The cabinet has more stuff than the refrigerator. I push around some flour, baking soda, bread crumbs, and a can of tomato paste, and behind them all is a half bag of potato chips, which I eat even though they are incredibly stale.
There is yelling in the stairwell.
Sirens wail.
A cockroach scurries along the kitchen floor and under the sink.
I try to turn on the TV, but the remote has so many buttons, it’s hard to figure out. I push the button labeled “Power,” but nothing happens. What the . . . ? I push and push and push, thinking it must take just the right touch, but nothing. Then I start pushing all of the buttons on the remote, one after another. All kinds of commands come up on the screen, but no TV. That’s when I see another remote. I pick it up, press Power, and the screen is lit. I change the channel to HGTV, and there, thankfully, is my favorite show.
I get my blanket and pillow from behind the couch and stretch out. Almost immediately, I start to feel a little cheerier. I feel like I’m there with the young couple who are house hunting. Alongside them I walk into three different houses and ask, Could this be my home?
At the end of the show, the couple have a little party to celebrate their new home. There’s a pitcher of lemonade on the table, and there are lots of platters with veggies and dips and cheese and crackers. Friends and family come to their house and tell them how beautiful it is. The woman points out her favorite corner, where she has a big, puffy chair with pillows. Behind her chair are shelves of books.
And then, suddenly, I start to cry. And not quiet little sniffling, but huge, full-body crying. I don’t care how much noise I make in this echoey apartment that isn’t mine. I don’t care how much snot runs down my face. I just let myself sob.
But I’m not crying because the show reminded me that I don’t have a home.
I am crying because I do have one.
I do have one.
And I miss it.
There is a sudden screeching, and it’s loud — so loud that I know it’s coming from inside the apartment. I blow my nose with a paper towel and search for the source of the noise. It doesn’t take long to figure out that it’s coming from the smoke detector in Nate and Cody’s room. But I can’t see any smoke and I can’t smell a fire. I go over to their open window and look down. There are lots of people standing on the fire escape, smoking. Perhaps the smoke has drifted up here. Someone on the fire escape sees me and waves. I close the window all the way. But even with the window closed, the smoke detector doesn’t stop screeching. It yells, and yells, and yells . . .
I grab a magazine from Nate’s dresser, stand on the bed underneath the smoke detector, and fan the magazine frantically back and forth, back and forth, till it feels like my arm’s going to fall off.
Eventually the wailing stops. I put the magazine back where I found it and wander into the kitchen.
Before I really even know what I’m doing, I pick up the phone and dial Janna’s number.
She answers on the third ring. I tell her where I am and ask if she’ll come get me. That’s all. No small chat, no explanation. Just a question.
She’s silent for a moment, and I hold my breath. “I’ll be right there,” she says.
I hang up and go sit on the couch to wait. Gage will be so mad when he finds out. . . . And hurt. But I can’t help it.
I’ve made up my mind.
Just like that.
I’m going home.
When Janna picks me up and I grab my backpack, she says, “Is that all you need?”
I nod but think, No. No, I need so much more than what is in my backpack. I need a homemade dinner, a warm shower, shampoo that smells like strawberries, a cozy bed. I need a place to keep my things, a place to do homework. I need a routine, a regular bedtime, a place to invite friends to. I need rules, all 465 of them.
I need the Queen of Rules.
“Where did you eat? Where did you sleep?” Janna asks, now that I’ve had a shower and am sitting at the kitchen table. “Did that apartment in the West End, the one where I dropped your things, did it ever belong to you?”
I don’t want to provide details — details that will make it sound even worse than it was, details that will incriminate Gage. I simply shake my head no.
“I should have realized. I should have checked in with you more often. I should have talked with Human Services. I shouldn’t have let my anger and resentment get so out of hand.”
And your hurt feelings, I think but don’t say. ’Cause I realize that a lot of what gets between Janna and Gage is their pride and their hurt feelings.
“It’s funny,” she says as she sets a grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich in front of me. “Before I had you guys, I had all kinds of ideas about how kids should be brought up. When I first met you, I couldn’t believe how lax your mother was. She seemed to ask so little of you and Gage, and you seemed to get away with so much. She never —”
“Gage is a good guy,” I interrupt. “Responsible. We may not have had an apartment, but he took good care of me.”
Janna nods. “You’re right. In some ways, he’s quite mature for a boy his age. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. I was so sure that he was going to turn out to be just like your father — impulsive and headstrong, following his passions and ignoring reality. But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching while you guys were away, and I think I might have misjudged your brother. Maybe your father, too.”
I was tempted to tell Janna that I knew about her and our dad; maybe she’d feel she could open up to me then and explain what actually happened all those years ago, why she’d ripped all those pictures in half. But I worried that the only thing she’d hear was that I’d snooped in her scrapbooks, so I remained quiet, finishing my sandwich and wondering when Gage was going to call.
Wondering if he was going to call.
Before leaving Chloe’s apartment, Janna had called Gage’s phone and left him a message telling him that I was at her house. “Your sister has made a very difficult decision,” she’d said, “and I know that she is worried about disappointing you. It would mean a great deal to her if you would stop by and talk to her. It would mean a great deal to me, too.”
But that was two whole days ago, and he hasn’t come by to see me. He hasn’t even called. I’m starting to worry that I’ll never see my brother again.
But finally, on the third day, he shows up.
Janna answers the door. I am lying on the couch watching House Hunters, which Janna has let me do a lot these past three days — probably because she can see that it’s the only thing that makes me happy now that Gage has given up on me. I prop myself on my elbows when I hear his voice at the front door, but I stay hidden behind some pillows, listening in.
“Thank you for coming,” I hear Janna say.
Gage mutters something in reply, but I can’t make it out. Then: “Is Ari here?”
“She is,” Janna says. “Would you like me to go get her?”
Again, Gage mutters something that’s too low for me to hear. But Janna doesn’t come for me, and I hear chairs scraping across the kitchen floor, so I guess he didn’t say, “Yes, please go get my sister. I miss her terribly!”
“Like I said, this was a very difficult decision for her,” Janna says calmly. “She didn’t want to hurt you.”
“I hate knowing that she lied about staying at Sasha’s because she was trying to take care of me,” says Gage. “It was my job to look after her.”
I want to rush over and interrupt him, but I don’t know what to say.
“It’s not easy looking after a kid,” says Janna. “You make some decent calls, and some that, well . . . let’s just say that making mistakes is a whole lot easier than you think it will be.”
“Yeah, I’d like a couple of do-overs,” says Gage, and then there’s some mumbling that I can’t hear. I picture Janna and Gage nodding in agreement, maybe for the first time ever.
“So, what now?” Gage asks.
“Your room is still av
ailable,” Janna says, which I know is her way of asking him to move back in.
I hold my breath. I want to say please, please, please, but I don’t.
“I think it’d be best for everyone if I lived on my own. My friend West thinks he might be able to set me up with this stability program, which will help get me on my feet. I’ll be able to take classes, maybe even start at Port City Community College.”
“I’d like to help you in any way I can,” says Janna. “I know that we’ve butted heads in the past, but I really do want what’s best for you — and for Ari. You’ll let me know if you need help?” she asks, and her voice is more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it.
Gage mumbles his thanks. I don’t really believe that he would reach out to Janna for help, but at least he isn’t throwing that in her face like in the old days.
“I should talk to Ari now,” he finally says.
“It’s about time!” I say, popping up from the couch.
Gage smiles when he sees me, and I can tell that no matter how sad my decision has made him, no matter how disappointed he is in me, he still loves me.
I’m not prepared for the tears that come when he hugs me, though. “What’s all this?” Gage asks, pulling back to look at me with concern.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” says Janna, and she heads upstairs.
“I’m sorry!” I say, sniffling. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I broke our promise to Mama. I’m sorry I let you down.”
“Ari, Ari,” he soothes, steering me into a chair at the table next to his. “You didn’t let me down. I let you down. I never should have taken you from here without an apartment lined up. And I shouldn’t have left you alone at Chloe’s just so we could go to a stupid concert.”
“You didn’t leave me,” I say. “I tricked you. You thought I was going to Sasha’s.”
“Still,” he says, and then is quiet.
“I need you to know something,” I say. I take a breath. “I didn’t call Janna because I didn’t want to be with you anymore. I loved being with you. But — I know this sounds stupid — but here at Janna’s . . . here I get to be a kid. Just a kid.”
Gage looks into his folded hands as if they hold some sort of answer and then finally nods his head. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a kid.”
Gage and I catch up for a while — he tells me about the concert and Chloe and his job at Jiffy Lube, and I tell him my plans for my presentation — and then Janna reappears, looking tentative.
Gage beckons her into the kitchen with a nod.
“I thought it might be helpful if we were to work out some sort of schedule,” she says. “So you guys can do things together regularly.”
I look at Gage, wondering if he’ll be upset at Janna for wanting to make everything so organized. But his expression remains calm.
“And when I finally get an apartment,” says Gage, “maybe we can talk about this again?”
“Of course,” says Janna.
But I think we all know that I won’t be moving in with Gage. “We don’t have to be in the same house to be family,” I say. “Whether we live together or not, we stick together — right?”
“Right,” says Gage.
“That’s what your mama wanted,” Janna says.
And I know she’s right.
Gage gets up to go. I give him the biggest hug I can, and he’s still got an arm around me when he turns to Janna and says, “There’s something I’ve always wanted to know.”
Janna, who’s busy picking lint off the arm of her sweater, looks up at him.
I stop breathing. His voice is suddenly tense, and I’m afraid he’s going to start another fight, raising tensions all over again.
“Why didn’t you ever adopt us?”
Janna opens her mouth to reply, but no words escape. She closes it again and seems to try out different answers in her mind until she finds just the right one. When she answers, it’s almost a whisper. “I was afraid that if I asked to adopt you, you’d say no.”
That’s not the answer Gage expected, I can tell. He doesn’t say anything right away, like he, too, is thinking carefully. “No one can replace our mom,” he says, but the words aren’t angry and defensive, like they used to be. Instead, they are gentle, reassuring. “But if we’d known . . . if we’d known that’s what you wanted, well, then, maybe that could have been OK.”
Janna’s whole expression softens, as if she’s just realized something huge. “You thought I didn’t want you. You thought I’d taken you and Ari in because I felt obligated to. Oh, Gage.”
She gets up and takes a step toward him. He flinches, but she doesn’t let that stop her.
And then I see something I never thought I’d see.
I see Janna hugging Gage. And I see Gage letting her.
The rumor in the hallways at school is that Crazy Hat Day is going to be this coming Friday, three days from today. Kids whisper the news between classes and clam up whenever a teacher walks by. Daniel asks me why I’m letting Keisha organize Crazy Hat Day when it was my idea in the first place. I tell him that she’ll be able to make it a much bigger success than I ever could.
Besides, I have another idea for how to contribute to one of my favorite Eastland Elementary traditions.
When Gage came over to Janna’s, he brought all of the clothes that I had left at Chloe’s and Briggs’s. He also brought my piggy bank. “Now you can buy something for yourself,” he said.
After school, Janna takes me to the bank, where the coin machine tallies up my savings: $47.23. (“All from collecting coins on the street?” Janna asks incredulously. I smile and tell her that all kinds of valuable things are around us — we just have to open our eyes.)
Next we head to the One Stop Party Shop, where I buy cheap paper chef hats, pipe cleaners, sports decals, flowers, stick-on bull horns, ribbons, googly eyes, and weird little rubber-alien toys. Briggs is working, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see me with Janna, which I guess means that Gage told him that I’d moved back home. He tells me he’s missed having me around, which I think he’s saying just to be nice, and then he offers to let me use his employee discount. Thanks to Briggs, I end up having a little money left over, which I put right back in my piggy bank.
On Thursday, I wait till the end of social studies to approach Mr. O.
“I’m very impressed with your report on Louisa May Alcott,” Mr. O. says, and I feel myself blushing with pride. It’s been a long time since a teacher complimented me on my schoolwork, and I hadn’t realized just how much I missed being a shining star. “Are you all set for your presentation next week?” he asks.
I nod, thinking of the computer classes with Ms. Finch, and how I’m hoping to incorporate some of what I’ve learned there into my presentation next Tuesday.
“Mr. O.,” I begin, hoping I’m not about to ruin the mood. “Remember last week when we talked about civil disobedience?”
Mr. O. cocks an eyebrow. “Yes. . . . What exactly do you have in mind, Arianna?”
I hitch my backpack higher up on my shoulders. “Keisha is organizing a Crazy Hat Day tomorrow,” I confide, hoping that I haven’t misjudged Mr. O. and that he’ll keep it a secret from Mr. Chandler. “And I thought it would be nice if as many people as possible could make hats — not just the kids she thinks to tell about it.”
Mr. O. is nodding along but has yet to say anything.
“So I was wondering if I could set up a crafts table outside your room. I bought all the supplies,” I add in a rush so that he doesn’t think I’m asking him to help with that. “But I thought it would be good to have a place where kids can make their own hats if they want to. That way, no one will feel left out.”
“I don’t think in front of my classroom is an appropriate place for such a table,” Mr. O. says, his expression serious.
My stomach drops. Just like that, I’ve gone from being a shining star to being Arianna Hazard, problem student.
“I think that such a table
really ought to be set up somewhere more central,” he continues. “Like in the front hall.”
I blink. “Near Mr. Chandler’s office?”
“Those who engage in acts of civil disobedience must be very brave,” he says.
“Holy moly!” I whisper. But I know in my heart that he’s right: if Crazy Hat Day is going to be a success, it needs to be front and center, where no one can miss it — especially Mr. Chandler.
“Thanks, Mr. O.! I mean, Mr. O’Neil!” I say, practically skipping out of his room.
“Just stay away from the glitter!” Mr. O. calls after me.
I’m excited to tell Daniel about my hat-making-table idea, but when I find him during lunch, he looks unconvinced.
“I don’t know . . .” he says, picking at his hot lunch. “Won’t people think it’s kind of lame?”
I scoff. “Since when do you care if people think something’s lame?” I ask. I actually mean it as a compliment; Daniel is one of the bravest kids I know, always willing to march to his own drumbeat even if it means being laughed at or being sent to the principal’s office. But I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t take it that way.
“I don’t really care if people like Keisha and Sasha think it’s lame,” I say. “I want to have a station for kids who want to make a crazy hat but maybe can’t afford to, or who weren’t told about Crazy Hat Day because Keisha didn’t think they were cool enough to be looped in. The whole point of Crazy Hat Day is that everybody gets to do it, not just the cool, popular kids.”
Daniel looks at me like he’s trying to figure me out. Maybe it’s because up until recently, I was basically one of those cool, popular kids — never quite as popular as Keisha and her crew, but not exactly someone who worried about what the poor kids or the unpopular kids were going through.
And suddenly I decide that I want someone — I want Daniel — to know what’s changed.
I take a deep breath and tell him that for the past six weeks, Gage and I were on our own, hopping from place to place, sometimes staying at shelters, sometimes eating at the soup kitchen. At first I hear my voice waver ’cause I’m embarrassed to be admitting all of this, but the more I talk and the more Daniel listens without judging, the more I realize that I don’t have to be ashamed of my truth. That Gage and I were still the same people we’d always been, even if the circumstances we were living in looked pretty different.