Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless (13 page)

"Naturally, I can't tell my mom about it." She makes a face. "She is so freaking conservative; she'd have a total fit."

"She sounds like the opposite of my mom," I confess.

Genevieve gets a sad look. She is one of the few people on the planet who knows about my situation. Not everything, of course, but she knows about my loser mom. "Still haven't heard from her?"

I shake my head. Then to change the subject, I tell her about the upcoming dance. "I really want to go, but it's going to be so expensive. I'm thinking I should just forget it."

"Why does it have to be expensive? Doesn't the guy pay for most of it? Or has that all changed since I was in school?"

"Oh, you know, dress ... shoes ... it all takes money." I haven't told Genevieve about the eviction or how I'm "camping" in a van. I'm not sure if it's because I don't totally trust her or if it's my pride.

"Hey, I have some old formals." She studies me. "I'm guessing we're about the same size. Want to borrow one?"

I consider this. An "old" formal sounds a bit dismal. I imagine pink puffs and ruffles and am about to say "thanks but no thanks."

"Yeah, yeah . . ." She rolls her eyes. "I know what you're thinking. That they'll be like ugly bridesmaid dresses. But I swear they're not bad. One of them is actually kind of elegant in a little-black-dress sort of way." She holds her index fingers and thumbs like she's framing me. "In fact, you'd probably look very classy in it. Put your hair up, some fake diamonds. Very Audrey Hepburn."

Okay, now my interest is piqued. "Really?"

She nods. "Yeah. It's a very sweet dress. Great lines, sequins, really sweet. It's so cool that I've actually worn it a few times. I might even wear it again if Adam ever looks like he's getting ready to pop the question. Or maybe for New Year's."

"Are you sure you want to loan it out?"

"Why not? You seem like a very nice person, Adele. I'm sure you'll return it to me in the same condition that-"

"I could get it dry-cleaned afterward."

She waves her hand. "Oh, that probably won't be necessary."

"But I need to check with Isabella first."

"You're going to the dance with a chick?"

I laugh. "No. But Isabella is my friend, and she wants our dresses to go together."

"So call her."

Now I explain about my cell phone and she hands me hers, but then I realize I'll probably have to lie about my mom in front of Genevieve. So I quickly explain about my rich friends and how they wouldn't understand about my runaway mom. "So I've kind of made some stuff up about her being sick."

Genevieve just shrugs. "Hey, I don't blame you a bit." And so with her listening in, I call Isabella.

"Who's Genevieve?" Isabella asks me after I say hello. She must've seen the name on her caller ID.

"She's a nurse at the hospital," I say, which isn't a complete lie. "She let me borrow her phone."

"Oh good. So, how's your mom doing?"

"She's a little better. And it sounds like if she improves, they'll move her to a nursing-care facility until she gets strong enough to go home."

"That's great news."

"Anyway, Mom thinks I should go to the dance and

Isabella lets out a happy yelp.

"And I found this dress online that's really cool. Kind of a little black dress with sequins -very Audrey Hepburn."

"Ooh, that sounds perfect."

"Okay. I guess I'll order it then."

"Better have them ship it next day. Just in case."

"Yes, I'll do that."

"Oh, I'm so glad you get to go. Give your mom a kiss for me!"

"I will." We say good-bye and I hand the phone back to Genevieve, then blow a kiss in the air.

"What's that?"

"A kiss from Isabella for my mom."

Genevieve laughs. "You are going to look totally hot in my dress. Make sure you get some photos at the dance."

I reach out and hug her. "Thank you! You're like my fairy godmother."

She hugs me back. "I'd offer to loan you some shoes, but I really don't have any that look good enough to go with that dress right now. Plus, I doubt we're the same size. I have really big feet."

"I'll splurge on new shoes."

"Cool."

And then it's time to go back to work. But thinking about that Audrey Hepburn dress has me so happy that I temporarily forget my life is such a mess. It's not until I punch my time card and realize I'm going home-"home" to Darth Vader-that the old heaviness returns. And honestly, if River Woods had an empty bed, I would consider climbing in and pretending to be a resident. I've actually considered grabbing a shower here, but I'm afraid I'd get caught and have to explain myself. And what if I lost my job? That's a risk I can't afford.

Worried I could run into Lindsey at the library, I go to a coffee shop to study tonight. But first I put twenty bucks' worth of fuel into Darth Vader. Next I go to the cell phone store at the strip mall and make a payment, which gets my phone service back. It's not so much that I need a cell phone myself, although my friends are a little worried; mostly I'm getting concerned about my mom. What if she's trying to get ahold of me? And as unrealistic as it seems, I keep expecting her to call and tell me what's up. Like I think she's going to show up and magically put our messed-up lives back together.

I finish my math, but despite two cups of bad coffee, since I can't go into Starbucks for fear of seeing someone I know, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open to read The Grapes of Wrath. If I still had a TV and DVD player (or a home), I'd be tempted to just watch the movie. Although I used to consider that sort of thing cheating. Why should it matter now when in so many other ways I feel like a cheat ... and a liar ... and a phony?

Tuesday and Wednesday pass . . . slowly. And with no word from my mom, I go to work and to Darth Vader and to school ... and then do it all over again. The only "upside" is I'm so exhausted that I'm finally able to sleep in the van reasonably well. And lately I've been parking Darth at the visitor lot at the condo or the employee lot at River Woods. So far, no one seems to notice or care.

The wind-up alarm clock, which I got at Wal-Mart along with a few other necessities, goes off at six thirty in the morning. I climb into the driver's seat, blurrily drive across town, then hit the showers in the girls' locker room by seven. I dress as neatly as I can, which is getting more challenging, then go to my classes, where I'm trying to keep up.

I hang with my friends I'm trying to keep fooled. Then I go to the nursing home, where I don't have to fool anyone. Finally when my shift ends, I head for the library, where I use their bathroom to clean up and change clothes, then study until closing, sometimes napping in the big leather club chairs. I don't even care if I see Lindsey there.

By Thursday morning I feel exhausted. So tired I don't know how I can go on ... or if I even want to. My game of charades isn't helping either. It's hard to keep track of your lies when you're totally worn out.

"Are you feeling okay?" Lindsey asks me in art. "You look like you're sick or something."

I sit up straighter. "I'm just tired."

"That's because she's practically living at the hospital," Bristol shoots back at Lindsey in my defense. "Her mom's seriously ill, you know."

It's weird having Bristol stand up for me like this. But for some reason, this lie about my mom has really softened her heart. So much so that I almost wish it were true. Not that I want my mom to suffer like that ... well, not too much anyway. But having Bristol's sympathy is kind of nice.

"I thought it was because you stayed too long at the library last night," Lindsey says to me. "I saw you leaving right before closing."

"You were at the library last night?" Bristol questions me.

I shrug. "I needed a book for AP history, and then I decided to stay there and study. It's kind of lonely at home. You know, with my mom gone."

Bristol nods. "Yeah, that must be hard."

"What's going on with your mom?" Lindsey asks.

So I repeat the story I've been telling the rest of my friends. But Lindsey has this questioning look, like she's not really buying it. So I change the subject. "Lindsey, which countries will you visit in Europe next summer?"

Fortunately Bristol gets interested in the Europe trip too. And for the first time this year, the three of us are acting almost like we're friends. Even Mr. Klein seems to notice.

"Nice to see everyone getting along today." He pauses to examine our charcoal sketches.

And it is nice. I feel somewhat encouraged. Like maybe I can keep this act up for a while longer. Plus there's the dance tomorrow-that's something to look forward to. My big night ... where I get to do my Cinderella act and pretend I'm a real princess.

I haven't even had a chance to get my shoes or any accessories yet. But this afternoon I'm going to run over to a place Genevieve told me about-a shoe store not far from work that's supposed to have a fantastic selection of designer knockoffs at some very affordable prices.

"I have to hurry," I explain to Isabella after school. "Mom's getting moved to the nursing-care center this afternoon."

"Oh, that's so good to hear." She smiles. "Let us know if she can have flowers there."

"I will." Even as I say this, I consider telling her that my mom has been moved to River Woods, but I'm not sure I want that much information floating around. I don't want to jeopardize my job. So I just grab my bag, wave to my friends, and dash off. Their sympathetic glances are touching. And despite how pathetic my life really is, I almost feel lucky.

I feel even luckier as I'm shoe shopping. "These are a perfect knockoff of Louboutins," a stylish salesgirl tells me as I'm trying on a pair of strappy black sandals. "And we only have them in a size eight, which looks absolutely perfect for you."

"Louboutin?" I try walking in the high heels.

She gives me a slightly disparaging look. "Christian Louboutin," she says like I should know this name.

"But why is the sole red?"

She laughs, then just shakes her head like I'm hopeless.

"They are pretty," I admit as I continue to practice walking. I'm not used to such high heels.

"They are gorgeous. If they were my size, they'd be gone."

"Oh wow," a young woman says to me as she checks out my feet. "Christian Louboutin, right?"

I kind of shrug. "I guess."

"Do you have any more?" the woman asks the salesgirl.

"Those are the only ones -size eight."

The woman frowns at me. "Are you getting them?"

I glance at my watch, then nod. "I think so."

Before long, the shoes are bagged and I run into an accessories store right next door. There, following Genevieve's advice, I get some faux diamond earrings and a necklace. I make sure the pieces aren't so flashy as to look fake. And then I hurry to work.

During my break, I show Genevieve my purchases and she is very impressed. "Do you have the dress with you too?"

"It's in my car."

"Go get it," she commands. "Let's do a dress rehearsal and see how it looks."

I dash out to the van, where the dress is hanging in the plastic bag I put over it to protect it. I hurry back into the restroom, where Genevieve is waiting for me, and before long, she helps me get completely dressed.

"You look so hot," she says as I stand in front of the mirror. "I think the dress looks even better on you than me." She lifts up my hair. "You need to give it a little twist like this and pin it up. Then let a few tendrils down. See what I mean?"

I nod, taking this all in. "Thanks so much. There's no way I could've pulled this off without you."

She grins. "Just make sure you have a great time."

Seeing that our break's almost over, I quickly but carefully remove my glitzy outfit and put my work clothes back on. Then as I hurry to return my things to Darth Vader, I wonder how easy it will be to get dressed and looking good inside of the cluttered van tomorrow night. Maybe I'll have to come up with a better solution for a dressing room.

"You seem happier than usual tonight," Mrs. Ashburn says to me as I'm helping her get ready for bed. She's my favorite resident, and I'm always eager to assist her in any way I can. This actually works out fairly well, since some of the nurses say she talks too much. But I don't mind her chatter.

I tell her about tomorrow night's dance, and she launches into a story about her first dance back when she was in high school. "It was the graduation ball," she tells me with a faraway look. "And I thought Lawrence Barnes was the cat's pajamas." She chuckles. "You girls don't use that expression these days. But Lawrence was truly dreamy. He looked just like Dick Powell."

I nod as I help her sit on the edge of her bed.

"I was simply over the moon when he asked me."

"So, he wasn't your boyfriend?"

"Goodness, no." She giggles as I fluff her pillow and help her lean back into it.

"What did you wear?" I pull the bedspread and fold it neatly down, just how she likes it.

"I can remember the dress as if it were yesterday . . ." She closes her eyes. "Butter yellow taffeta trimmed with chocolate brown velvet ribbon. Sweet little puffed sleeves. And the bodice fit me like a glove." She sighs. "I had a good figure back then. And the skirt was so full. It spun out in a circle when I danced."

"It sounds beautiful." I notice she hasn't taken her nighttime meds yet so I hand her a plastic cup of water and the small paper cup with the pills.

"Oh, it was. I'm sure I have photos somewhere . . . in my home."

I know Mrs. Ashburn well enough to know this is a dangerous subject. Her home, where she wants to return as soon as she is able. But according to Ms. Michaels, this is not going to happen. And although Mrs. Ashburn hasn't been officially informed of this, we get the impression she suspects something.

"Well, my dress doesn't sound nearly as beautiful as yours," I tell her as she hands the paper cup back to me. Then to continue my distraction I describe my dress to her, saying how it looks a little bit like Audrey Hepburn, hoping she can relate to a movie icon that was part of her era.