Daniel looks at me sympathetically. After a long silence, he says softly, “But why do you want to go there?”
I open my mouth, expecting the answer to be right there, on the tip of my tongue. But nothing comes out. I close my mouth and think about it — really think about it.
“I’ve lost a lot of things in my life,” I say slowly. “Right now, I still have Eastland Elementary. I belong here. But after that . . .”
I pause for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. “To me, Carter feels like a place where I could belong. It’s where everyone in my family went — Mama and Dad, Gage, even Janna. It’s a part of my history, but it’s also my future.” I shrug, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Anyway, that’s why I want to go to Carter.”
Daniel is smiling, and I think he’s going to make fun of me. But instead he says, “And that’s why you care about the Eastland traditions.”
He’s right. I never did work up the courage to say as much to Mr. Chandler, but to me, the Eastland Elementary traditions aren’t just about getting to stop work to cut paper or wearing funny hats. They’re also about feeling like you belong somewhere. That you’re part of a shared history, part of a family.
“So, when do you want to do Crazy Hat Day?” Daniel asks.
I laugh. Somehow I don’t think Mr. Chandler intended for us to hatch our next plot while sitting in detention. But what do I have to lose at this point, really? I’ve already got one detention on my record. And if it’s too late for me to get into Carter, at least it’s not too late for me to revive another of my favorite Eastland traditions.
Together, Daniel and I make a plan for the next step of our campaign. Then, just as we’re leaving, I point to another Louisa May Alcott quote from my notes. “This one makes me think of you,” I tell Daniel shyly.
He reads it silently:
A faithful friend is a strong defense; And he that hath found him hath found a treasure.
And when he smiles, it really is like finding a treasure.
After I’ve served my detention, I take the bus to the Port City library, where Gage is going to pick me up. (I’m not supposed to go back to Head Start until I’ve been free of the flu for two more days.) When I get to the library, I find a carrel and pull out my application to Carter. On our way out of the school, Daniel had persuaded me that I should still at least apply. “It doesn’t cost you anything,” he’d said, and I wondered how much he knew about my situation. “And the worst that could happen is that you don’t get in — which is what will definitely happen if you don’t even bother to apply.”
He had some good points.
There they are again — those spaces on the application that demand an address. I suppose I could write in Briggs’s address, but that might get him in trouble. I could put down Chloe’s address, but what if Gage and Chloe break up? I’m worried about that. We haven’t seen much of Chloe lately — not since Gage got his job at Jiffy Lube. I wonder if they had a fight or if Gage is too proud to crash with her now that he should be able to afford a place of his own.
I could write in Janna’s address, but the last thing I want is my acceptance or rejection letter being sent to Janna’s place. She’d want to know why I used her address instead of Briggs’s — which she thinks is our address. And that’s assuming she’d even bother letting me know that a letter came in the first place.
We need an apartment! That’s all there is to it. We need to figure this out!
I look up at the clock on the wall. I still have an hour before Gage gets here. I walk up to Mrs. Getchel at the front desk and ask her for the address of the Housing Authority.
“The Housing Authority, dear?”
I nod. She doesn’t say anything else. That’s the great thing about librarians; they’ll help you find information without being too nosy. She writes the address down on a scrap of paper, and right away I recognize the street. It’s quite far from here, in one of the really pretty neighborhoods, which seems a little inconsiderate. Not only do most of the people who need to fill out forms with the Housing Authority likely need to pay to take the bus there, but then they have to pass by a bunch of beautiful homes that they’ll never be able to afford. Why not place the Housing Authority office closer to the shelters?
“Is there anything else I can help you with, dear?” Mrs. Getchel asks in a very kind voice.
I decide to be brave. “I need some housing forms so my family can get a voucher,” I say. “But I don’t have the time or the money to go all the way to the other side of the city.”
She thinks for a moment. “Perhaps the forms are online.”
Why didn’t I think of that?
“Do you want me to help you look?”
“That’s OK,” I say. “If they’re online, I can find them.”
It costs twenty-five cents per page to use the printer at the library. I hope the forms are short.
There is a lot to read on the Housing Authority site, and it looks like there’s maybe even more than one program that Gage and I qualify for. They all have a waiting period, though, so they recommend applying to more than one at the same time. There’s a faster program that would help us if we were living in the shelter, but unfortunately, living in the shelter isn’t an option for us.
I’ve just finished reading all of the information and have pulled up the voucher application form when Gage walks up behind me.
“What are you doing, B’Neatie?”
“I found the Housing Authority forms!”
Gage looks over my shoulder and frowns. “Didn’t I tell you that I would take care of that?”
“Yeah, but I thought —”
“Come on,” he says. He turns and walks back out through the double doors.
I click out of the page, grab my backpack, and race after him. “Wait up, Gage!” I yell as soon as I’m on the street.
He turns and faces me. “Don’t you think I want an apartment, too? Don’t you think that I am just as tired as you are of never knowing where I’m going to sleep each night? Don’t you think I’m doing everything I possibly can?”
He starts walking — to where, I don’t even know.
“I was just trying to help!” I shout.
No response.
“I was just trying to help, Gage!”
And I realize, as soon as the words are out of my mouth, that those are the same words Janna used all the time. “I’m just trying to help, Gage.”
Gage hated Janna’s help and told her he didn’t need it, but she never stopped trying to give it to him. Maybe Gage resented the implication that he couldn’t handle things on his own. Or maybe accepting Janna’s help made Gage feel disloyal to Mama.
I never did understand why Janna and Gage couldn’t seem to get along, why they were like two stubborn elk, butting heads and locking horns over every little thing. But as I walk behind Gage, I think back on the pictures in Janna’s scrapbook. I think of the big secret I uncovered, of our dad dating Janna before he married Mama. I wonder if Gage knew all about that. I wonder what else Gage knows that I don’t.
It turns out that we’re going to Chloe’s, which makes me happy. And once we’re on the bus, Gage has cooled down, which also makes me happy. By the time we reach Chloe’s house, he’s back to being his old self. When we enter the building, he pauses to slip out of his Jiffy Lube jumpsuit and put on some deodorant.
“Can I use some, too?” I ask apprehensively.
He starts to laugh but stops himself. “Sure,” he says, handing it over. “But you’ll smell like me.”
“Then maybe Chloe will fall in love with me, too,” I tease, struggling a little to apply the deodorant with my shirt still on.
Gage shakes his head. “Come on, dork,” he says, climbing the stairs to her apartment. “You don’t need deodorant to get Chloe to love you. She already does. But we’ll see about getting you some of your own.”
Nate answers the door. “Hey, guys,” he says. “Chloe! Company!” he calls over his shoulder.
br /> Chloe’s sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. Next to her is a guy I’ve never seen before.
“Hey,” Chloe says, jumping down from her stool and running to hug Gage. “Did we make plans?” she asks, looking confused.
“No, I just miss you.” Gage looks over at the guy in the kitchen. “Thought I’d see if I could take you out for dinner.”
“Tonight?” she asks.
Gage’s face falls, and I’m sure mine does, too. “Yeah, tonight. You got plans?”
She nods reluctantly. “Wyatt and I are working on a project tonight,” she says, gesturing toward the mystery man.
“Due tomorrow,” Wyatt adds.
“You don’t have time to stop for dinner?” Gage asks. But he and I both know that we didn’t come here just for dinner. And I think Chloe knows it, too.
“I’m sorry, babe. We were just going to order in and work through the night. But you guys are welcome to stay if you want.”
“Nah, we’d just be in the way,” says Gage. “We’ll peace. Come on, Ari.”
Chloe gives Gage a kiss, but he pulls away after only a second. And just like that, we’re back on the streets.
“Where to next?” I ask. “Briggs’s?”
Gage doesn’t say anything. His sour mood is back.
“Briggs’s?” I say louder.
Gage shakes his head no. “His landlord has him freaked out.”
“Perry and Kristen’s?” I’m trying to keep up with Gage.
“I don’t know what’s up with Perry. He hasn’t answered my calls for a few days.” Gage slows down. “How about Sasha? Do you think you could stay with her tonight?”
I start to say no — Sasha’s hardly talked to me in forever — but maybe I could tell her everything tonight. Maybe that would help get us back to being best friends.
“Do you want to call her?” Gage asks.
Feeling full of wishfulness, I take the phone.
Marianna answers. “Why, Ari,” she says, “don’t you have Sasha’s new cell number? Or do old habits simply die hard? Hold on — I’ll get her.”
“Hey, Ari,” Sasha says a few moments later. “What’s up?” But there’s no happiness in her voice. It’s like she’s a balloon and all the air has been sucked out of her. I feel my wishfulness start to fade.
“Can I come over tonight?” I say. “It would be fun to catch up, and I have something important to tell you.”
“Can it wait? I have lots of homework. Plus, my mother is making me finish the Carter application.”
“We could do it together!” I say. “I only just started filling out mine.”
There is a long silence on the phone.
“Um, I don’t think so. Keisha and I had a long talk today, Ari, and well, she thinks — and I guess I agree — that you’ve become kind of weird lately. You never invite me over to Janna’s anymore, and you’re always hanging out with Daniel. I mean, you didn’t even tell me about the snowflakes thing! What kind of a friend does that? So I’ve been thinking that maybe we need to make other friends. Especially since we’re about to go off to different middle schools.”
Different middle schools. The words are like daggers.
I can feel Gage looking at me, and I turn away, blinking back tears.
“Anyway, I’m glad you called. I’ve been wanting to get this off my chest for a while, but you kept ignoring my messages.”
Messages I never got because the only number Sasha knew to call was Janna’s. But it’s too late to try to explain things now. She has already broken up with me.
“Yeah, OK,” I say, and hang up. No doubt Sasha and Keisha will be dissecting this call tomorrow, discussing how I didn’t even say good-bye.
I turn back to Gage and shake my head, handing him the phone.
Gage doesn’t say anything. We walk together in silence, the light growing dim around us.
“Let’s get to the soup kitchen,” he says, “before it closes.”
I don’t even bother to nod. I’ve already gone invisible.
Fortunately, the line outside the soup kitchen isn’t long. I’m standing behind Gage, waiting to enter the basement of the stone church and thinking about the first question on the Carter application: How would other people describe you? Holy moly, what a question! It seems to me that it would depend on who the other person was. I try to think of one-word answers that people I know might give:
Gage: persistent
Mademoiselle: disappointing
Ms. Finch: sneaky
Mr. O.: I’m not sure. Two weeks ago he might have said irresponsible. But if I turn in my rough draft tomorrow — and if we stay at Lighthouse tonight, I should be able to finish it — he might change his word to hardworking.
Mr. Chandler: delinquent
Sasha: That one’s easy. Weird
Daniel:
I’m trying to carefully choose my word for Daniel when suddenly something or someone barrels into my legs. I nearly fall over.
It’s Omar!
“Where. Have. You. Been?” he demands.
I’d forgotten that Omar’s family sometimes comes here to the soup kitchen. “I was sick,” I tell him. “I have to make sure that I’m all better before coming back to Head Start.”
Gage, who has been busy texting someone — Chloe, I imagine, or maybe Perry or Briggs — turns around just as Omar’s mother comes up the line to get her son.
“Sorry about that, Ari,” she says. “He’s been asking about you every single day. We told him you were sick, but I think he was afraid you’d disappeared!”
“Oh, it’s no problem,” I say. “I’ve missed him, too! But I should be back soon,” I promise Omar.
Omar and his mother move back in line to where his dad was holding a spot, while Gage and I pass through the doorway. Inside, the line continues to weave along the wall until it reaches the serving table. Already, many of the tables in the center of the room are filled with people gobbling down their warm meal. I try to see what’s on their plates tonight, but I’m not close enough yet.
I think about Omar as we meander closer and wonder if he and his family are living at the family shelter — or perhaps one of the long-term motels. Chloe’s roommate Cody once suggested to Gage that we rent a motel room, but Gage said that you end up paying so much money for rent and fast food (most motels only have a microwave in the room, if that) that it’s nearly impossible to save enough money to move out of it.
Good smells are coming from the kitchen, and word has passed back to us that tonight’s dinner is beef-vegetable soup, bread, corn dogs, salad, and dessert.
“What kind of dessert?” I hear Omar say from somewhere behind me.
I smile and shuffle forward with the line, almost as excited as Omar about tonight’s menu. The earlier tension between me and Gage has eased with time, and even the sting of Chloe’s rejection has dulled. Maybe tonight won’t be such a bad night after all.
And that’s when I see her. Standing at the back of the room, ladling out soup to the masses, is Keisha. As in Sasha’s new best friend, Keisha. Volunteering at the soup kitchen on the exact night when Gage and I decide to come by.
“I’m not hungry,” I say to Gage, ducking behind him and hoping that Keisha hasn’t already caught sight of me.
“What?” Gage says somewhat loudly.
“I don’t feel good. I’ll wait outside.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
I peek around Gage’s shoulder. Keisha’s dad is looking over, but Keisha is busy portioning out soup.
I shake my head. “I think I just need to get some fresh air,” I say. “Can you get me a plate, though? I changed my mind about not being hungry,” I say, and then hightail it out of there without waiting for an answer.
On the street, I bump into Reggie and Amelia. “Hey, Ari,” he says. “Coming to dinner?”
“My brother is getting me food,” I say. “I needed some fresh air. I’ve been under the weather lately,” I add, which isn’t really a
lie. “Would you like me to watch Amelia while you eat?”
“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Reggie says. “I bet Amelia would like that.”
Reggie pulls a leash from his backpack. I take it from him, intending to walk Amelia up and down the block a few times, but I don’t get far, because people keep stopping us. I’m amazed at how many folks on the way to the soup kitchen recognize her, want to give her a pat. An older woman and a boy about my age have both saved dog treats — the kinds that you can get for free at the bookstore or the coffee shop — for Amelia.
It’s getting cold and I’m beginning to see my breath when Reggie comes back and tells me that Gage is waiting for me on the steps of Lighthouse. “I hope you’re hungry, because he’s got quite a plate of food for you!”
I am pretty hungry, I realize. “Thanks for letting me walk Amelia,” I say, patting her on the head one last time, reluctant to leave her side. Also, a small part of me is hoping that Reggie might ask if we want to stay in his storage unit tonight.
“I’m the one doing the thanking here,” he says, smiling broadly. Just then, a young couple with a little baby approach us.
“Reggie!” the woman says, hugging him warmly. The man shakes Reggie’s hand while the baby gurgles at Amelia.
“Mary, Travis, I’d like you to meet my friend Ari. Ari, this is Mary, Travis, and their daughter, Sarah.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, feeling suddenly shy, like I’m a third wheel. I should have known that lots of people would know Reggie, too, if so many people knew Amelia. But somehow I guess I’d thought that he was my secret.
“Thanks again, Ari,” Reggie says, and he walks off with the small family. As they go, I hear Reggie say, “It’s not the Taj Mahal, but it’s warm. . . .”
And I realize that just as Reggie isn’t my secret, neither is his little home. I picture the family of three all warm and snuggly there — probably with Amelia, too.
Gage is right where Reggie said he’d be. He’s spread out on the top step of Lighthouse — a bowl of soup on each side of him and a takeout bag in his lap. He lifts up one of the bowls and I plunk down beside him.