Nothing to Lose (3 page)

 

Morgan was wrong when she said I could go home and sleep until noon. I had plans. Plans that I had made the night before while my mother dashed from the basement washing machine to her bedroom on the second floor, where she was packing for a business trip.

My mother is a lawyer. She had been invited to speak at a national conference on youth and crime. For a lawyer, being invited to speak at a national conference is a
very big deal
, especially if it's your first invitation and if you want to make a good impression. Being a Type-A perfectionist, she hadn't merely prepared, she had
over-
prepared. But, as of last night, she was still convinced that she wasn't ready. She was also convinced that she hadn't packed the exact right clothes to (a) deliver her presentation, (b) be seen at the rest of the two-day conference, and (c) represent her law firm at the formal dinner that was scheduled to close the conference on Monday night. But that's my mom for you. She's good—actually, excellent—at what she does, but she always thinks she could be doing more—a
lot
more.

She was on her way upstairs with an armful of clean clothes and a small suitcase when the phone rang.

“I'll get it,” I said.

She hovered on the stairs until I told her it was for me. I waited until she had scurried up to her room before I said, “Hi, Nick.” My greeting came out sounding less than welcoming.

“You're mad at me,” Nick said. “I can tell. Sorry, Robyn. I kept meaning to call, but I've been—” I heard a sigh on the other end of the phone. “I was going to say that I've been busy, but that's no excuse. I should have called sooner. I'm sorry, okay?
Really
sorry.”

The words came out in a rush, as if he were trying to tell me everything before I hung up on him.

“What do you say, Robyn? Do you forgive me?”

“I've been calling you,” I said. I'd called him every day for the past week. “But I can never get ahold of you. You're never home. You don't have a cell phone. You don't even have an answering machine.”

“I can't afford stuff like that,” he said. He sounded hurt. Worse, he sounded ashamed. It bothered him sometimes—actually, a
lot
of the time—that I had the latest of almost everything while he had to scramble for the basics. He thought I cared about stuff like that. I don't.

“All I meant was. . .” What
did
I mean? “You never call me, Nick. I was beginning to think maybe you'd found someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. He sounded surprised, and that made me feel a little better. “No way, Robyn. It's just that with school and my job, some days I come home, collapse on the couch, fall asleep, and wake up with just enough time to do my homework and get to school. You know what? I have a whole lot more respect now for people who work fast food. You can't believe the kind of people you have to put up with. And you can't yell at them because they're customers and the customer—”

“—is always right. I know,” I said. “So, how are you, anyway?”

“Tired.”

I was glad we were talking on the phone instead of in person. It meant I didn't have to try to hide the disappointed look on my face.

“Me too,” I said. “And I have to be up and out of here in a few hours.”

“A few hours? Robyn, it's nearly eleven o'clock.”

“I know. I have to be out of here by four thirty.”

“In the
morning?
”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone before he said, “Does that mean you're going somewhere for the weekend?”

“It means I'm going somewhere for a couple of hours,” I said. I filled him in on my plans and smiled at the relief in his voice. Maybe he hadn't been great at staying in touch lately, but he obviously cared about what I was up to.

“Barry finally gave me a weekend off,” he said. Barry Osler was a shift manager at the restaurant where Nick worked. He was also a senior at my school. His father owned a dozen restaurants in one of the biggest fast-food chains on the planet. Barry was aiming to outdo his father. He boasted that he'd be a fast-food king himself by the time he turned thirty. He'd also asked me out a few times. I made up excuses every time. I hadn't mentioned to Nick that I knew Barry—he'd been glad when he finally landed a job and I wasn't sure how he'd feel about working for someone who asked me out now and then. I hadn't mentioned Nick to Barry, either, for more or less the same reason.

“So how about it, Robyn?” Nick said. “Why don't you meet me first thing tomorrow morning? We can spend the day together—celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

I heard a sigh of disappointment on the other end of the phone.

“I guess that means
I'm
the sentimental one in this relationship,” he said. Relationship? I liked the sound of that. “Check your calendar, Robyn. I met you exactly three months ago today. At the animal shelter.”

This past summer we had both volunteered—well,
sort of
volunteered—at an animal shelter. Nick had been there as part of a court-mandated anger management program. I had been there to placate a storeowner who wanted to press charges against me as a result of an incident during an animal rights demonstration. But that wasn't the first time I had laid eyes on him.

“We
met
in middle school,” I said. “Remember?”

“That doesn't count.”

“Why not?”

“Because back then I wasn't smart enough to appreciate you.”

“
Appreciate
me?”

“Yeah. Back then I thought you were a pain. Now . . . well, you know how I feel now, Robyn. So will you meet me?”

I forgot all about being angry with him.

“Yes,” I said. I told him that I would be at my father's place after I finished with Morgan and Billy. “Meet you there.”

My mother was standing on the stairs frowning when I hung up the phone.

“Was that Nick?” she said. “Are you planning to see him this weekend?”

Her frown deepened when I answered yes to both questions.

“Is that a problem?” I said.

“You haven't mentioned him in a while. I thought perhaps you two had stopped seeing each other.”

Knowing my mother, she had probably been
hoping
that we'd stopped seeing each other, which is why I hardly ever discussed Nick with her. My mother represented a lot of young offenders. She had even represented Nick. Most people might assume that this would make her sympathetic to their situation. And maybe it did when it came to doing her best for them in court. But she also knew the kind of trouble they could get into, and that made her want to protect me—
over
protect me—from them.

“I'm sorry, Robyn,” she said. “But kids like Nick have so many issues to deal with.” In other words, they weren't ideal boyfriend material.

“He's been busy. I haven't seen him in a while. But we're going to spend the day together tomorrow.”

My mother did not look happy. “People have to have something in common if they're going to build a relationship, Robyn,” she said. “But you and Nick. . . I know you think he's cool—”

“
Cool?
”

“You know what I mean. He's different. He's a good-looking boy with the kind of. . . past that so many girls seem to find romantic. But—”

“Mom, I like him because I like him, not because I have a thing for bad boys. Besides, he's not what you think. He's been working full-time for over a month now—
while
he's going to school.
And
we have a lot in common.”

My mother shook her head. “I know I can't tell you what to do, Robyn,” she said. Not that that stopped her from trying. “But when I feel strongly about something, I feel it's my responsibility as your mother to tell you. It's up to you to decide whether or not you agree.”

Well, I had decided. I had made plans to spend Saturday with Nick, and I was going to keep them.

 

 

When I got home after leaving Morgan and Billy and the birds downtown, my mother was pacing in the front hall.

“I was worried,” she said. “I got up and you were gone.”

“I left you a note,” I said.

“I know. That's why I was worried. I thought we agreed you weren't going down there again.”

“
You
agreed I wasn't going,” I said. “
I
disagreed. Remember?” That's why I had left her a note instead of telling her face-to-face. I didn't want to have to argue about it—again. “Mom, I'm sixteen. Besides, there was nothing to worry about. Here I am, safe and sound.” I didn't mention that my backpack hadn't made the return trip with me. I hoped she wouldn't notice. If she did, she would pester me until I told her what had happened. And if I told her, she would drive me crazy until I promised never to participate in DARC activities again.

“Where exactly did you go?”

“Just downtown. We check all the office towers. Billy has been doing it for over a year, and nothing has ever happened.”

“It's deserted downtown at five in the morning,” my mother said. “What if anything had happened? There'd be no one around to help you.”

“I wasn't alone, Mom. I was with Billy and Morgan. And there were a couple of other DARC people around. We kept running into them. We keep an eye out for each other.”

My mother did not look convinced. She opened her mouth to say something else. I decided to take evasive action. I glanced at my watch and said, “Wow, it's later than I thought. Are you going to have enough time to drop me at Dad's and still get to the airport on time?”

She checked her own watch. A look of horror appeared on her face. For the next fifteen minutes she flew around the house, double-checking the contents of her big suitcase, her little suitcase, and her briefcase, triple-checking that all the windows and doors were secured, and quizzing me about whether
I
had packed everything I needed.

“Mom, I've been packing for weekends at Dad's for four years now.” My parents had been separated for three years and divorced for almost exactly one year. “Besides, I have a key.” Fortunately, my keys had been in my pocket, not in my backpack. “If I forget anything, I can come back and get it.”

“Don't forget that you have a history essay due on Wednesday.”

“It's due
next
Wednesday,” I said. I grabbed my overnight bag.

“You're not taking your backpack?”

“I prefer to travel light.”

She gave me a funny look. I was afraid she was going to start quizzing me about it, so I said,“Don't you have to get to the airport extra early so you can clear security?” That switched her focus again. It wasn't long before she was dropping me off on the street where my father lives. Her final words were “Be good.”

A
s I walked toward my father's building, I thought,
Something is different. But what?
I looked up and down the block in the morning quiet, trying to figure out what it was. But I couldn't. I continued on until I got to the converted carpet factory where my father lives.When he inherited the place, it was located in a rundown part of town. But things have changed since then. These days, the area is (mostly) trendy. A lot of what used to be down-and-out apartments have been renovated and are owned by doctors, lawyers, and engineers. My father's building has been transformed too. The ground floor houses a gourmet restaurant called La Folie. The second floor consists of six apartments. My father occupies the entire, enormous third floor.

“
Hello!
” I called from the door to my father's loft.

A moment later my father shuffled out of his bedroom wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. His hair was sticking out in a dozen different directions.

“Late night, Dad?” I said.

“Nearly dawn by the time I got to bed.” He yawned. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you early?”