Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless Read Online Free PDF Page B

a part-time job. Somehow I will try to keep our lives from totally unraveling. And then I'll pressure my mom to do her part. She can go beg for her job back, since I know she's lost it. Or she can flip burgers somewhere. I don't really care. But she can't just slip into another deep, dark depression.
    "You seem kind of quiet tonight," Jayden says as we go out to his car. "Are you concerned about your mom?"
    "I actually am pretty worried." At least that's not a lie.
    "Do you want to call to see how she's doing?"
    I consider this. "You know . . . I should probably just go home." The plan was to meet the others at Porky's, this oldfashioned diner that kids from our school hang at sometimes. But my stomach, which should be hungry, feels like there's a chunk of cement sitting in the bottom of it. And I'm not sure how much longer I can keep up this cheerful act. Obviously it's slipping already since Jayden has noticed.
    "I understand," he tells me as he starts the car. "And I think it's cool that you care about your mom like that."
    "Thanks."
    "Hey, should we pick her up some chicken soup or something?"
    I force a smile. "That's really sweet, but I think she has what she needs at home. I should probably just be there to help, you know."
    After we arrive at my condo, Jayden walks me across the parking lot and up the stairs, holding my hand all the way.
    "I'd invite you in, but my mom looked pretty contagious."
    "That's okay." He leans toward me ... and I think I know what's coming. The good-night kiss! I lean forward, holding my breath, and then he gently kisses me on the lips-and I think I see stars!
    "I'll call you tomorrow." He releases my hand and abruptly turns, hurrying down the stairs.
    With my head still spinning, I stand there in front of my door. I replay the moment, remember the tender kiss-and desperately hope it won't be the last time. Because when I go inside the condo, everything will change. Bittersweet? Yes. But I will focus on the sweet for now.
    Bracing myself for the conversation to pick up where we left off, I go inside the condo but am surprised the lights are off. I look around and realize that my mom's not home. After I get over being angry, I decide to search for something to eat. I can either have canned soup or macaroni and cheese (from the box). I go for the mac and cheese, and while the pasta is cooking, I run downstairs to the recycling area and pull out a recent paper from the newspaper box, extract the Classifieds, and run back up.
    Then as I hungrily shovel in my food, I search through the Help Wanted ads, circling anything with potential. But it's almost like our other town-besides the full-time positions, which are very specific and require degrees, the jobs are for fastfood chains, convenience stores, and, of course, exotic dancers. While pole dancing or whatever they do is among the last jobs on earth I would want, I'm guessing the pay is much more lucrative than clerking at 7-Eleven. Even so, I'm so not going there.
    The two jobs that interest me most are for a twenty-fourhour restaurant (the kind my friends would never be caught dead in) and a nursing home. The upside of the restaurant is I could probably eat there. But the nursing home's not far from our condo. And it looks like there are a couple of positions that need filling, which makes me think my mom could work there too. Of course, that's ridiculous on my part to think she'd lower herself to take care of elderly people.
    I shove the newspaper aside and take my bowl to the sink, rinsing it and the pan and putting all evidence of my meal in the dishwasher. Where is my mom anyway? It's nearly eleven now and she's still not home. If we were in our old town, I'd assume she was out with friends, but as far as I know, the only friends she has here are work related. And this actually gives me some hope.
    "I think Mark Edmonds is crushing on me," my mom confessed to me the first week at her new job.
    "Is that why he went to so much trouble to