Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless (20 page)

While my laundry tumbles, I do homework and charge my phone in a nearby power outlet. And really, it's not a bad setup. In fact, the Laundromat might be a good alternative to the library for doing homework. It's warm, well lit, and has a restroom. Unfortunately, the chairs aren't too comfortable.

By ten thirty, my homework is mostly done, my phone is partially charged, and my clean laundry is folded and piled into a large black trash bag I load into my van. Never mind that my favorite jeans shrunk so much that I might never be able to squeeze into them again. Or that the washer twisted my Gap sweater into something that might fit an orangutan now. At least I have clean clothes to wear.

I drive back to River Woods, park my van, and, since I still have time to spare, check my phone. I know it's probably not realistic, but I'm still hoping my mom will call. Do I think she's going to "rescue" me? Not really. I guess I'd just like to know she's still alive.

I'm surprised that there are three messages from Jayden two from last night and one from this morning. It's with great apprehension that I listen to the first one.

"Hey, Adele, where are you? The girls came back from the bathroom saying that you took off But I can't believe you'd do that to me. I know Bristol said some brutal things, but don't let her get to you. Just call me or come back, okay?"

I sigh as I wait for the next message, left almost an hour later.

`Adele, it's me again. I've heard more of what happened in the bathroom, and I'm feeling pretty confused right now. All the girls keep saying that you lied to me, to all of us, and that your mom's not really sick ... and a bunch of stuff I'm kind of in shock right now. But the more they tell me, the more I start to believe its true. Please call me. I want to hear your side of this. "

I swallow hard, unsure that I even want to hear the third message that was left about an hour ago, but before I can shut it down, the message begins.

"Hi, Adele. Its me again. I really don't know what to think about all this. It would help ifyou would call. Nothing really makes sense anymore. It's like you aren't really the person I thought you were. Could you please call me and tell me what's up?"

I look at my little alarm clock. I still have ten minutes before work. Why not just get this over with? So I call Jayden, and I'm actually relieved when it goes to voice mail. "It's me, Jayden," I say in a serious voice. "Some of what you've heard about me is true. Some of it is not. I guess if you want to know the truth, you'll have to listen to my side of the story." I clear my throat. "I'm sorry for taking off like that last night ... but I just didn't know what else to do. I was pretty sure you wouldn't want to be with me anymore. And really ... I understand." Then I hang up and take in a deep breath, willing myself not to cry.

Work is a good distraction. And pathetic as it is, seeing poor old Bess (still at death's door) is a good reminder that my life could be worse. From what I've heard, her family has been notified, but so far no one has been here to visit. At the end of the day, I stand by her bedside and make my feeble attempt at a prayer again. I hope it's enough.

I punch the time clock and, feeling tired and hopeless, walk out to my van, where it's still raining. I so don't want to be in that chilly old van again tonight. Even the dayroom in the nursing home seems more inviting, and I wonder if anyone would care if I hung out there to do my homework occasionally. And yet I know that might require some kind of explanation on my part. So far I've been trying to be very careful to protect my employment status. Plus I'm worried that it won't be long before I'm questioned about the presence of Darth Vader in the employee parking lot so much. Although I'm preparing some excuses like "dead battery ... had to walk home" or "low on gas" or "flat tire." Whatever it takes to get by.

I am always very careful about getting into my van, making sure that no one's around to see. And if someone is around, I simply get in and drive away, then come back later. Although I have a battery-operated reading light I got at Wal-Mart, I try to keep it below the window line. I'm not sure how much these tinted windows conceal, but I'm not taking any chances. I honestly don't know what I'd do if anyone figured this out.

I'm not even that comfortable with the fact that Genevieve knows. Except I think I can trust her. Besides, I know a few little things about her I could hold over her head if I needed to. Not that I'd want to. But self-preservation is first and foremost on my mind these days ... and nights.

For that reason, I count my money very carefully and actually write out a budget I will try to stick to. No more stupid fake designer shoes. My plan is to live as frugally as possible, to save as much as I can, and hopefully to find a place that's not too far from school, that's cheap to rent-and get into it before the weather turns really cold. Hopefully by mid-November or sooner. That's about a month and two paychecks away. I think it's possible.

In the meantime, I have a secret hiding place where I stash my savings. I use an old plastic flashlight as my "bank." I tightly roll up the bills and slide them into the flashlight's interior, the cavity where the batteries would normally go. Even if anyone saw the flashlight, they probably wouldn't want it since it looks like a piece of junk and doesn't even appear to work anyway. I stash that flashlight deep beneath the passenger seat with some other junk I've put there as a kind of camouflage. I consider getting a bank account, but I'm worried that would require ID and that someone might figure out my age and that I'm living on my own, and I just don't want that kind of trouble.

On Monday morning, I get up early and drive to the high school. In such desperate need of a good shower and cleanup, I almost don't care if anyone sees me scurrying with my backpack into the girls' locker room. Really, what does it matter? But as I'm getting dressed, I remember Jayden. And as unrealistic as it might be, I imagine him being willing to listen to me, to understand my story, and to stand by me. And for that reason, I take the same usual care with my appearance. I want to look like nothing's really changed in my life-like I'm still the same girl Jayden assumed I was. And really, aren't I? Besides that, I know from comments made by Jayden that his parents aren't as well off as the others, and I'm hoping that he, like me, might be tired of trying to keep up. Perhaps he and I can create our own little clique-party of two-leaving the others behind. It seems possible.

But as I go to my morning classes, I don't see Jayden anywhere. I'm not sure if he's avoiding me or just not in school today. And in my classes, I can tell I'm being snubbed by my old "friends." In fact, when I take my old seat in art, Bristol actually stands and goes to sit at a different table. Fine, let her. But I'm a little taken aback when even Lindsey seems to have grown chilly. Still, I decide to ignore it and just focus on my art. My life is about school and survival. That's all.

As I'm on my way to lunch, wondering where I'll sit in the cafeteria, Jayden comes up from behind. "We need to talk," he says quietly.

"Right." I just nod, suspecting the real meaning behind those four little words. But even so, I follow him to a quiet corner and wait.

"I got your message," he says, avoiding my eyes. "And I want to give you a chance to explain yourself. All I ask is that you tell the truth, Adele."

The truth? Actually, it's gotten a little blurry. But I decide this might be my one and only chance, so I will try. "The truth is that my mom ran out on me several weeks ago."

He looks shocked. "Seriously? She just left?"

I nod. "My mom is, well, a little flaky. To be more specific, she's bipolar. And she's done some crazy things before." I sigh. "Although this one pretty much takes the cake."

"So, what about the drug stories going around?"

"Drug stories?" I suddenly remember what Bristol claimed the manager told her. "Oh, well, my mom did have a friend over who smoked some weed. But that's about all there was to that."

Jayden frowns.

"So ... anyway, I've just been trying to hold my life together as best I can." I shrug. "I'm hoping my mom comes back, but if she doesn't, I plan to get a place of my own and-"

"How can you possibly get a place of your own?"

"I have a job ... I'm saving my money."

Jayden looks at me like he's looking at a stranger or perhaps an exhibit in the zoo.

"I'm sorry I'm not rich like you and the others," I say defensively. "If being poor is a crime, then I guess I'm guilty." I hold up my hands like I'm ready to have him cuff me. "Go ahead, call the cops, have me locked up."

He almost smiles now. "Just for the record, I'm not rich. And being poor isn't a crime."

I feel a small wave of relief.

"But lying to your friends is wrong."

"Yes." I nod. "And I'm sorry for doing that. But it's like I was trapped."

"So, if you were evicted from your house and your mom's gone ... where are you living?"

I take in a deep breath, unsure of how much I should really admit, yet I don't want to lie anymore either. "I get to stay where I work."

"Oh . . ." He nods like he gets this, but I can see the question marks in his eyes. And I can tell by the way he steps away, the way he shoves his hands in his pockets and glances over his shoulder-we are done.

"Anyway, it's been fun knowing you, Jayden. I can tell our lives are too different to really work. Besides, I have a lot on my plate. I need to focus on school and my job. So really, thanks for everything." And before he can break up with me, I've broken up with him. And despite the tears burning behind my eyes, I walk away as if I am the winner here. But instead of going to the cafeteria, I go to the library and do my calculus.

I fall into a bit of a slump as the week progresses. Exhausted from work, disrupted sleep patterns, and a hacking cough, I give up on my locker room shower routine, and by the end of the week, I actually wear the same outfit to school two days in a row. My hair is stringy, my clothes are slept in, and I probably stink. But really, who cares? No one talks to me. Even Lindsey in art seems to be afraid of me. Finally at the end of the week, she says something.

"You know there are a lot of rumors going around about you.

I just roll my eyes.

"Don't you even care?"

"People can think what they want. I know what the truth is. Why should I care what they say?"

"So, are you saying the rumors aren't true?"

I look up at her now. Her pencil is poised between her fingers like a long cigarette, and she's studying me closely.

"Why do you even care?"

She kind of shrugs. "Because you seemed like a nice person."

"I am a nice person. I just happen to be an impoverished nice person. And in some circles, poverty is considered to be a character flaw."

"So, the rumors about drugs aren't true?"

I let out a heavy sigh and just shake my head. "I have never used drugs in my life. I don't even drink or smoke cigarettes. I can't stand any of that stuff. And anyone who says differently is a liar."

She nods. "Okay, you don't have to get mad at me. That's kind of what I thought. I just wanted to hear it from you.,,

"So now you have." I turn my focus back to my drawing, but I feel angry. Why are people repeating that kind of crud about me? What's the point? Don't I have enough grief in my life already? Why does anyone feel the need to add to it? And why did Lindsey feel the need to rub my nose in it? Because that's exactly what her little inquisition felt like to me. I thought she was supposed to be a "Christian" and that Christians were supposed to be kind.

I don't care about any of this. Mean people, nasty rumors, backstabbing "friends," betraying boyfriends . . . I just don't care! The only thing I care about anymore is school and survival.

It's almost Halloween, and although it's my night off from work, I have nothing to do, no place to go, and, it seems, not a friend in the world. I drive my van through town and actually consider going into the mission to see if Pastor Roland is there. But I see the bums lined out on the sidewalk, waiting to be let in for dinner, and I just can't bring myself to do it. I end up at the library where I use the bathroom to clean myself up a bit. And lured by the warmth and the big leather easy chairs, I decide to stick around. But instead of doing homework, I escape into a novel.

Finally it's a bit before closing time, and I go to use the bathroom one more time. While I'm brushing my teeth, someone emerges from one of the stalls. Embarrassed to be caught like this, I tuck my toothbrush back into my pack and stand up straight.

"Someone's into good dental hygiene."

I glance over to see the same girl I saw in this very bathroom once before. I can't recall her name, but I know she goes to my school, and I do remember that Jayden said she was homeless. I flash back to the time I watched her washing in the sink. She did look a bit like a transient then. But her clothes seem clean and nice tonight. She seems a bit more together, which makes me wonder if her luck has changed.

"You're Adele Porter, aren't you?" She washes her hands in the sink.

I wipe a stray bit of toothpaste from the corner of my mouth. "Yes. You go to Stanfield High too, right?"

She nods. "Cybil Henderson."

"Nice to meet you." I make what feels like a strange little smile.

"Lots of rumors going around the school about you this week."

"Really?" For some reason this surprises me. I mean, the way I've been ignored made me assume that I was also forgotten.

"Oh yeah." She dries her hands and turns to look at me. "I think you and me have some things in common."

I take in a deep breath, then slowly release it. "You mean being homeless?"

Her brow creases slightly. "Yeah ... that too."

"So, you really are homeless?" Suddenly I'm remembering Mrs. Ashburn's advice to me about getting friends who, like me, know how it feels to be poor.

"Pretty much so."

"So, what do you do? I mean, where do you stay?"

Cybil shrugs. "Here and there."

"On the streets?"

She kind of laughs. "Not on a cold night like this."