The Exact Location of Home (18 page)

I stare at her.

“I need to go. Okay?”

“No.” It's not okay. None of it is.

“What are you going to do today? Would you go to Gianna's or something, please? I hate the idea of you just wandering around.”

“I'm going for a walk.” And I leave.

I hear the door close. Steps behind me. Mom's following me. But when I turn back to look at the corner, she's just standing there on the sidewalk in front of the shelter. Finally, she turns in the direction of the diner.

When she's out of sight, I go back to the shelter. Back to room five and the bag I've kept under my mattress. I spill it out on the wool blanket. The Canada key chain. The Florida State quarter. The MLK quote. The Smurf. The headless army guy. The piece of marble.

The journal. I shove it all into my backpack and leave.

All day, I follow the black arrows. .68 miles. 123 yards. 39 yards. 12 yards. 3 yards.

I follow them to the leaf pile under the tree.

The bushes the river.

The footbridge.

The drainage pipe by the hospital.

And I put everything back. It was stupid. All of it.

Finally, I follow the coordinates to the train tracks by the lake. The sky's been November gray all day, and now it's starting to rain. Not a soft fresh summer rain. A crummy fall rain with big wet cold drops. They hurt.

I sit down on a railroad tie and watch the drops in the water. I tuck the journal under my sweatshirt to keep it dry. I don't know why I bother. The rain gets harder until it looks like the lake is boiling.

Finally, I shove the journal back into the rocks where I found it and head back toward the marina.

That heron—at least it looks like the same one—is standing at the end of the dock again. In the pouring rain. Stupid bird. It can't be fishing—it couldn't see anything with the water all disturbed. But it watches the surface. Waiting. For the longest time.

And then so fast I'm not even sure I really saw it happen, the heron plunges its head into the water and comes up with a perch flopping in its beak. I guess there's always hope if you hang around long enough.

I look back at the railroad tracks. The rain is coming down hard. And I didn't shove the journal in very far.

The ties are old and slippery now that they're so wet. But I step from one rough hewn log to another until I get back to the spot. I lay down on the tracks and reach until I feel the rough cover of the journal.

It's only a little damp. I wipe it on my jeans, tuck it back into my jacket and walk back to the marina.

The heron is still on the dock, gulping down its dinner.

And all of a sudden, I'm hungry, too.

 

When I get back to the shelter, it's dark. The kind of dark that doesn't seem like a big deal when you're outside, but when you go in, it looks pitch black and you understand why people were wondering where you were.

“Your mom was getting ready to send out the troops,” Rob Thomas says when I sit down at one of the dining tables with my sandwich and wet carrot sticks. “She's just getting changed from work.” He puts down his newspaper and raises his eyebrows at my dripping hair and soggy sweatshirt. “Looks like you've had a rough day.”

“No rougher than usual,” I say. I look down at the Sunday paper and catch the headline on the front page.

SMUGGLERS ISLAND HERON CONTROVERSY SPAWNS PROTEST
DEMONSTRATION PLANNED FOR CITY COUNCIL MEETING

“Can I borrow this?”

He nods and I pull the paper over so I can read while I eat.

A hand swoops in and snatches it away from me.

“Hey! I was reading that.”

But Mom folds the paper up in such a tight little roll you can't even see the headline any more. “Heather needs it to look for apartments,” she says and tucks it under her arm.

“Not in the news section. Give her classifieds and let me have that. It has a story about Ruby's heron meeting.”

Mom keeps the paper under her arm. “You're not going to that meeting. It's a school night.”

I start to argue but remember that she's working tomorrow night. I'll be able to do whatever I want. I don't need the dumb paper when I can go to the meeting.

“Okay,” I say.

She looks surprised. “Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

She breathes out and closes her eyes, like me not being out on a school night tomorrow is the most important thing in the world. But she doesn't say anything about the fact that I'm soaking wet and was out past dark. Maybe Mom's tired of everything, like me. Too tired to care.

“Good night,” I tell her.

She kisses me on the cheek. “I'm going to study. I'll be a couple hours.”

I finish my sandwich, toss my trash, change into dry clothes, and head into room five. Heather and Scoop are crammed into Scoop's bed, both asleep with
Library Lion
flopped open across their laps.

I climb into my bunk and take out Dad's journal. It's still damp.

I flip through the pages, through the raindrop smears. I tuck it back under my mattress. Just in case.

“Mr. Zigonski?”

I look up from my social studies textbook and see Mrs. Heath peering over her glasses at her desk. She curls her finger at me to come up.

“Mr. Zigonski, you realize that you have four late homeworks this quarter?”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry is not an excuse. Is your assignment for today done?”

“I was just finishing it. I couldn't find a pencil last night.”

She takes off her glasses and huffs, as if I've just insulted her personally. “Homework is to be done at home. Are you suggesting to me that there's not a pencil to be found in your entire house?”

I don't say anything. I have no idea what's in the house where I used to live. I'd imagine somebody new lives there by now. Somebody with rent money. Probably pencils, too.

“Your grade has gone from an A to a B-minus since last quarter.”

I nod. I'm surprised it's not lower. Mom's been busy every night studying or working. I've been helping with dinners, babysitting for Scoop. Sometimes I get homework done in the library at lunch, but lately there hasn't been enough time, even though Mr. Smythe always leaves pencils out for me now.

Mrs. Heath taps her red pen on my name in her grade book. “Report cards are mailed home soon. I'm going to include a note for your mother and father about scheduling a conference with me.” She looks at me.

“Okay.”

Go for it, Mrs. Heath. Knock yourself out
, I think.
I'll be extra impressed if you find my dad
. I start back to my seat.

“And Mr. Zigonski?”

I turn back to her.

“You realize you haven't brought in any canned goods for the food drive?” She nods at the mountain that's accumulated in the corner. Cans and cans of corn and peas. Boxes of pasta and cereal. Somebody brought in eight huge cans of beets. Jars of peanut butter.

“That's worth extra credit,” Mrs. Heath says. “That would help you out right about now.”

I nod. “Sure thing.”

“Don't forget—” She raises her voice, as if everyone in the class wasn't just listening to her lecture me about my B-minus. “And this is for everyone. Tomorrow is the last day to bring in food to help the needy. We'll be walking up to the homeless shelter right after this period to deliver it.”

 

When the last bell rings, I grab my stuff from my locker and rush to the front door to wait for Gianna. I tried to talk to her in English, but she wouldn't even look at me. I can't believe she'd be that mad about a dumb dance. But I know she'll be happy when I tell her and Ruby I'm coming to the meeting tonight.

“Hey, Zigonski!” Kevin Richards shuffles down the hall toward me. He lowers his voice. “You doing okay?”

I stare at him. Waiting for the punch line. With Richards, that could be literal. He's been known to tell a dumb joke and then clobber you if you don't laugh. But he just stands there, waiting for me to answer.

“I'm okay. Why?”

“Just checking. I haven't seen you around.” He looks around. “And I know it's hard the first time. It even freaked me out, so I figured that you …”

“That I'm so much of a wimp I'd never be able to handle it?”

“Well, yeah.” He smiles. “But you're okay?”

I nod. “I'm okay.” Ruby and Gianna are coming down the hall, almost tripping over one another because they're reading something between them. “I gotta go.” I step aside and head over to meet them.

Gianna sees me first, elbows Ruby, grabs what turns out to be a newspaper, and shoves it into her backpack over her shoulder as I approach.

Ruby steps in front of her. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey. All ready for your meeting tonight?”

She hands me a flyer. “We've been putting these up all over.”

THEY WERE HERE FIRST

Save Rookery Bay!

Make your voice heard at the Lakeland City Council Meeting Monday, November 3.

In the middle there's an incredible charcoal sketch of a great blue heron in flight.

“Wow, Gee! This is awesome.” I lean around Ruby to see her.

“Thanks. It didn't photocopy well, but it's okay.” She looks in a hurry to leave, and I can't tell if she's still mad about the dance. There are leftover posters up all over the front hallway. “$3 admission, Live DJ, Loads of fun!” says the one next to me.

“Listen, I really couldn't go on Saturday,” I say.

“It's fine,” she says quickly. “I ended up babysitting for my little brother anyway.”

“Really? I thought you were excited because it was the first dance of the year.”

She looks at Ruby, rolls her eyes, and walks off in a huff.

I hand Ruby back the poster and follow her out the front door, down the steps. “What's her problem?”

“Her problem is that the smartest boy in the school is also the dumbest boy in the school.”

“Me?”

“She likes you.
Likes
you, likes you. You know that, right?”

“Well … I guess…I didn't really …” I watch Gianna power walking away from us, toward the park. “She
likes
me, likes me?”

Ruby nods. “She waited forever for you to ask her to that stupid dance, and then you didn't, so she waited forever until she had the guts to ask you if you were going, and you completely blew her off. Why couldn't you just go to the dumb dance? You could have at least gone with her as a friend.” Now Ruby seems mad, too.

“I'm going to that meeting with you guys tonight,” I try.

Ruby's eyes get big for a second. Then she says. “No. Don't do that. I mean, don't bother. I know you've been busy. It's okay.”

“But I want to,” I say, walking faster, hoping we'll catch up with Gee. “I totally agree with you about the birds. Those guys have to be jerks to think about cutting down the trees where the herons nest. If they think—”

Ruby stops and whirls around to face me. “You can't go.”

“Why not?”

“Because … everybody who's speaking had to sign up with the city council in advance. It's too late.”

“I don't have to speak. I'll just—”

“We're all set. Seriously. There are plenty of people coming. My mom and my aunt. Mr. Webster from the park. A bunch of people from school. Gianna's going to talk, and she'll be all nervous if you're there, so just … don't. Please?”

I look ahead to the park, expecting to see Gee waiting. But she didn't stop.

“She's really mad, huh?” We start walking again.

Ruby sighs. “She's kind of sad and kind of confused and kind of mad, yes. There's kind of a lot going on right now. But you guys will figure things out. Just be honest with her.”

Just be honest. Like that's the easiest thing ever.

We stop at the park. At least, I do.

Ruby keeps walking. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder.

“You're not stopping to skip rocks?”

“Too much to do. But I'll see you tomorrow. And we have that field trip, remember?”

How could I forget? That field trip to the homeless shelter. To deliver food to the less fortunate. Like me.

“I brought corn. I hate canned corn,” Gianna says, pulling her jacket closed.

As we walk to the shelter with Mrs. Heath's class, it's one of those mornings when fall and winter overlap. There are still leaves on some trees, and a few let go with every gust of wind. It's snowing, too. Not the good, fluffy flakes. Just little scraps of white that spit down mixed with rain and sleet.

Ruby's walking on one side of me, Gianna on the other. They don't seem mad any more. They didn't say much about the meeting last night except that it was good. Lots of people showed up to support the herons. Plenty. It was fine that I didn't go.

I should have stayed home today, too. Well, not home … but I should have skipped out somewhere. Kevin had the right idea. He's absent and probably hanging out in some pizza place instead of delivering canned goods to his own kitchen.

Gianna's plastic grocery bag full of corn clanks against my bag, with the one can of tuna fish I swiped from the shelter kitchen this morning. It was actually just sitting out on the table where I sit at breakfast, like somebody left it there. I didn't ask. I just took it. I figure it's not stealing. The can's going right back where it came from.

And here we are. I swallow hard. I know nobody staying here will be around because of the leave-by-eight rule. But Rob Thomas will be here. I pull up my sweatshirt hood and try to work my way into the middle of the group. I'm counting on him being too busy to pay much attention to a bunch of middle school kids and their canned corn.

“Now, students …” Mrs. Heath stops at the front of the line so we all bunch up like a kid-accordian. “Before we go in, I want to remind you of your manners. These are human beings, and just because they're homeless doesn't mean they don't have feelings, so—”