Jack looks at Meg and drops to one knee. “And you must be Princess Megan.”
Meg claps her hands and giggles, falling for the whole Prince Charming act. I roll my eyes and hiss at him, “No fair winning over my little sister.”
Jack throws me a quirky grin but turns right back to Meg.
Meg is so excited she can’t stand still. “I am Megan.” She giggles again. “But I’m not a real princess. Just a pretend princess.”
Jack shifts his packages into one hand and takes Meg by the other. “You look real to me, Princess Megan.” He bows over her hand. “Sir Jackson Blake, at your service.”
Meg throws me a smile so brilliant that, for one tiny second, I forget all the crummy bits of reality beating at our lives. Jack stands up, but he doesn’t let go of Meg’s hand. She smiles up at him with such an adoring look that I know he’s won her over forever.
I scowl at him. “Seriously. You’re not playing fair.”
Jack laughs, shaking his head. “Not true. I told you I always wanted a little sister.” He swings her hand. “How about lunch, Princess Megan? Are you as hungry as I am?”
Meg’s eyes shoot over to me. “Can we, Mattie? Please?”
My throat goes dry. “We need to go to the library, Meg.”
Meg’s shoulders slump and her face wrinkles into a frown. “But I’m so tired of the library.” She looks up at Jack. “We don’t have a house anymore so we spend hours and hours and hours sitting in the library reading books.”
My heart stops—quits pumping blood through my arteries and organs and all the tissue in my body. I squeeze my eyes shut and expect to collapse on the floor, dead of heart failure at sixteen.
Meg keeps right on blabbing. “Mattie made peanut butter sandwiches, but we have them all the time. And I mean all the time because the peanut butter and the bread won’t get all rotten and stinky in the car.”
I open my eyes. Jack looks straight at me. His face and body are so tense he might as well be frozen in place. Only his eyes are alive, boring deep into mine. I want to grab Meg and run, but a vision of Mom carrying Meg to Walmart slaps me in the head. I press my lips together, lift my chin, and meet his gaze straight on.
Jack’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Then it’s settled.” He keeps looking at me a long time before he glances at Meg. “Your pick, Princess.”
Meg turns to me, the frown flying right off her face. “Please, Mattie? Please?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and somehow manage to nod. Meg grabs both of our hands like the three of us are one happy little family. She pulls us toward the food court, dragging us past every fast-food restaurant in the place before choosing McDonald’s, like I knew she would. Jack squats by her to read the menu, and Meg picks out her Happy Meal. He stands up, turning to me.
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
Jack’s jaw clenches, and the soft blue of his eyes turns flinty and dark.
“Mattie.” He doesn’t say anything else, just looks at me, long and hard. I pull my eyes away.
“Big Mac,” I say.
Jack buys the whole meal deal. Fries. Drinks. Even chocolate chip cookies for dessert. We find a table and spread out our lunch. Jack asks Meg about school, and that launches her into enough chatter to fill up the entire meal. Jack sits across the table from me, his attention only leaving me long enough to ask Meg another question or to pick up a french fry.
I want to trust him. To know he won’t go back to school and tell all his friends that I’m homeless, living in a car. By high school, we should be beyond all the hateful garbage kids throw at each other, but I know better. Bad things still happen to people that are poor or different or don’t fit in with the rest of the crowd.
I gather up the mess from our lunch. “Time to go, Megs.”
Her whole body droops. “Do we have to?”
I nod and stand up. Jack jumps to his feet, grabs the tray out of my hand, and takes it over to the garbage can. When he comes back, I stand there, gripping my backpack with both hands and wondering what happens next. Jack knows I’m homeless, knows I belong in a totally different class of people than him. Inviting us to lunch was kind and polite, but now it’s over. At school, he can fade away and never speak to me again.
Meg jumps up and down. “This was the bestest lunch I ever had. Ever. Ever. Ever.”
Jack leans down and takes both of Meg’s hands. “I totally agree, Princess Megan.”
Jack straightens up and looks at me with such a sad, sweet smile that I have to turn away. “Thanks, Jack,” I say.
“That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” Jack’s voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper.
I sling my pack over one shoulder, grab Meg’s hand, and pull her away. “We’ll miss our bus.”
Jack falls in beside me. “I can drive you.”
“No.” I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, not daring to spend another second looking into his heart-stopping blue eyes.
“I’ll walk with you, then.”
“No, Jack.” I look straight at him. “Please. Just let us go.”
Jack wrinkles up his face in a look of such worry and sadness I can barely hold my head up. “You … you can stay at our house, or … or my parents can find you a place to rent, or … or … ”
I shake my head and start walking away, but he reaches over and grabs my hand. I try to pull away, but he hangs on, yanking a pen out of his pants pocket and writing a phone number across my palm.
When he finishes, he keeps holding onto my hand. “Call me if you need anything. Please?” He peers at me, his face twisted with worry. “Anything, you understand? Just tell me what you need and I’ll come running.”
Meg’s arms hang at her side. “Goodbye, Sir Jackson Blake.”
Jack lets go of my hand, squats down, and takes both of her hands in his. “Goodbye, Princess Megan. I hope to see you soon, okay?”
Meg throws her arms around his neck and gives him one of her biggest, sweetest hugs. “I like you a lot, Sir Jackson Blake.”
“I like you too, Princess.” Jack turns to me, taking my hand and leaning so close I’m scared he’ll kiss me. “See you on Monday, Mattie?”
It’s only when I nod that he lets go. As we walk away, I wonder if Jack is just being kind, or if it really doesn’t matter to him that I live in a car.
Chapter Fifteen
Meg and I step off the bus at the downtown station and walk across the street to the library. The place feels like home; I guess because it is. We settle into the teen section so I can watch West Side Story on the computer and Meg can curl up on the window seat with her books. I take notes on the movie and finish most of my English assignment while the afternoon drifts away.
Romeo and Juliet and West Side Story are so romantic, yet tragic, that I can’t help but think of Jack and me. Are we star-crossed lovers, meeting at the wrong time and under the wrong circumstances? Would there be hope for us if I lived in a house in the suburbs and Mom had a stable income? Could our relationship work if we were older and wiser and had our lives all figured out?
I tell myself Jack is just a friend, but no other boy had ever made me feel so warm and comfortable. None of those other boys made my heart beat faster or my palms go all damp and sweaty when I looked at them. Jack’s wide, quirky grin lights up my whole body, bringing a smile to my lips and softening my core to jelly. I shove his image into an imaginary closet in the back of my mind and slam the door. I can’t go there. Not now. Not yet.
As the day wears on, my mind spins in other circles. What if the Mission is full? Can we find a room in another shelter? Before I know it, my stomach is doing backflips, and my body feels like it’s dissolving into a puddle of useless skin and bone and flesh, and the inside of me—the real me—will blow apart in a million pieces.
I can’t sit still. At four, I say, “Let’s mo
ve to the children’s section, Meg.” Mom gets off work at five. She’ll have to pick up Ruby at the garage, so I don’t expect her before five thirty. The library closes at six—plenty of time for her to get here.
For the first hour, I don’t watch the clock, but by five, I find myself constantly glancing at it. What if Mom couldn’t get Ruby fixed and had to leave her in the shop? Can we get to the Mission on the bus? I know I’m being ridiculous, worrying about stuff that may never happen, but my mind churns out question after question no matter how hard I try to calm down.
Five thirty comes and goes, and I tell myself everything is fine. I check my phone. No texts. No missed calls. At a quarter to six, a man’s voice fills the library: “Please exit the main doors. The library will close in fifteen minutes.”
Meg’s head pops up from the book she’s reading, her eyes round and worried. I give her a tight smile. “Mom had to pick up Ruby at the garage.” I pull her to her feet. “We’ll wait by the door.”
We pack away our books, go to the bathroom, and walk to the front door. After a few minutes of waiting, we follow another family outside so it isn’t as obvious we’re alone. I send Mom a text, telling her we’re outside, but there’s no response.
By six, daylight is fading, which leaves the street a charcoal gray. Streetlights flick on, filtering white light through the Oregon mist and making the sidewalks shine as if they’ve been polished. Passing cars whiz by, splashing water over the curb.
I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed anything. I could send another text, but what would I say? Using up phone minutes to rehash the exact same message would be a waste of money.
I guide Meg into the shadows against the library wall. We’re under an overhang, but it’s high above us and doesn’t keep the damp and mist from soaking into my sweatshirt.
Night sinks over the street. In the glare of streetlights and cars, water droplets sparkle like diamonds against the black velvet of night. The scene reminds me of the twinkling bracelets and necklaces under the department store glass, but I can’t enjoy the beauty of it. I’m too scared.
Patrons leaving the library hustle to cars or walk quickly down the street to catch the bus. Envy jabs at me. These people probably have a home, a house with a comfy chair to sit and read the books they haul away. They eat their meals at a table and sleep in a warm bed. In the mornings, they go into the bathroom to brush their teeth and take a shower, and their four walls and roof keep them warm, dry, safe, and happy. We wait and listen to the people chatter and laugh as they head out into the night.
A tall guy with dark curly hair and a black leather jacket exits the building. I can tell by his clothes he’s the pushy guy from the magazine section on Thursday. Two girls—a little younger than me, but dressed way older in short skirts and tight leggings—walk beside him. I shield Meg with my body, not wanting them to see us, and we shrink deeper into the dark of our corner.
The three of them turn toward us, heading down the sidewalk, away from the library. I duck my head and hide my face in the hood of my sweatshirt. Moving could call attention to our hiding spot, so I freeze in place and hope the guy doesn’t spot us. The three walk across the street. I relax and breathe, long and slow.
The last of the library users exit the building. The doors lock behind them and the lights blink out, one floor at a time. I call Mom instead of texting. No answer. The darkness deepens. We wait.
“Is Mommy okay?” Meg’s voice quivers.
“She probably had a flat tire, or Ruby took a little longer to get fixed. Don’t worry, Meg, everything will be okay.” I say the words as if I mean them, but fear twists at me until I ache to throw my head back and scream. Everything’s not all right. Mom would call or text. And even if she’s fine and drives up this very instant, we’re still living on the street, getting more and more bogged down by our problems.
I peer through the mist, staring at the traffic and hoping to see Ruby chugging toward us. I pull out my phone and dial the 7-Eleven. A guy answers.
“Is Rita Rollins still on duty?” I say.
“Nope,” says the guy. “Left when I came in.”
My stomach lurches. “How long ago was that?”
“Almost two hours, I guess.”
Acid rises in the back of my throat. “Thanks.” I swallow, hit the end button, and take a ragged breath to settle my nerves.
Meg clutches my hand. “Is Mommy coming?”
“She’s getting Ruby fixed.” I rub Meg’s back. “Don’t worry, Meg. She’ll come.”
My explanation is meant to make Meg feel better, but it sounds hollow, especially to me. Mom isn’t like some parents, leaving their kids to wonder where they are or what they’re doing. When Mom’s late, she calls or sends a text and expects us to do the same. She gives us last-minute instructions and tells us to sit tight until she gets to us, but she never leaves us wondering. Mom takes care of us.
Something’s wrong.
Meg and I sink against the wall of the library. The jerks that attacked us last night would know Ruby on sight; Mom could be on the side of a deserted road right now, fighting them off. My hands shake. I rest my lips against Meg’s head and breathe in the scent of her hair.
The people that drift by terrify me. What if some psycho or grungy old drunk or spaced-out druggie comes after us? Where do we run—the bus station? It’s down the street. Could we run fast enough? I keep Meg as deep into the shadows as I can.
Meg squeezes my arm. “Why doesn’t Mommy call us?”
I lean over and lay my head on top of hers. “Maybe her phone is dead.”
“She could borrow the garage man’s.”
I’ve always been able to make Meg feel better, to ease her worries and wash away her fears. Not this time. Anything I say would be phony, even to a kid her age. Plus, my throat is too dry to speak.
Meg doesn’t complain, cry, or do what any normal six-year-old would do when they’re tired, hungry, and totally scared. Instead, she presses against my side, wraps both arms around my waist, and buries her face against my soggy sweatshirt.
A car pulls up to the curb. I can’t see damage to the front end, but that doesn’t mean the creeps from last night aren’t out looking for us. They could be using another guy’s car, or this car could have a whole new creep in it, just waiting for his opportunity. I beat back my anxiety, tightening my grip to keep Meg from moving. The car idles at the edge of the street. No one gets out, no one hurries toward it. It just sits. I wait and watch. The car finally pulls away. My knees wobble, but I close my eyes and force myself to be strong.
I slide my hand into my pocket and pull out my phone. Seven forty-nine. I could send another text, but I’m worried about the minutes. Fewer and fewer people walk by. That means there aren’t as many possible weirdos who could spot us, but there are also fewer people around who could help if we get attacked. We wait.
“I’m hungry.” Meg mumbles the words against my sweatshirt like she doesn’t want to lay another burden on my shoulders.
I slide my backpack off my shoulder. “Supper coming right up,” I whisper. I unzip my pack and pull out the peanut butter sandwiches we were going to eat for lunch. I hand one to Meg and take another for myself. Meg plows right into hers. I take a bite and try to chew. The wad of dough just sits there. I force my mouth to move. Make my teeth press up and down. Push the food down my throat. I slide the rest of the sandwich back in the baggie and stuff it into my pack.
Meg hands me her empty bag. “I’m glad your boyfriend bought us lunch, Mattie.”
Boyfriend? My mouth opens in protest, but I snap it shut and swallow the words. Would Jack be my boyfriend if I let him? Can I be that close to him and not end up ruining my plans for a better life? Would I end up a single parent like Mom, struggling to keep a roof over my head?
Meg wraps her arms around me and lays her head against my side. We lean agai
nst the wall and wait. I should tell her a story, one where her job is to assign names to all the characters and animals I make up—she loves that. But I can’t do it; I’m too numb. Besides, our voices would draw attention from anybody wandering along the street, and I don’t want to risk it.
Meg grows tired and slumps against me. Her small body gets heavier as she falls into a troubled sleep. I will my muscles and bones to stand strong and still, telling myself time goes slowly when you wait and what feels like days or even weeks is only minutes.
The reason Mom hasn’t picked us up isn’t because she got tired of raising two kids on her own and decided to ditch us. I know that as sure as I know the fear that grips my heart. Mom would come if she could. Sobs well up in my throat, threatening to explode into the quiet of the night. I press them deep into the pit of my gut.
If Meg and I don’t have Mom, where will we go? We don’t have family. Every time I ask about relatives she says we’re better off alone. All those grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins that other kids have for backup don’t exist for us.
Jack gave me his phone number. I could call him, but then what? He rides in on a white horse and carries Meg and me off to his house? I’ve only known the guy a few days. He seems kind and thoughtful and said he would do anything to help me, but Mom has met lots of charming guys that turned out to be jerks. Jack hasn’t shared where he lives or anything about his parents. I don’t know if I can trust him yet.
Loud, rowdy voices mix with the buzz of cars splashing through puddles. A group of teenagers storm down the sidewalk, acting crazy and wild. Ugly words fly back and forth, like spewing out bad language is some kind of sick contest they all want to win. The group laughs at their own stupid antics and push each other around. I barely breathe. These teens are my age, but they’re acting feral.
They don’t move on like everyone else has. The library is dark, but they hang out by the front windows playing king of the hill on the bench near the door. The boys knock each other off, pushing and shoving. The girls pass a bottle back and forth. One of them lights up a cigarette, and the rest howl, demanding cigarettes too.
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