Mine!

by Natalie Hyde

  “I want you to leave, Chris.”

  He wasn’t listening to me. He was probably trying to tell me that we were being evicted, but that didn’t matter anymore. We didn’t need this crummy apartment.

  “You know what it says? It says the claim is back up for grabs,” I tried again.

  “Get your things together. You don’t have much time,” he said.

  “Listen! We can go up there and you can register the claim and mine it. But we’ve got to hurry. The anniversary date is in one week and if we don’t claim it, sure as shooting someone else will.”

  “Go to the Kents’.”

  I jumped up, totally frustrated. “Dad! What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  He looked up at me. “Yeah, I heard you. And believe me when I say I wish more than anything … if you had told me this on any other day, we’d be packing now. Why do you think I’ve kept that signed registration form all this time? I wish we could, I really do … but we can’t.”

  He looked like a defeated man and I realized that his red eyes weren’t from drinking, but from crying.

  “What do you mean we can’t? All we have to do is go up there, stick these notices to a post or a tree or something and then get to the registrar’s office and give them the paperwork. And then it’s ours, Dad. Just like that.”

  “It’s never just like that.” Dad snapped his fingers. “Not for me, anyway.” His head hung down again.

  I got a feeling in my gut that this was about more than being evicted from our apartment. “What’s going on?”

  Dad took a deep breath. “I’m about to be arrested and I don’t want you here when it happens. So go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, let’s just say my attempt to get the rest of the rent money didn’t work out the way I’d planned.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was desperate and this guy I used to know said he would pay me a pile of money to drive a truck from the docks to another city.”

  “So?”

  “If someone wants to pay you a pile of money and won’t tell you what’s in the back of the truck, take my advice: don’t do it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I didn’t get far. Whatever was going on, the cops were already on the lookout because they pulled me over.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I didn’t stick around to find out. I took off on foot, but they got a good look at me and it’s just a matter of time before they hunt me down.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. In fact, I think they’re going to be here soon.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “What will happen to me?”

  “If you’re on Family Services’ radar, they’re probably going to want to take you.”

  “I’m not going into foster care. I’m not!”

  Dad hung his head. “I don’t really want you in the system either, but maybe it’s for the best. You’ll have decent meals and a place to sleep. I haven’t done the best job since Mom left, and someday I’m going to make this up to you, I promise. But right now you have to get your stuff together and get out of here.”

  “I’m not going into care and there’s no way you can make me.”

  “Chris, think about it. Where will you go?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it — “North. I’m going north to the Yukon and I’m going to stake that claim. And when you get out of jail, you’re coming up there and you’re going to mine the claim.” I didn’t ask if that was all right with him or if he thought it was a good idea — he had run out of ideas long ago. It was the only chance we had. Staying here wasn’t an option.

  Dad looked at me with a funny look on his face. “But you’re too young. They won’t let you register it.”

  I was glad that he wasn’t questioning whether or not I was going or whether or not I would stake the claim, just that I might have some trouble because of my age.

  “I’ll figure something out. I always do, don’t I?”

  “And what about right now? Critch won’t let you stay here, you know. He’s serving his eviction notice tonight.”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll leave word with the Kents so you can find me.”

  Dad suddenly looked worried. He opened his mouth to say something just as we both heard it: footsteps coming down the hallway. And not ordinary footsteps — these were hard, clunky footsteps like cops’ boots. And in between stomps were the clickety-clicks of high heels. No one in this apartment building wears either of those. The old folks who make up most of the tenants all wear non-slip rubber walking shoes and they move pretty slow. Everyone else wears running shoes, which make only a squeak now and then.

  Time was up.

  I raced to my bedroom and threw some clothes into my backpack. I grabbed Granddad’s picture off the wall, wrapped it inside a sweater and shoved it in.

  I ran to the kitchen and pulled my emergency exit out from under the sink. It was one of those fitness skipping ropes that sound like a great idea when you’re watching the shopping channel at three in the morning, but that someone threw in the Dumpster. Probably when they tried it for the first time and realized the super-strength nylon could slice their shin if they didn’t jump in time. I used this whenever I had to make a quick exit out of the apartment and couldn’t use the door. Like when I was home alone and Mr. Critch came for non-existent rent money.

  Then the pounding started.

  “Mr. Dearing? Open the door, it’s the police.”

  Dad threw me a hunted look. I ran to him and gave him a hug. We didn’t say anything.

  I hurried to the sliding door, opened it and stepped onto the balcony. I tied the skipping rope to the bottom of the railing and slipped on my backpack.

  “Mr. Dearing!”

  “I’m coming,” Dad called, looking at me and buying me some time.

  I climbed over the railing, still hanging on to the skipping rope, and let it dangle down. A skipping rope isn’t the best thing to use for climbing because it’s slippery and sways, but it got me close enough to the ground that I could jump down and not break anything. Once I was on the ground, I took off for the hole in the chain-link fence behind the Dumpster that leads to the alley. I didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER 8

  FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES

  I only slowed down when I was at the end of the alley and was sure no one was following me. I was safe, for now. But I had a bigger problem. Well, two bigger problems: Where was I going? I had nowhere to stay tonight. And then, how was I going to get to the Yukon? There was no way I was going to fail at this. To fail meant the end of the line for me and my dad. And as messed up as he was, he was all I had left of my family. We needed a new start and even though it sounds dumb, it was like my granddad was pointing the way.

  So, where could I go? Not the Kents’ — it was the first place Family Services would look once anyone mentioned that Shard and I were friends. I didn’t really have any other close friends. The other guys in my class were friendly when we first moved here, but they stopped hanging around with me when they learned where I lived. Sunnyview Terrace wasn’t in the best part of town.

  There was only one other person who might help me out — Fiona. Yes, I know she owns a pretty seedy bar and has a temper, but she’d been pretty decent to me when my dad had a seizure that night in her bar and she helped me bring him home. Maybe she’d be decent again now. Or maybe she’d turn me in to Family Services. It was a crapshoot, but she was the only person I could think of.

  I decided to go in the side door that opens into the alley. I was so paranoid about being nabbed that I worried Family Services would think to ask around the bars where my dad hung out and people would remember seeing me if I went in the front door.

  I happened to know that the side door opens into the backroom where they keep supplies and wash dishes and stuff because that’s the way we took my dad out that night. It’s mostly kept locked, bu
t I hoped someone was back there and would hear me pounding.

  I had to knock three times before I heard the clunk of the lock turning.

  It was Fiona who stared back at me. She propped the door open with her foot.

  “He’s not here, kid.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So what are you still standing here for?” She had a really gruff voice when she was annoyed. I think I was annoying her. It made it hard to ask for a bed for the night.

  “Can I come inside?” I was really worried that even in the dark alley, some busybody walking by would get suspicious.

  She let out a big sigh but moved to one side to let me slip by.

  “Well?” she asked once the door closed.

  “Well, I, uh, wondered if you needed some help? You know, wiping down tables and stuff?” Yeah, I chickened out of asking for a place to stay. If you were standing there with her glaring at you, you would chicken out too.

  “Do those tables look like they’ve ever been wiped down?”

  It was true. The tops of the tables were sticky from spilled beer and other stuff that I didn’t want to guess what it was.

  “I could sweep up.”

  Fiona crossed her arms. “This ain’t no employment agency. I got all the help I need. Now scram.”

  There was nothing for it, I had to come out with what I really wanted. “I really need a place to stay tonight.”

  “This ain’t no hotel, either.”

  “It’s just for one night,” I said. I hoped she didn’t ask why. I didn’t want to tell her what was going on because she might not let me stay if she knew that the Department of Family Services was after me. Most people don’t want to get involved with that mess. “I’ll work to pay for staying. And I’m tough. I don’t need a bed; I’ll sleep on some chairs or something.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  Now what was I going to say? I didn’t want to lie, so a half-truth/half-lie was in order.

  “He’s with the police.” Which was basically true, only he wasn’t down at the police station — the cop was probably still standing in our apartment.

  “So go home.”

  “Can’t.”

  I held my breath, worried that Fiona would ask why I couldn’t go home. I had no idea what lie to make up for that one. But maybe she’d had her own troubles with the law because she didn’t ask me.

  “Go to a friend’s house then.”

  I looked down at my feet. That wasn’t an option. Not only wasn’t it safe, but Shard’s family already had six people crammed into two bedrooms. “No room.”

  Fiona didn’t say anything for so long that I finally got the nerve to look up again. She was staring at me with a strange look on her face. She grunted and jerked her head in the direction of the sink. “There’s a stack of glasses needs washing,” she said.

  She didn’t exactly say I could stay, but she didn’t say I couldn’t, either, so I headed to the sink, breathing again. I hung my hoodie on a nail in the wall by the door and got to work. Fiona went back out to the bar.

  I didn’t know time could crawl by so slowly. As I washed, I thought about my dad and wondered what was happening. Was he locked up? Could he get out on bail? Was he okay? I didn’t even know how I would find out. I certainly couldn’t just waltz into the police station and ask … they probably had a direct line to Family Services.

  I would worry about it tomorrow. Right now there seemed to be no end to the glasses. Wash, rinse, dry, stack, repeat. My muscles weren’t used to this and the adrenalin from my escape was wearing off. My hand shook a little and the glass in it started to slip, but I caught it before it crashed to the floor. I took a couple of deep breaths as Fiona brought in a whole new tray.

  “So, is your dishwasher sick?” I asked, dumping the next load into the water.

  “Nope.”

  “So, who normally does this?”

  “Bar staff in between orders. They think this is great because they can serve more customers and make more tips.” The way she said it made it plain that she didn’t think paying another person was such a good idea. She also still hadn’t said whether or not I could stay, but I knew from the look on her face that now wasn’t the time to ask.

  As the night wore on, the noise in the bar got louder and louder. I tried not to think about how hungry I was or when I last ate, but just as one of the waitresses, named Lisa, was setting down another load of glasses, my stomach grumbled.

  Next time she came back, she brought a bowl of pretzels with her and winked as she put it on the counter.

  I know pretzels aren’t much of a supper, but when you’re as hungry as I was, they taste like heaven. I tried to make the bowl last as long as possible. I would take a couple between washing and drying and lick the salt off before biting into them. I made that little bowl last through an entire tray. When Monica brought more glasses, there was a cup of peanuts tucked in among the dirty dishes. Sarah brought me a few nacho chips.

  At last the flood of cups trickled to a stop. I looked at the clock on the wall behind me; it read two a.m. With the last tray, Lisa plunked a plastic cup with money in it down beside me.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “We chipped in some of our tips for you. Figured we owed you, seeing as we were able to serve more customers, and more quickly, without having to stand back here up to our elbows in greasy water.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t expected this. When she left I dumped all the coins and bills into my jeans pocket without even counting them. Pictures of hamburgers floated in my mind. Tomorrow, I would feast on something greasy and hot. My mouth was starting to water at the thought of it.

  “You done?” Fiona asked from the doorway. I was so tired I hadn’t even heard her come in.

  “Six more,” I said. I stacked the last glasses and dried my hands.

  Fiona headed to the back of the room and opened a door in the back wall. I knew she lived upstairs, so I was expecting to see a staircase, but this opened to a closet. I felt a chill go through me. She wasn’t going to make me go in there, was she? I had this thing about small spaces — like old trunks in your cousin’s attic that can be locked when you climb inside on a dare and you choke on the dust and think no one is coming back to let you out. A thing where my heart starts racing and I can’t breathe. No way was I going in there. I would risk the streets first.

  I tensed my muscles, ready to bolt at the first hint that that was what Fiona had in mind. Instead, she yanked on some metal contraption and pulled it out of the closet. It was some kind of folded-up bed with a thin mattress inside. She undid a metal clasp on the side and it opened up flat.

  “I got this when Lisa was pregnant,” she said, looking sort of embarrassed. “She said if she could lie down now and then, she could work up until her due date and I wouldn’t have to find another waitress right away.”

  I didn’t need an explanation; I was too relieved to know I didn’t have to go in that tiny walls-closing-in-on-you, running-out-of-air closet.

  “I’ll be upstairs,” she said, gesturing to another door, which must be the stairs. “I suppose you want a pillow and blanket?”

  She phrased it like a question, but she left before I could answer. I didn’t need anything. I told her already, I was tough.

  She came back and set them on the mattress and then left again without saying another word.

  Relieved and exhausted, I sat on the edge of the metal bed and took off my shoes. I didn’t know how I was going to pull this gold claim registration off; I didn’t even know how I was going to get up north. I took Granddad’s picture out and stared at it, willing him to give me the answer. He just looked back at me with silent eyes. I turned the picture over. Cottonwood Creek. All those weird creek names up there: Cottonwood Creek, Deadman’s Creek … wait, that was it! Granddad came through … I knew how I was going to get up north.

  CHAPTER 9

  THERE’S NOTHING UP THERE

 
When I woke up, I couldn’t remember for a moment where I was. The stacks of cardboard boxes and trays of upside-down clean glasses brought it all back. So did my stiff muscles from bending over that sink so long last night.

  The clock over the door into the bar read eight thirty. I hoped that was a.m. and not p.m. I was so tired last night, who knows how long I slept. The bit of daylight creeping in under the doorframe told me it was still morning.

  Fiona was still sleeping. How did I know? I could hear her snoring all the way from upstairs. The walls were either as thin as paper, or Fiona snored louder than a running diesel engine.

  Now that I was fully awake, my plan from last night on how to get to the Yukon seemed less brilliant than when it first came to me. I changed my shirt and socks with clean ones from my backpack and grabbed my hoodie, which was still hanging on the nail. I had to see Shard before doing anything today.

  I slipped out the back door, trying not to let it squeak too much. The alley was quiet, but there was always the possibility of someone seeing me so I slid down it with my back to the wall. This was how a prison escapee must feel. I took as many back laneways as I could to get back to the apartment building. After crawling through the hole in the chain-link fence behind the Dumpster, I paused and caught my breath. I slowly stood up and peered out from the side of the smelly blue bin to see if anyone was hanging around waiting to grab me.

  The parking lot was quiet and empty. Now, if the skipping rope was still tied to the balcony railing, I could shimmy back up and sneak through our empty apartment to Shard’s place.

  A whimper caught my attention. Bandit sat just out of reach with his head slightly tilted as if to ask where the paper bag was.

  “Sorry, pal,” I whispered. “No time for treats today.”

  Like a ninja, I scooted from car to car to get closer to the building without being seen. Then I sprinted to the spot under our balcony where I had left the skipping rope hanging yesterday. Problem. The rope wasn’t tied to the balcony railing anymore. Now how was I going to get in? I couldn’t go in the front door — Mrs. Critch patrolled that from her front window. All I needed was for her to rat me out to Family Services. Or demand the rest of the rent. Neither thought appealed to me.