Roam

by C. H. Armstrong

  My shoulders slump and the futility of it all smothers me. Forty dollars. It might as well be forty million dollars.

  “Is something wrong, Abby?” she asks.

  “No. I mean—no. Yes. No.” How can I tell her I can’t find a measly forty dollars?

  Ms. Raven studies me then clears her throat. “Abby, I’m going to ask you a sensitive question and I need you to answer me truthfully: will finding forty dollars be a problem?”

  My face flushes and I can’t meet her eyes. “I—we can’t afford it.”

  She nods then opens her desk drawer again. Her fingers walk through a series of files until she finds what she seeks. She removes a single sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Don’t be embarrassed, Abby. You’d be surprised how many families can’t afford the test fee. That’s why they offer a fee waiver to families who need it. Are you enrolled in the school’s free lunch program?”

  My face floods with heat again. I nod.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I ask because qualifying for our free lunch program means your financial need is already established. It helps us cut through the red tape. Complete that form and return it tomorrow, then we’ll get you registered. Okay?”

  “Then I can take the ACT?”

  She smiles. “Yes, and afterwards we can begin looking at schools and scholarship programs while we wait for your scores.”

  “But even with a scholarship, isn’t college expensive?”

  “It can be,” she admits. “It depends upon the university you choose and how aggressive you are about finding scholarships and grants. I think we can get you started with some really nice scholarships and you’d probably qualify for a couple of federal grants. If those fail us, then there’s always the federal loan option.”

  My shoulders drop. “A loan?”

  “It’s not what you think. They’re government subsidized with low interest, and payments don’t kick in until six months after you graduate college.”

  Whoa! Information overload!

  Ms. Raven laughs. “One thing at a time. Let’s get the ACT done and we’ll go from there.”

  IT’S FINALLY LAST period, and I swear I never thought three o’clock would arrive—the day has dragged endlessly as it always does when you’re forced to wait.

  The intercom crackles and the disembodied voice of Principal Bartlett comes through the speakers: “If I could have your attention, please, for these announcements…”

  Zach spins in his chair and faces me. “This is it, Abs!”

  “Sh.” I smile. “I can’t hear.”

  “…has been cancelled. It will take place next Monday at its normal time. At this time, we will announce the soloists for the Fall Concert.”

  My heart catches as I wait for Mr. Bartlett’s next words.

  “Congratulations to Keaton Garner and Abby Lunde, who have been selected as soloists for this year’s Fall Concert. Please see Mrs. Miner after school for further instructions.”

  “WHOOP!” Zach’s victory shout rings through the room and the class becomes a frenzy of cheers and congratulations.

  My face flushes. I did it! I got the part!

  My fingertips tingle and my ears buzz. My classmates speak over each other, the roar of their voices competing with the buzzing in my ears. My mouth is stretched into a wide smile. Finally some good news!

  “Okay, folks. Settle down,” Mr. Thompson calls from the front of the room. “Congratulations, Abby. We may have the next Rochester South celebrity right here in our class.”

  I nod my thanks—I couldn’t form words if I tried.

  “I knew you’d do it!” Zach says.

  The bell rings and I remain sitting, my head still spinning. Zach grabs my backpack and stuffs my books inside, then grins and grabs my hand. “C’mon Abby. Time to meet your public.”

  I roll my eyes and walk with him toward Mrs. Miner’s classroom. The halls are crowded, and kids I’ve never noticed before call out congratulations—it’s like the entire school is on my side. The entire school minus Trish, that is.

  From the other end of the hall, Trish walks straight toward me, her stride determined as though she’s a charging bull. Her eyes are like chips of ice and my skin prickles. Beside her is Scott. He shouts his congratulations across the distance, oblivious to her agitation. They continue toward us, Trish’s body in a direct line with mine. I crowd Zach to avoid her but she anticipates my move and adjusts her path. Just before she plows into me, Scott yanks her toward him. She grazes my elbow, but not enough to injure.

  “Hey!” Zach shouts.

  Scott’s face is purple. He shoots me an apologetic look, then leans close to Trish and says something into her ear. She jerks away and shoves him into a locker, then stomps away. Scott turns to me and mouths, I’m sorry.

  I shake my head, hoping he understands I mean, “It’s not your fault.”

  “Are you okay?” Zach examines my elbow. “What the hell is wrong with her? She better get herself in check—that’s seriously not cool!”

  I bite my tongue. “C’mon, Zach. Let’s not let her ruin our day.”

  He nods, but his eyes are still clouded with anger. We continue to Mrs. Miner’s room, then wait while she finishes speaking with Keaton Garner.

  “Hey, Abby! Congrats!” Keaton says as we pass in the doorway.

  “Thanks. You too!”

  Mrs. Miner meets me at the door, her face beaming. “Abby! Congratulations.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “C’mon in and let’s talk about the next few weeks.” She waves toward the open chairs. Zach and I sit as she hands me a folder. “I’ve put together a few solos and duets you’ll sing with Keaton. I’ve highlighted where your parts begin and end, so look them over tonight. I’d like to start meeting with you tomorrow during your open period, if that works for you.”

  I nod. “That’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll also need a list of times you’re available to practice with Keaton. If you can get that to me tomorrow, I’ll compare your calendars and come up with a schedule that works for both of you. Sound good?”

  “Yes!”

  “Now for the fun part. Take this week and select a song for your featured solo. This is your time to shine, and you can choose anything you like so long as I approve it first. If you need piano accompaniment, I’m happy to provide it, but I have an idea that might be better.”

  “What’s that?”

  Mrs. Miner’s attention turns to Zach. “I’d love to see Zach accompany you on guitar. You two have wonderful chemistry together, and I think it would help your stage fright to have someone nearby to calm your nerves. It’s your decision—”

  “That’s a great idea,” I interrupt. “If Zach doesn’t mind.”

  “Mind?” He laughs. “I’d love to!”

  Mrs. Miner smiles. “It’s a plan, then. Let’s talk next week and you can show me what you’ve come up with. Any questions?”

  “No. Thank you, Mrs. Miner,” I say. “I won’t let you down!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE WEEK FLIES AND BEFORE I KNOW IT, THE NEXT WEEKEND HAS COME AND GONE. JOSH IS STILL IN THE hospital, and Tera, Wendy and I have visited him every day after my paper route. He’s much improved and the doctor expects he’ll go home tomorrow, but cautions he won’t return to school right away.

  It’s now Monday again and I spent my entire weekend praying for divine intervention—a reprieve to save us from leaving the Dorothy Day House. It never came. I awoke this morning, packed my few things, and said goodbye to the homeless shelter.

  Despite finding ourselves back in the van, things are marginally better than the Monday before. Last Wednesday, Nick was offered a second job at a vet clinic, where he cleans the kennels and the outside yard after the dogs have playtime. He hates it, but the pay is decent and we need it. Plus, he can take Amber, if necessary. Then on Friday, Mom started her new job at Hamburger Hut, so we barely saw her all weekend. Otherwise, Saturday and S
unday were predictably the same. We returned to the Presbyterian Church for lunch on Saturday, then I spent Sunday at Zach’s, working on my solo for the Fall Concert. We’ve agreed on another Adele song and Zach has become a relentless taskmaster, making me practice so many times I sometimes wake up to find I’ve been humming in my sleep. Truthfully, the extra practice has helped my confidence and I’m not as nervous as I was.

  I glance at my watch and groan. It’s 3:27 a.m. and I can’t sleep. It’s our first night back in the van and it’s every bit as awful as I remember, only worse—the temperature has dropped considerably. I pull my blankets around me and scoot closer to Amber. My nose is so cold it’s numb, and I grit my teeth to stop their chattering. Beside me Amber sleeps soundly, probably warmer from the combined heat of Mom’s body and mine. On the other side of Mom, Nick’s chainsaw snores echo through the van. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so cold, and I wonder if I’ll ever be warm again.

  MOM RUNS HER hand over Amber’s forehead and studies her fever-dulled eyes. We’ve spent four nights in the van, and each one has left us more exhausted than the last—and now Amber’s sick.

  “What do we do?” Mom looks at Nick. “She can’t go to school.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” I offer.

  Mom and Nick argue silently with their eyes, their frustration louder than words.

  “C’mon,” I say. “What other choice do we have? If one of you stays, you’ll lose your job—and we need that money. I won’t miss much at school and you’ll be back early enough for me to do the paper route.”

  They stare at each other another moment, then Nick shrugs as if to say, “Fine. Whatever.”

  Mom blows out a breath. “I don’t like it, either, Nick, but what choice do we have?”

  “You’re right—we don’t have a choice,” he says, then mumbles under his breath, “We never have choices these days.”

  Tears glisten in Mom’s eyes but she turns to me and pulls a smile across her face. “Will you be okay, Abs?”

  “Geez, Mom!” I retort, aggravated she’d ask after everything we’ve been through. “I’m grown up now, you know. I have a job, I’ve been looking after Amber every day since we got here, and I’m just as capable as you of taking care of this family.”

  Mom’s head snaps back as though I’ve slapped her. Dammit—I’ve been so good at checking my temper!

  Straightening her shoulders, Mom shoots Nick one last look. He nods, then she kisses Amber’s forehead and snugs the blankets around her. “We’ll get home early if we can.”

  Home? Who does she think she’s kidding?

  JUST WHEN YOU think things can’t get worse, they do. Until now, I’d thought sleeping in the van at night was as bad as things could get. Oh, how wrong I was! Being stuck in the van all day is worse. Last night’s temperatures dropped into the single digits, and it’s barely warmed up since. My fingers are red and stiff from the cold, and bending them is painful. My nose is a block of ice, and my lips are so numb I can’t enunciate my words. I breathe hot air onto my hands and a puff of steam lingers in the air. It seems only yesterday when watching the vapor from my breath was fun, but this isn’t fun at all.

  Beside me, Amber’s face is flushed but she vibrates with shivers. I’ve wrapped my body as tightly around her as I can, but it’s not enough. Somehow I have to warm her up.

  My eyes scan inside the van, searching for anything to provide extra warmth, but there’s nothing. And then my attention lands on Mom’s keys—they left them in the cup holder between the driver and passenger seats, reminding me, “For an emergency.” I study them as my mind races through the pros and cons of heating the van. Coming to a decision, I pull away from Amber and reach for the keys.

  “Sister?” Amber’s lashes flutter and she gazes at me through fever-glazed eyes. “Please don’t go. I’m so cold.”

  “Sh.” I wrap my discarded blankets over her then run my palm along her forehead and down her cheek. “I’m just going to warm the van up for a few minutes, okay?”

  Amber closes her eyes and nods.

  Careful not to disturb her further, I climb over the center console and squeeze into the driver’s seat. I blow out another puff of hot, white air into my hands then slide the key into the ignition and start the van. Frigid air blows from the vents and I turn the knob as hot as it will go. A cold shiver rushes through me. I flip the fan to high then crawl back over the console and under the blankets with Amber.

  “It’s cold,” she whines.

  “I know. It’ll warm up in a minute.”

  On the back of the center console above our heads is an air vent. Somehow I have to trap the heat.

  “Amber, let me have this top blanket,” I say, tugging at the bedspread I’ve tucked around her.

  Freeing the blanket, I cover the air vent and drape the ends through the armrests of the two front seats. I look around for a way to secure the bottom, but my options are limited. With no other choice, I crack the wing windows just enough to slide a piece of fabric through, then close them once again. The effect is a fort that hangs about eight inches above our heads, trapping the heat under the blanket.

  After about fifteen minutes, I turn off the ignition. The van is toasty warm—and it’s even warmer under our fort—but I know it won’t last. I slide back under my makeshift tent and wrap my body around Amber’s.

  “Thank you,” she says, closing her eyes as sleep claims her.

  I kiss her forehead and regard her tiny face, her cute upturned nose, and the long eyelashes that hide her brilliant blue eyes. She lets out a long, rattling cough, then settles down until all I can hear is a faint wheeze each time she breathes in. The sound terrifies me—it’s too much like the sound Josh made in the hospital when he was hooked up to all those machines. What if Amber needs to be in a hospital? We don’t have the money to pay for the ER—would they turn her away? And if they did, would she die? A million truly scary scenarios race through my mind, each one worse than the last. I’m startled back to reality when a tear splashes onto the pillow beside Amber’s head.

  I don’t want to be a grown-up any more!

  Another tear escapes and I lay my head next to my baby sister’s.

  Please let me wake up and discover this has all been a dream.

  BANG! I’M JOLTED awake as the van is struck by the door of another vehicle.

  “Dammit, Kristina!” a man’s voice calls out. “I told you to be careful!”

  “Not my fault!” a woman argues. “I told you—you parked too damned close and the wind blew the door right out of my hand!”

  I listen as the man and woman argue over who’s at fault and whether to leave a note, praying the whole time they just leave. And that’s exactly what they do. I’m relieved we’ve remained undetected, but irritated at their disregard for our property.

  I glance at my watch—4:12 p.m. Somehow I’ve managed to sleep most of the day. Beside me, Amber sleeps peacefully. I test her temperature with my palm and find her still hot to the touch.

  My stomach rumbles and I debate waking her. Neither of us has eaten today, but I’m hesitant to wake her when she’s probably too sick to eat. Pulling my body away from hers, I escape the homemade fort. Outside the cocoon of my makeshift tent, the air is frigid. All the warmth of a few hours ago is gone. I tuck the blanket’s edges around Amber, trapping what little warmth is left. I crawl into the front seat and start the van again. The fuel gage hovers just below a quarter of a tank so I can’t let it run long.

  While the vehicle warms, I find a stash of granola bars in the glove box and say a silent prayer of thanks to Mrs. Cummings, who never lets us leave Saturday dinner without taking extras. There’s seven granola bars and I’m starving, but I don’t dare eat more than one.

  The next hour moves slowly and my bladder aches for release, but I can’t even relieve myself because Amber’s too sick to go with me and I can’t leave her alone. I debate squatting beside the van, but the fear of getting caught is real so I squeez
e my knees together and pray the sensation passes. The walls close in around me and I count down the minutes until Mom and Nick return. They can’t be much longer.

  I drift off to sleep, but the urge to pee wakes me again. I peek my head out from under the heavy blanket. Darkness and a blast of cold greet me. I glance at my watch: 7:37 p.m. I’ve slept more than two hours and Mom and Nick still haven’t returned.

  Fear races through me. They’ve been late before, but never this late, and never both at the same time. Not only that, but now I’ve missed my delivery route! My mind spins through a series of awful scenarios and, just when my anxiety hits its peak, the van’s locks pop open and Nick slides into the driver’s seat.

  “Thank God you’re back,” I whisper. “Where’ve you been? I missed my paper route!”

  Nick glances at my makeshift tent and his eyebrows draw together. “What? Where’s your mom? I got held up at work.”

  “She’s not back yet. And I have to pee really bad.”

  “Dammit, Abs. I’m sorry. Have you at least had something to eat?”

  “A granola bar a couple hours ago.” I sit up and my bladder screams for release. “I really have to pee right now.”

  “Sorry.” He waves a hand. “Go—I’ll stay with Amber.”

  I hop out of the van and my bladder nearly releases its contents. I give myself a second to gain control then walk-run into the empty Walmart bathrooms. When I’ve finished, I stop at the customer service desk and ask for a job application. I don’t intend to apply here, but asking for the application makes my quick in-and-out look less suspicious. I hope.

  Mom’s back when I return. She’s brought with her two burgers from work that she sneaked into her purse instead of discarding when a customer’s order was filled incorrectly. I’ve never been so grateful for a cold, greasy burger, and I scarf down my half in only a few bites.

  Amber sleeps through our meager dinner and the line of worry crossing Mom’s forehead deepens. She runs her palm over Amber’s forehead. “I wish I had a thermometer…”