Less Than Nothing Read Online Free PDF Page A

the corner market and buy two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups while the owner watches me like I’m trying to scoop his store into my guitar case. It’s annoying, but I’m used to it. When you’re homeless, you get ‘the look’ all the time. The look that says, “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you fit in? Why did you choose this for yourself, you loser?”
    I know too well that sometimes the only choice is between bad ones. I try not to let it get me down, but sometimes I just want to scream at people, to shake them up, make them see their all-the-food-and-drink-and-entertainment-you-want-24/7-in-climate–controlled-comfort life is an illusion. The truth is many of them are only a few steps from having nothing. Some of us just got pushed off those steps.
    I approach Melody’s building and stab at the intercom, shaking off the pity party I’ve been throwing for myself. No point to it. So I had a meh day. It wasn’t completely sucky. Which is what I want to talk to her about.
    The lock buzzes like an angry wasp. I climb the stairs to her second-floor flat, and she’s standing at the door, wearing running shorts and a Penn State sweatshirt she filched from one of her past boyfriends.
    “Yo, sistah, welcome to the Pleasure Dome. You got candy?” she asks, her smile wide and inviting.
    I toss her one of the two packages, and she eyes me. Melody has the ability to see into my soul. Or at least it seems that way sometimes.
    “Rough day at the office?” she asks.
    “You could say that. I think I’m putting in new lows,” I say as I brush past her and put Yam and my backpack down in the hall.
    “You eat anything today? You’re too skinny, girl,” Melody says, the topic a constant in our banter.
    “I had coffee. I wasn’t hungry,” I lie. I’m already salivating at the thought of the candy in the paper bag Mr. Korean Hospitality gave me when I’d surprised him by paying.
    Melody’s eyes narrow as she studies my face. “What’s up, Sage?” she asks, the playfulness out of her voice.
    “I’ll tell you all about it after I take a shower, okay?”
    “Fine. But first the ritual scarfing of the treats.”
    I nod. I sit at her tiny dining room table with its chipped Formica top and its flea market chairs, and she goes to the fridge and pours two glasses of milk. When she returns, her expression is sunny again. Melody’s incapable of taking anything seriously, which is one of the things I love about her. It’s a good balance to my intensity, which can get dark sometimes.
    We solemnly open our wrappers and munch on the candy. It tastes like a small slice of heaven to me, and I realize how starved I am. My stomach’s been in knots since the confrontation with Derek. The anxiety got me through the afternoon, but the calories are like an energy transfusion, and I have to remind myself to chew.
    I’m done in seconds and gulp my milk like it contains the antidote. Melody watches me like a mother hen. Even though we’re only a month apart, and I’ve got a ton more life experience from the street, she has this parenting thing that’s both annoying and reassuring. I’ve met her mom, who didn’t like me – who wants their kid hanging with one of those people? – and she had that same thing, only really overbearing.
    I stand up. “I’ll be back in ten. How long till Mom’s due?”
    Melody glances at her watch. “You got forty-five minutes.”
    “Cool. I need to tell you what happened today.”
    “I’ll be right here.”
    The needles of hot water never felt better, and I let myself luxuriate under the stream for longer than I should before I rinse the shampoo out of my hair and step dripping from the shower. Melody’s thoughtfully put a thick towel on the rack for me, and I dry myself, inspecting my reflection in the full-length mirror as I blot moisture from my legs. I don’t think I’m that skinny – I’ve always had a slim figure, what one wannabe boyfriend called a swimmer’s body. I glance at