Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless

by Melody Carlson

  "Better have them ship it next day. Just in case."

  "Yes, I'll do that."

  "Oh, I'm so glad you get to go. Give your mom a kiss for me!"

  "I will." We say good-bye and I hand the phone back to Genevieve, then blow a kiss in the air.

  "What's that?"

  "A kiss from Isabella for my mom."

  Genevieve laughs. "You are going to look totally hot in my dress. Make sure you get some photos at the dance."

  I reach out and hug her. "Thank you! You're like my fairy godmother."

  She hugs me back. "I'd offer to loan you some shoes, but I really don't have any that look good enough to go with that dress right now. Plus, I doubt we're the same size. I have really big feet."

  "I'll splurge on new shoes."

  "Cool."

  And then it's time to go back to work. But thinking about that Audrey Hepburn dress has me so happy that I temporarily forget my life is such a mess. It's not until I punch my time card and realize I'm going home-"home" to Darth Vader-that the old heaviness returns. And honestly, if River Woods had an empty bed, I would consider climbing in and pretending to be a resident. I've actually considered grabbing a shower here, but I'm afraid I'd get caught and have to explain myself. And what if I lost my job? That's a risk I can't afford.

  Worried I could run into Lindsey at the library, I go to a coffee shop to study tonight. But first I put twenty bucks' worth of fuel into Darth Vader. Next I go to the cell phone store at the strip mall and make a payment, which gets my phone service back. It's not so much that I need a cell phone myself, although my friends are a little worried; mostly I'm getting concerned about my mom. What if she's trying to get ahold of me? And as unrealistic as it seems, I keep expecting her to call and tell me what's up. Like I think she's going to show up and magically put our messed-up lives back together.

  I finish my math, but despite two cups of bad coffee, since I can't go into Starbucks for fear of seeing someone I know, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open to read The Grapes of Wrath. If I still had a TV and DVD player (or a home), I'd be tempted to just watch the movie. Although I used to consider that sort of thing cheating. Why should it matter now when in so many other ways I feel like a cheat ... and a liar ... and a phony?

  Tuesday and Wednesday pass . . . slowly. And with no word from my mom, I go to work and to Darth Vader and to school ... and then do it all over again. The only "upside" is I'm so exhausted that I'm finally able to sleep in the van reasonably well. And lately I've been parking Darth at the visitor lot at the condo or the employee lot at River Woods. So far, no one seems to notice or care.

  The wind-up alarm clock, which I got at Wal-Mart along with a few other necessities, goes off at six thirty in the morning. I climb into the driver's seat, blurrily drive across town, then hit the showers in the girls' locker room by seven. I dress as neatly as I can, which is getting more challenging, then go to my classes, where I'm trying to keep up.

  I hang with my friends I'm trying to keep fooled. Then I go to the nursing home, where I don't have to fool anyone. Finally when my shift ends, I head for the library, where I use their bathroom to clean up and change clothes, then study until closing, sometimes napping in the big leather club chairs. I don't even care if I see Lindsey there.

  By Thursday morning I feel exhausted. So tired I don't know how I can go on ... or if I even want to. My game of charades isn't helping either. It's hard to keep track of your lies when you're totally worn out.

  "Are you feeling okay?" Lindsey asks me in art. "You look like you're sick or something."

  I sit up straighter. "I'm just tired."

  "That's because she's practically living at the hospital," Bristol shoots back at Lindsey in my defense. "Her mom's seriously ill, you know."

  It's weird having Bristol stand up for me like this. But for some reason, this lie about my mom has really softened her heart. So much so that I almost wish it were true. Not that I want my mom to suffer like that ... well, not too much anyway. But having Bristol's sympathy is kind of nice.

  "I thought it was because you stayed too long at the library last night," Lindsey says to me. "I saw you leaving right before closing."

  "You were at the library last night?" Bristol questions me.

  I shrug. "I needed a book for AP history, and then I decided to stay there and study. It's kind of lonely at home. You know, with my mom gone."

  Bristol nods. "Yeah, that must be hard."

  "What's going on with your mom?" Lindsey asks.

  So I repeat the story I've been telling the rest of my friends. But Lindsey has this questioning look, like she's not really buying it. So I change the subject. "Lindsey, which countries will you visit in Europe next summer?"

  Fortunately Bristol gets interested in the Europe trip too. And for the first time this year, the three of us are acting almost like we're friends. Even Mr. Klein seems to notice.

  "Nice to see everyone getting along today." He pauses to examine our charcoal sketches.

  And it is nice. I feel somewhat encouraged. Like maybe I can keep this act up for a while longer. Plus there's the dance tomorrow-that's something to look forward to. My big night ... where I get to do my Cinderella act and pretend I'm a real princess.

  I haven't even had a chance to get my shoes or any accessories yet. But this afternoon I'm going to run over to a place Genevieve told me about-a shoe store not far from work that's supposed to have a fantastic selection of designer knockoffs at some very affordable prices.

  "I have to hurry," I explain to Isabella after school. "Mom's getting moved to the nursing-care center this afternoon."

  "Oh, that's so good to hear." She smiles. "Let us know if she can have flowers there."

  "I will." Even as I say this, I consider telling her that my mom has been moved to River Woods, but I'm not sure I want that much information floating around. I don't want to jeopardize my job. So I just grab my bag, wave to my friends, and dash off. Their sympathetic glances are touching. And despite how pathetic my life really is, I almost feel lucky.

  I feel even luckier as I'm shoe shopping. "These are a perfect knockoff of Louboutins," a stylish salesgirl tells me as I'm trying on a pair of strappy black sandals. "And we only have them in a size eight, which looks absolutely perfect for you."

  "Louboutin?" I try walking in the high heels.

  She gives me a slightly disparaging look. "Christian Louboutin," she says like I should know this name.

  "But why is the sole red?"

  She laughs, then just shakes her head like I'm hopeless.

  "They are pretty," I admit as I continue to practice walking. I'm not used to such high heels.

  "They are gorgeous. If they were my size, they'd be gone."

  "Oh wow," a young woman says to me as she checks out my feet. "Christian Louboutin, right?"

  I kind of shrug. "I guess."

  "Do you have any more?" the woman asks the salesgirl.

  "Those are the only ones -size eight."

  The woman frowns at me. "Are you getting them?"

  I glance at my watch, then nod. "I think so."

  Before long, the shoes are bagged and I run into an accessories store right next door. There, following Genevieve's advice, I get some faux diamond earrings and a necklace. I make sure the pieces aren't so flashy as to look fake. And then I hurry to work.

  During my break, I show Genevieve my purchases and she is very impressed. "Do you have the dress with you too?"

  "It's in my car."

  "Go get it," she commands. "Let's do a dress rehearsal and see how it looks."

  I dash out to the van, where the dress is hanging in the plastic bag I put over it to protect it. I hurry back into the restroom, where Genevieve is waiting for me, and before long, she helps me get completely dressed.

  "You look so hot," she says as I stand in front of the mirror. "I think the dress looks even better on you than me." She lifts up my hair. "You need to give it a little twist like this
and pin it up. Then let a few tendrils down. See what I mean?"

  I nod, taking this all in. "Thanks so much. There's no way I could've pulled this off without you."

  She grins. "Just make sure you have a great time."

  Seeing that our break's almost over, I quickly but carefully remove my glitzy outfit and put my work clothes back on. Then as I hurry to return my things to Darth Vader, I wonder how easy it will be to get dressed and looking good inside of the cluttered van tomorrow night. Maybe I'll have to come up with a better solution for a dressing room.

  "You seem happier than usual tonight," Mrs. Ashburn says to me as I'm helping her get ready for bed. She's my favorite resident, and I'm always eager to assist her in any way I can. This actually works out fairly well, since some of the nurses say she talks too much. But I don't mind her chatter.

  I tell her about tomorrow night's dance, and she launches into a story about her first dance back when she was in high school. "It was the graduation ball," she tells me with a faraway look. "And I thought Lawrence Barnes was the cat's pajamas." She chuckles. "You girls don't use that expression these days. But Lawrence was truly dreamy. He looked just like Dick Powell."

  I nod as I help her sit on the edge of her bed.

  "I was simply over the moon when he asked me."

  "So, he wasn't your boyfriend?"

  "Goodness, no." She giggles as I fluff her pillow and help her lean back into it.

  "What did you wear?" I pull the bedspread and fold it neatly down, just how she likes it.

  "I can remember the dress as if it were yesterday . . ." She closes her eyes. "Butter yellow taffeta trimmed with chocolate brown velvet ribbon. Sweet little puffed sleeves. And the bodice fit me like a glove." She sighs. "I had a good figure back then. And the skirt was so full. It spun out in a circle when I danced."

  "It sounds beautiful." I notice she hasn't taken her nighttime meds yet so I hand her a plastic cup of water and the small paper cup with the pills.

  "Oh, it was. I'm sure I have photos somewhere . . . in my home."

  I know Mrs. Ashburn well enough to know this is a dangerous subject. Her home, where she wants to return as soon as she is able. But according to Ms. Michaels, this is not going to happen. And although Mrs. Ashburn hasn't been officially informed of this, we get the impression she suspects something.

  "Well, my dress doesn't sound nearly as beautiful as yours," I tell her as she hands the paper cup back to me. Then to continue my distraction I describe my dress to her, saying how it looks a little bit like Audrey Hepburn, hoping she can relate to a movie icon that was part of her era.

  "Oh my! That sounds very classic and elegant." She tells me about the "little black dress" she wore when her husband took her to New York for their fifteenth anniversary. "And Carl gave me a real string of pearls that year. It looked so lovely with the black dress. He actually took a photograph of me standing in front of Tiffany's." She chuckles. "As if I resembled Audrey Hepburn."

  "I'll bet you did, too."

  She frowns slightly. "I wonder where that photograph is ..."

  Then, to continue my distraction efforts, I ramble on a bit more about how my accessories won't be pearls but fake diamonds, and finally seeing that she's getting sleepy, I tell her good night and move on to help another resident. It's weird how much I can relate to old Mrs. Ashburn. It's like we've both been forced from our homes.

  But at least she has a warm bed to sleep in.

  n Friday morning I feel strangely energized. Like maybe I can pull this off for a while longer after all. Knowing I have a night off from work- not to mention going to the dance and everything else-well, I almost feel like I'm on top again. Like I might be able to survive my life.

  Bristol seems oddly quiet in art. Lindsey and I make small talk, and I'm a bit surprised to hear that Lindsey is going to the dance too. For some reason, I assumed this librarian's helper had little or no life.

  "Byron's just a friend of mine from youth group," Lindsey admits to me. "But I think it'll be fun just the same." Then she tells me about her dress. Something she and her mom found at a vintage shop, and it actually sounds very cool. I try not to feel envious to hear of a mom who's involved with her daughter like that.

  "My dress is kind of vintage too," I say to Lindsey as I smooth the tip of my charcoal stick into a point.

  "How so?" Bristol asks.

  I'm surprised she's even been listening to us, but even more caught off guard by the frosty tone of her voice. As a result, I'm sharply reminded that I'm going to the very dance Bristol has been left out of ... with the very guy she wishes she was going with. For me to talk about it like this, right in front of her, especially considering how exceptionally kind she's been to me lately, well, it's not very thoughtful on my part. I wish I could retract my entire conversation with Lindsey. What was I thinking?

  "It's just a plain black dress," I say quickly, shrugging like Genevieve's favorite dress is simply an old rag. "Pretty basic, really." Then to change the subject, I ask Bristol about her drawing, lavishing what I hope sounds like sincere praise upon her.

  But despite my efforts, she seems cool and distant now. I'm certain I must've offended her. I so wish I hadn't said anything about the dance. She's obviously jealous. Finally the bell rings, and since I've already packed up my things, I take off without even saying good-bye. I cannot get out of the art room soon enough.

  "Hey, what's the big hurry?" Jayden jogs to catch up with me on my way to the cafeteria.

  "Oh, sorry." I slow down for him. "I guess I'm just used to rushing around these days. It's like I'm on fast-speed or something."

  "So ... how's your mom doing now?"

  "She's better. Fortunately, she's well enough to get moved to the nursing home now." As twisted as it sounds, I actually imagine a pale sick image of my mom resting in one of the beds at River Woods Care Center. It's like the lies are affecting my brain.

  He smiles. "Good to hear."

  "Yeah, it is. I mean, she's still really weak and her lungs are damaged, but she should recover . . . in time." I glance away from him, hating myself for this false world I've created. But really, what can I do?

  "I feel so bad when I remember that night at your house." He pauses to open the door to the cafeteria. "You really seemed upset. And you had every reason to be, but I just didn't get how serious it was."

  I nod, shoving the guilt down deeper inside of me, putting a lid on top. "Yeah, I think the whole thing took me by surprise too.

  We get in line and are soon getting our food, which I still do not take for granted. In fact, I decide to splurge on the chef's salad today since my payday's not far off. Then we join the others at our table. Not surprisingly, everyone there seems to be talking about tonight's dance.

  "Where's Bristol?" Lily asks.

  Everyone glances around, but no one seems to know or care.

  "I need to talk to her." Lily has her phone in hand now. "Garth Martin's my lab partner, and he just told me that Katie Lowell is really sick and now he's dateless for homecoming."

  "So?" Isabella gives Lily a blank look.

  "So ... it's not like Garth and Katie are serious or anything; they were just going to the dance for fun. But Garth's already got his suit and everything, and he still wants to go. So I mentioned that Bristol is dateless too. And he asked me to ask her if she's interested in going."

  "She won't be," Isabella tells Lily. "I know for a fact there's only one guy she would go to the dance with." Isabella tosses me a look that's partly sympathetic and partly smug. "But we know thats not going to happen." She smiles.

  "Hey, Bristol," Lily says into her phone and steps away from the table so we don't catch the rest of her conversation.

  "She won't go," Isabella says with confidence.

  But when Lily returns to our table, she's wearing a catty smile. "Guess what?"

  "Bristol is going with Garth?" I venture.

  Lily nods victoriously, then sits back down.

  "N
o way!" Isabella hits the table with her hand.

  "Way! Although Bristol said we have to let Garth and her join our group or she won't go."

  "No problem. We can fit four couples in the stretch Hummer," Ethan says.

  "The more the merrier," Isabella says lightly, but I can tell by the glint in her eyes that she's curious. For that matter, so am 1. Why would Bristol suddenly agree to go to the dance with Garth Martin? Not that Garth is a loser. He's actually quite nice. But it just doesn't add up.

  "Where is Bristol anyway?" I ask Lily. "I mean, I just saw her in art last period, so I know she's in school."

  "I'm not sure," Lily confesses. "She was acting kind of mysterious on the phone."

  "Maybe she's off getting her dress," Caleb says.

  Isabella laughs. "Yeah, right. She was off getting a dress even before she knew she had a date to the dance."

  The conversation returns to tonight's plans and festivities, and Bristol and her mysterious absence are temporarily forgotten. Still, I feel uneasy knowing she'll be going with the rest of us to the dance. I actually looked forward to her absence. And Isabella's right. No matter who Bristol goes to the dance with, she'll probably still have her eye on Jayden. And despite how nice she's been lately-well, up until art class today-I still don't totally trust that girl.

  Before lunch ends, I take Isabella aside. I've been slightly obsessing over how I can possibly get prepared for my big night inside my messy van. I've been haunted by images of me crawling out of Darth Vader with a piece of dirty laundry hanging from the back of my dress, my hair stringy, my makeup resembling something from a bad Halloween movie. Not only that, but to be picked up in the limo means I'll need to park the van at the condo and then what? Hang out in the bushes until my ride arrives? And what if the manager notices me there and gets suspicious?

  "I want to put my hair in an up-do tonight." I carefully lay the foundation of my plan to Isabella. "But I'm not good with hair so I'm not really sure how to do it. If my mom wasn't sick, I'd ask her to help-"

  "I know!" Isabella declares. "You bring your dress and everything to my house, and we'll both get ready there. My mom's great with hair. We'll get her to help you."