Meg giggles while she rubs body wash over my back. Mom shampoos Meg’s hair. I lather mine up and start in on Mom’s. We work fast, rinsing the shampoo out of our hair before we scrub our bodies. The water keeps running, and I even have a few seconds to enjoy the warmth before the timer gives a loud clunk and the water shuts off.
I’m clean. In six minutes, with two other people crowded in beside me, I get clean. We dry our hair under the hand dryer by the sink. For breakfast, Mom buys a small carton of milk and cereal in those little plastic tubs. We eat breakfast in the car, and by the time she drops us off at school, I feel almost normal.
I practically bounce through the front door of Columbia High, and I am halfway to my locker when I spot Ebony’s spiky black hair across the hall. Her leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans, and heavy boots that lace up to her knees are all black to match her hair and eye makeup. I veer toward her, but she stops me with a look. On another day, I might have been hurt, but today, I get it. Ebony’s carefully constructed her life and doesn’t need me to mess it up.
I keep walking and swing into junior hall thinking my life may not be great, but at least I don’t stink. I turn into my locker bay, and there’s Jack leaning back on my locker playing games on his phone. My face breaks into a smile—no matter how hard I try, I can’t wipe it off.
Jack sees me and jumps away from my locker. “Hey.”
We stand there, grinning at each other.
Jack steps closer. “I really missed you.”
The words “I missed you too” bubble up. I manage to clamp my lips together to keep them from shooting right out of my mouth. I finally pull my eyes away from Jack and turn to my locker.
Jack’s buddy is back, this time pressing up against the girl at the locker next to mine, nuzzling her neck and kissing her hair. She giggles, wiggles, and coos while his hand slips up the back of her sweater. If that jerk tried touching me, I’d break every finger he owns. But what if Jack kissed my neck and held me like that? What if his hand slid over my body, touching my bare skin?
Heat waves flash through me, turning my face hot and my palms sweaty. I spin the dial of my lock, but my hands are so damp I have trouble with the combination. Jack doesn’t say anything, just leans his shoulder against the opposite locker and watches me. I pull my English book out from under a pile of papers, stuff it in my backpack, and slam the door. Jack’s friend uses the jolt to slide his hand up a couple more inches.
The fire raging through my body makes my heart beat so fast I feel dizzy. I don’t dare look at Jack. Don’t dare walk next to him. I back away and take off for class, kicking myself for being so foolish. No boys. That’s rule number one. A guide I’ve got to live by. It’s the only way I’ll ever be anything but poor.
Jack falls in beside me. “You’re mad.” He keeps up with me, but his body turns my way and his eyes study me. “Did I say something stupid? Do something weird?”
This makes me stop midstream, and a couple of people bump into me. “I am mad.” I look up at Jack. “Mad at you. Mad at me.”
Jack stops, wrinkles up his forehead, and peers down at me. “Why? What did I do?”
I flip my hand out and point my thumb back toward my locker. “That guy.” I roll my eyes. “The one crawling all over his girlfriend?”
Jack glances back toward my locker, shrugs his shoulders, and looks back at me. “What about him?”
I stare up into Jack’s eyes and know I’m not making sense. I try again. “I can’t have a boyfriend.” I look away. “I told you that.”
Jack leans close. “So I didn’t mess up?”
His words are soft and almost whispered, making it impossible not to look at him. Jack’s face is so full of confusion and worry that it holds me there. Even though I know I should take off at a dead run, I can’t move. “No. You didn’t mess up.”
I bite my lip and look away again. “I get scared.” Why do words slide right out of my mouth like I’m reading them in a book instead of living them? Why do I tell Jack things I don’t even admit to myself?
Jack sighs. “Jeez, Mattie,” he whispers, “I’m scared too.”
We walk the rest of the way to my classroom in silence. I turn into the room, but Jack grabs my hand and holds me back. “We can talk about stuff, Mattie. We really can.”
His touch sends bolts of electricity shooting through me, setting me on fire and melting me with its heat. I pull my hand away and hurry into class.
All morning I question my sanity. One minute I think I can handle the thing with Jack and me, and the next minute I know I can’t. At noon, I head straight to the cafeteria, telling myself to toughen up and get over this stupid attraction to a guy that happens to say and do all the right things. Mom got into her mess of a life by listening to good-looking, sweet-talking guys, and I’m not going to do the same thing.
Jack is waiting by the door. He sees me and flashes that grin. My heart does a little pitter-patter before I slam a lid on it. Without a word, he drops in line behind me. I jerk a tray off the stack and slide it along until I’m in front of the hot dogs. The kitchen worker drops one on my tray.
Jack leans toward me and whispers, “Why the hot dog and not the hamburger?”
I glance up at him. “Hot dogs aren’t real meat anyway, so you’re never disappointed.” I try to be blunt, say it like he means nothing to me, but it doesn’t work. He knows I care. I can see it in his eyes.
Jack laughs and asks the cafeteria worker for three of them. My resolve to ignore him fizzles. Just sputters right out in that infectious laugh of his.
Lilly gives me a thumbs-up from across the cafeteria. I try to roll my eyes and act like Jack doesn’t mean a thing to me, but instead, my mouth tips up in a corny excuse for a smile.
Jack slides in on one side of “our” table, and I slide in on the other. My algebra book emits guilty vibes, telling me to get going and do my homework, but I tell myself eating a mustardy hotdog will put yellow smears all over my math paper. That’s my excuse anyway.
Jack dips his hotdog in ketchup and then mustard. “Tell me about your family.” He studies me while he bites a massive chunk off the end.
There it is, that probing, personal question that you don’t want to answer. I hesitate. “There’s just three of us,” I say. “Mom, me, and my little sister, Meg.” Safe. He doesn’t know we’re homeless, or that Mom’s face has purple bruises and a split lip.
“You’re lucky to have a sister.” Jack polishes off the first hotdog in one last bite and picks up the second. “I’m an only child, which makes me spoiled rotten.” He wiggles his head back and forth. “Name it, and Mom and Dad buy it.”
I snort. “You have a car?”
Jack’s face goes all tight and still. “Actually, two. Dad bought me a little Honda for running around town, plus our family has an old four-wheel drive Jeep I use for skiing and anything else I want to do. They never drive it, so it’s basically mine.” He glances away, embarrassed.
My mouth drops open, and my eyebrows shoot up my forehead. He’s not some regular kid who has nice clothes and doesn’t have to worry about lunch money. Compared to most kids’ standards, he’s rich.
“Two cars?” I drag the words out super long, which only embarrasses him more.
Jack tips up one shoulder in an offhand shrug and turns back to me. “How old is your little sister?”
Meg is the one part of my life I can be totally honest about. I don’t mean to let it happen, but words spill out, tumbling over and over each other. I tell him how she dresses up as a different princess every year for Halloween, that she loves to play with her dolls and stuffed animals, and that she has this happy disposition that makes it easy to love her. I tell him how proud I am of her reading, and how hard she tries to learn new things. Our lunch is long gone, and we’re still sitting there.
“Mom’s a single parent, so life’s a struggle.” W
hich is a total understatement, but at least I didn’t lie. “I need to get through college and make good money so I can help Meg go to school too.” My last words hang in the air between us, exposing half my soul. “I’m blabbering.”
Jack wrinkles up his face. “Conversing.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Prattling.”
“Sharing.”
I look straight at him. “I never drivel on like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I like you.”
Raw emotion. That’s me. A jumble of nerves and hormones and electrical charges all stuffed in my body waiting to explode. We walk back to class, and I might as well be strutting down the halls naked. That’s how scared I am.
Chapter Thirteen
Sixth period. Mr. Z glances up just as I walk into the choir room. “Mattie,” he says, waving me over to his desk. “I need to see you.”
I clutch the straps of my backpack and walk over to his desk. Did my grade drop to a B? Is that what Mr. Z wants to tell me? Could a B in choir ruin my chances for a college scholarship?
I should tell him why I leave class every day, but a bunch of guys are hanging close to his desk. They’ll hear me spill my pitiful tale of woe, and who knows what kind of snide remark that would bring.
Mr. Z hands me a pass. “I’m guessing you don’t have a choice to leave class.” He picks a piece of paper up off his desk. “So write me a decent paper on this topic and you can hang on to your grade.”
Tears stab the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, press my lips together, and glance at the words he’s written. History of Jazz—at least five pages with references—due by the end of the term.
I clutch the paper in my hand. “Thanks, Mr. Z. Thanks a lot.”
Halfway through class, the intercom announces, “Mattie Rollins. Please report to the office to be checked out.” Mr. Z doesn’t even look my way. He just keeps right on directing, and the choir doesn’t miss a note as I step off the risers, grab my backpack, and head for the office. I scribble my name on the sign-out sheet and follow Mom out the door. Mom drives us back to the library.
Meg and I troop in past a crowd of kids in the coffee kiosk and head upstairs to the second floor. I avoid the magazine section and steer us through adult fiction until I find a quiet little table in the back. We haven’t hung out here before, so I feel safe, yet hidden from Mr. Pushy or any other prying eyes. Meg practices her writing while I concentrate on finishing my algebra and Spanish homework.
When I’m done, we head downstairs to the information booth by the young adult section. Asking the librarian the simplest of questions feels like I’m shouting HOMELESS and will put Meg, Mom, and me into a bad situation. Getting an alternate assignment from my teacher does the same thing. Even if I lie and make up some story about how our TV and computer are broken, it doesn’t change the fact that most kids have a neighbor or friend they can turn to. I shouldn’t be afraid, because the librarian’s job is to help people, but I still have to take a deep breath and work up my courage before I can speak.
“Hi,” I say. “I need to use a computer for a school project. Could you help me?”
The older woman behind the desk is tall and thin with soft gray hair. She looks up at me with hazel-brown eyes and smiles in a way that makes me wonder why I put off getting help for so long.
“I’d be happy to,” she says.
I explain my movie project for English and the PowerPoint presentation I need to do for US History.
“No problem,” says the librarian. “I’ll show you all you need to know.”
The woman takes me over to an empty terminal. Meg follows along. I sit down, and the woman walks me through everything I need to know. She shows me how to access PowerPoint and where to put a movie disc, then hands me a headset. It’s all so easy that I’m embarrassed I stressed about it.
“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks a lot.”
“No worries,” she says. “Come get me if you have any trouble.”
Meg settles into the window seat with a pile of picture books she wants to check out. I look around for Ebony, but I don’t see her. I miss her, even though I don’t even know her.
My PowerPoint presentation is all mapped out. I input the data and look for pictures and graphics to download, working until I’m happy with the result. I save it online so I can fine-tune it before I send it to my teacher. West Side Story is on a disc here at the library, so tomorrow I’ll watch it, take notes, and find another film for Sunday. My homework is coming together so well I almost feel happy.
Meg is sleeping on the bench with her head leaning against the window and a blanket of books spread over her tummy. Who do I think I’m fooling? Ebony is right. I’m black and Meg is white. Every librarian in the building knows that we’ve spent five evenings in a row camped out here. We can try to stay hidden, but by now, they’ve all seen us and remember us.
Mom picks us up, and we go back to the office parking lot to camp out. I burrow into our bed tight against Meg, pulling the quilts up around our faces. Black surrounds us and calms me so much my mind drifts to Jack. I see his grin and hear his infectious laugh. I marvel at how he makes me smile, even when I don’t want to. Every moment, every word we’ve shared slides through my head.
Worry drifts away and leaves me with tiny pinpricks of hope. Am I being foolish? Blind to the problems of a relationship? I shove thoughts of him away. Daydreaming about Jack floods me with emotions I can’t handle, at least not now. I fall asleep wrestling with my heart, my head, and my hormones.
I wake up startled and afraid for no reason. Was I deep in a dream that I don’t remember? Is that why sweat makes my hands cold and my face clammy?
Highway traffic hums in the distance. I lay in the dark, listening to Meg’s slow, steady breathing. I open my eyes, push the quilt back, and scoot up on my elbow. Headlights cruise across the parking lot, heading straight for us.
Cops? We’ve dealt with them before. It isn’t a crime to park on the street, but what about an office parking lot? Mom locked Ruby’s doors, so I tell myself not to be scared. We’re safe as long as we’ve got Ruby. The headlights pull up right behind us, flooding us with a bright white glare. Doors slam.
Someone calls, “Check out this piece of junk.”
The lights blind me, making the rest of the world impossible to see.
“Hey, look. There’s somebody inside.”
It isn’t the cops.
“Look. It’s a lady. Maybe two.”
A pale face presses against the side window right in front of me. A scream rises in my throat. I jam wads of quilt against my mouth to muffle my fear. A hideous grin spreads across the face.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
Meg pops up beside me. “Mattie?” I push her under the quilts, covering her mouth with my hand and whispering in her ear. “Shhhhh. They won’t know you’re here.”
The guy presses his lips against the window in a slimy imitation of a kiss. “Party time, girls.”
“Mom.” I whisper. “Get us out of here.”
Mom rips off the quilts wrapped tight around her body. She shoves them onto the passenger seat with our plastic bags of clothes, grabs her pack, and frantically digs through the front pocket for her keys. A dark form grabs Mom’s door handle, yanking it hard enough to rattle the metal. “Open up.”
Three more faces peer into Ruby’s fogged-over windows. Hands grab her door handles, rocking us back and forth on her tires. “Come on out, girls. It’s party time.”
Mom’s hands are shaking so much she’s having trouble getting the key in the ignition. Meg trembles in my arms, her fear so intense I can taste it.
“Mom!” I yell. “Get going!”
Mom turns the key. Ruby’s engine rumbles to life. I suck in a lungful of air, so grateful for Ruby’s new battery t
hat tears spring to my eyes. Mom pops on the lights. That’s when I know we’re trapped.
Laughter erupts all around us. A guy leans close to Mom’s window and gives her a twisted grin. “Oops.”
Ruby’s headlights shine on the grass, trees, and shrubs of a median strip stretched out in front of us. Our taillights outline a car parked so close behind we can’t back around it.
The man keeps peering into the window, inches from Mom’s face. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, pretty thing, so come on out and enjoy yourself.”
“Do something, Mom!” I yell.
The men start rocking Ruby, back and forth, back and forth.
“We’ll wreck the car.” Mom’s words bounce around the interior, hitting windows, doors, seats and reminding us how desperately we depend on Ruby.
The face at Mom’s window disappears. The tension in my neck and shoulders starts to ease, but before I can catch my breath, the man comes back. This time, he holds a baseball bat. “Open the car door, missy, or you’ll wish you had.”
The guy’s weapon sends long fingers of fear into my chest. “Go!” I scream. “Go!”
Mom revs the engine. “Hang on.” She throws Ruby into reverse, and the laughter outside our windows changes to shock and anger. Ruby flies backward, shattering taillights and headlights and crumpling fenders. Voices yell obscenities, and beer bottles crash against our side.
I hold on to Meg, grit my teeth, and brace my legs.
Mom throws Ruby into drive but not fast enough. The guy with the baseball bat connects with the driver’s side window right next to Mom’s head. The glass shatters in a honeycomb of cracks, sending crumbles spraying through the car.
Mom slams her foot down on the gas, and Ruby shoots forward, lurches over the cement curb with a nasty scrape, slides across grass, and crashes through shrubs. Mom keeps her foot to the floor, spins the wheel, and churns through the turf. She jerks the wheel again, and we bump back onto the pavement, scraping along the edge of the curb.
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