Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless (18 page)

But even more nerve-wracking than imagining I'm riding around town with an old sociopath is having to ring the doorbell to Isabella's house. My knees are literally shaking as Mr. Marx opens the door. I'm not even sure I can speak or what I will say.

"Adele?" His face creases with worry. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Are you girls okay?"

"Not exactly. I mean, don't worry, Isabella's fine," I say quickly. "Something happened . . . and, well, I just needed to leave the dance early. Anyway, I wanted to pick up my things."

He still looks confused. "You're not spending the night with Isabella?"

"No. Something came up. I'm sorry to disturb you like this. But my ride is waiting." I jerk my thumb back to where Pastor Roland's old car is parked. Like me, it looks so out of place in this upscale neighborhood. "If you don't mind, I'll just get my things and go."

"Sure. Come in." He still looks puzzled and perhaps even a bit suspicious as he lets me in.

"I'll just be a minute." I hurry up the stairs. I can hear him coming behind me. Probably to make sure I don't steal the silver or the family jewels.

"Did something bad happen at the dance?" He follows me to Isabella's room.

I turn and look directly at him. "Yes."

He looks totally taken aback at this. "What?"

"Everyone found out that I'm a fraud."

His dark brows draw together. "A fraud?"

I nod as I gather up my bag, carelessly stuffing my school clothes and other items into it.

"I don't understand."

I can feel him watching me, but I don't look up as I sit on Isabella's bed, removing the dreadful knockoff shoes and replacing them with my favorite Frye boots. I'm sure this must look strange with my glitzy dress, but I no longer care.

"What do you mean ... a fraud?" Mr. Marx presses a bit further.

"Yes, that's what I am," I say calmly, like it's really no big deal. "I was pretending to be like them, one of them. But clearly I am not."

"One of whom?"

I stand and look evenly at him now. "You know ... one of the lucky ones. The wellborn elite. But we can't really help it if we're from the wrong side of the tracks, if we're born into the wrong families, can we?"

He looks even more perplexed as he slowly shakes his head. "No, I don't suppose you can help it."

I remove his wife's black velvet cape, carefully smoothing it out as I lay it down on Isabella's bed. "Please tell your wife thank you for the use of her lovely cape. And please tell Isabella I'm very, very sorry.

He looks like he wants to say something more, but no words find their way past his thin, pursed lips. And it's just as well. I pull my jacket on over my little black dress, then push past him, hurrying down the stairs, out the door, and back into Pastor Roland's musty old car, which to my surprise feels much more comfortable than it did on the way over here. Despite that, there's a lump in my throat and I feel close to tears again. I am grateful for the silence as he drives toward the high school.

"You seem like a sensible girl to me." Pastor Roland turns onto the street where the school is located. "And I suspect you'll land on your feet. But if you ever need help again, please remember the mission. It's not perfect, but it's better than the streets."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks like a business card. "And our church likes to help out people too." He hands me the card. "Feel free to come visit us if you like. Perhaps this Sunday."

"Thanks. I'll think about it." I point to Darth Vader. "That's my van over there."

"And you were honest with me, Adele? You really do have a job at River Woods Care Center?"

"Absolutely." I even tell him my hours and the name of my supervisor.

"And they really don't mind you parking the van there until you find a permanent place to live?"

I consider my answer. I know I tried to paint this a little different than the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But what if he knows someone at River Woods? Perhaps it's best to just put my cards on the table and hope he is trustworthy. "To be honest, they don't actually know I've been sleeping in my van. But really, it's only a temporary setup. I do plan to find a better place-just as soon as I can. I mean, after all, winter isn't far off. I know I can't stay in the van forever."

He nods, but I can tell he's not totally convinced.

"I'm sure my mom will be back soon. If not, I'll rent a room or a cheap apartment. I appreciate your concern, but really, I'm fine."

He smiles. "Okay. But remember if you ever need help, our church members might be old, but we're a friendly bunch."

I thank him again. Then with my backpack in hand, I get out and wave good-bye. As I put the key into the driver's door, I cannot believe how thoroughly happy I am to see this ugly black van. It's like I want to give old Darth Vader a great big hug. I get in and start the engine, and with Pastor Roland's car following behind me, almost as if he wants to be sure I'm really doing what I said I would do, I turn down the street and drive toward River Woods. When he sees me turn in there, he continues on his way.

I let out a sigh of relief as I park on the edge of the employee parking section. Now I have no doubt that Pastor Roland is a decent man. Yet at the same time, I'm aware that I've divulged enough information to get myself into trouble. His concern about me living in a van was genuine. But what if he suspects I'm younger than eighteen? What will happen if he calls the state and turns me in?

Still, I decide not to think about that tonight. I am emotionally and physically exhausted and almost too tired to care. Feeling like the Cinderella who never even got to go to the ball, I am grateful for Darth Vader's creepy tinted windows as I carefully remove Genevieve's little black dress, hang it on the hanger, and wrap it in the rumpled plastic.

As I pull on sweats, I am determined to pay for the drycleaning I know the dress will need. But right now, all I want to do is crash in the back of my van and sleep for a long, long time. Or at least until ten thirty tomorrow morning when it will be time to get up and get ready for work. I can't believe I'm relieved to know I'll be cleaning up after smelly old people-unless Bristol does something to sabotage that for me.

he only thing more pathetic than hanging gaudy Halloween decorations in a nursing home is my life. Seriously. It was exceedingly sad last night and it doesn't look much better today. The icing on my flattened cake was waking up in the back of a van with the scratched-up red soles of my "Christian Louboutin" shoes staring me in the face-and realizing that I paid $49.99 for those torturous heels. Fifty bucks wasted! Just shoot me!

"I think it needs to be a little lower, Adele." Genevieve looks up from the safety of the dayroom floor.

I adjust the green-faced broom-riding cardboard witch down the column several inches. "Better?"

"Now the residents can actually see it."

"You don't think it'll scare them?" I ask with concern.

Genevieve laughs. "Scare them? It kind of resembles them."

"Very funny," Ellen says as she comes around a corner with the med cart.

"Sorry." Genevieve gives me an apologetic smile, then scurries away.

"You better be careful up there," Ellen warns me. "We don't want any workers' comp suits here."

With my masking tape roll "bracelet," I finish adhering the witch to the column, then cautiously get down from the plastic chair I've been perched on. "I couldn't find a stepladder." I nod toward the plastic crate of Halloween decorations. "And Ms. Michaels asked me to put these things up today."

Now she smiles at me. "And Ms. Michaels tells me that you've been promoted from the kitchen."

"Yes. She just hired someone else to help Mary." I try not to look too relieved since Ellen and Scary Mary actually get along.

"We noticed that you handle yourself well among the residents, and it seems a number of them feel quite comfortable with you. So it seems a nice promotion."

I want to add that it would be even nicer if the "promotion" came with a raise but think better of this.

"Just be careful when you're climbing around on things," she warns me as she continues on her way. "No broken bones."

Imagining what a mess my life would be if I did get hurt, I am careful, watching my step as I tape cats, pumpkins, and witches around the nursing home. Still, I'm a bit concerned that some residents won't like emerging from their rooms to discover spiders and bats have invaded their "happy" home. However, no one really seems to notice. Or like me, they just don't care.

"So I'm dying to know," Genevieve says as soon as we sit down for a soda during our afternoon break, "how was your big night?"

I let out a groan. "Don't ask."

Of course, this only makes her push harder. And finally I just dump the whole ugly story on her, and she is genuinely shocked. "You're kidding!"

I shake my head and take a sip of soda.

"Oh, Adele, that's absolutely horrible. You really went to the mission?"

"Don't worry, your dress is okay. But I'll pay to have it cleaned."

"No you won't. Not after the awful night you had."

"I want to," I tell her.

"No way. You've suffered enough." Now she winks at me. "But if it'll make you feel any better, I'll let you help Bess with dinner tonight."

"Bess on a Saturday night." I sigh to think of the poor senile resident who can barely eat and hardly responds to anything. "How much better does it get?"

Genevieve narrows her eyes. "So ... you're really homeless then?"

Okay, this is one part I wish I'd left out of my little confession. I wave my hand in a dismissive motion. "Not exactly. I'm just kind of camping in my van temporarily. You know, until my mom gets back."

"You mean if she gets back?"

I shrug and take another sip.

"I'd ask you to come live with me, but Leon just moved in."

"I know. And really, I'll be okay. I'll probably have enough money to rent a room or an apartment by the end of the month." I pause. "Just please don't tell anyone about this. I can't risk my job. Okay?"

"Sure. You can trust me, Adele."

"And I'll bring your dress in tomorrow."