in. “Speckled.”

  “Dinosaur.”

  “Smiled,” he says.

  “Are you sure speckled dinosaurs smile?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Jude answers. “Why not?”

  By the time we finish our story, the speckled dinosaur has sailed on a pirate ship, gone snowboarding, adopted a pet snake and is getting a neck tattoo. The other groups are still creating their stories. While we wait for them to finish, I tell Jude about the volunteer work the Unity Club does around the city.

  “I don’t know if you’re interested,” I say, “but we’re always happy to get new members.”

  Jude doesn’t answer. But he’s looking at me intensely with his dark eyes.

  I feel my face flushing. I swallow hard and try to sound casual. “Then again,” I say, “I know you’re just getting settled in and stuff.”

  I told the Unity Club members not to pressure the new students, but I realize I may have just done that to Jude. I also realize he’s pretty cute.

  “There’s something else I want to tell you,” I say. “The people in our club made something for everyone living at the—”

  Will I embarrass him if I mention the group home?

  “At the group home.” Jude’s voice is soft.

  “Yeah,” I say. “We made a welcome gift for each of you. And we stored them here in the drama room. This is where the Unity Club meets. If you’d like, I could give you the box later. Or I could drop it off—at the house.”

  I feel a pang as I picture hanging out there with my mom. Just then Mr. Silva calls the class back together.

  “Do you want to meet here after school?” Jude asks.

  “Sure. I’ll give you the box then.”

  As promised, Jude is waiting for me in the drama room. We end up walking home together. Jude carries the box of scarves. When we reach the Blue House—which is what I’ve decided to call it—I don’t say anything about how I used to live here.

  Before I leave, I mention the club once again. “If you’d like to find out more, there’s an open house at the school on Wednesday. It’s mainly for elementary students who are thinking about coming to Addison next year. But the Unity Club is setting up a display. You might find it interesting.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Jude says. “Thanks again. I’ll make sure everyone gets their gift tonight.” He heads into the Blue
House.

  Later that night I start to wonder who got the cable-knit scarf. That’s totally out of my hands. Still, I secretly hope Jude ended up with it.

  Chapter Seven

  Amira has printed out some pamphlets about the Unity Club. She is stacking them in a neat pile at our booth at the open house. Meanwhile, the cross-country running team, photography club, chess club and Rubik’s Cubers are all setting up in their spots down the hall from us.

  The principal’s opening talk in the gym has ended. It’s getting busier around the club displays. I’m chatting with some parents and nervous elementary-school kids who are thinking about coming to Addison near year. Just then, Jude walks down the hallway. He stops to talk to Liam and Eliza.

  Once the crowds clear, Liam turns to me. “Hey, Brett! I think we have our newest Unity Club member here.”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Jude laughs. “I’m still figuring stuff out at—”

  “At the Blue House?” I say.

  Jude looks relieved. “Yeah, at the Blue House. I don’t know all the rules yet about off-site activities. I’ll check and let you know. I can text you later if you want, Brett.”

  “Sure thing.” As we put our numbers into each other’s phones, I’m trying hard not to blush.

  Just then a loud voice rings out. “We were thinking of sending Mia to Addison next year. But now we probably won’t.”

  Everyone looks over at a woman who is shaking her head as she scans the booths. She seems to want everyone to hear her. A teen girl is shuffling beside her, hands shoved deep in her pockets.

  “Why not, Jayne?” The woman beside her looks up from her phone. “Isn’t this the closest middle school for you?”

  “Yes, but I’m not impressed by that group home that went in down the street,” the woman says.

  Another parent joins in. “I heard a bunch of the kids from the group home are students here,” he says. “I bet the school is busy dealing with lots of behavioral issues now. I wonder how much learning is actually going on here.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses up. I can’t believe that grown adults are talking like this. I glance over at Jude. His head is down. He probably wishes the ground would open up and swallow him.