looked at my mother’s hand. She might have had a temporary calming effect on him, but if this was anything like the past, it wouldn’t last.
5
In an effort to make the downstairs rec room feel homier, I put out a few of my trophies, but it didn’t work. Not only was it not my bedroom, it wasn’t a bedroom, period. The space was too wide open and echo-y, and every time someone was in the kitchen or used a bathroom, the sound of water running through pipes was in my ears. Instead of a dresser with drawers, all I had for my clothes was a couple of plastic tubs, and my desk was the folding table we’d used in our kitchen before we’d moved.
With the twins and Alicia constantly going in and out to play or look for toys, it was so hard to do homework that I started going to the media center at school every chance I got. One day Meg stopped at the table where I was studying. “Hey.”
“Uh . . . hi,” I said uncertainly, the awkwardness of our last encounter still fresh in my memory.
She swept a curly reddish brown lock away from her face and bit her lip. “I think I owe you an apology.”
I felt myself relax. “Oh hey, no problem. I was actually wondering if I was the one who should apologize. I mean, talk about being presumptuous.”
“No more than anyone else. People hear ‘homeless’ and just assume drunks and vagrants. You get a little defensive.” Her eyes darted away. “Well, that’s all I wanted to . . .”
I didn’t want her to go, and gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat.” She was cuter than I remembered. “You look different.”
“It’s what happens when you lose twenty pounds and some zits.” She sat. “I call it the Homeless Diet.”
“Serious?”
She smiled gently. “No. With all the fast food I’ve eaten I should be a hippo.”
It got quiet. She glanced around. I tried to think of something to say. “So, uh, you said your dad was sick?”
The smile left her face. “Cancer.”
“Oh, sorry.” I wanted to smack myself. Why did I have to bring that up? Couldn’t I have thought of something else to talk about? Too late now. “Isn’t the government supposed to help?”
“They do, with some of it. He used to manage a restaurant and they were supposed to pay for his pension and health benefits, but they went bankrupt. There’s Medicaid, but it doesn’t cover everything.”
“If he’s that sick, shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”
Meg stared down at the table. “There’s nothing they can do. He’s just supposed to stay home and take his medicines.”
Home was Dignityville. Now I felt even worse. “Sorry, I don’t know why I brought that up.”
She glanced my way. Her eyes were hazel and pretty. “You moved in with relatives?”
“Yeah, uh, it’s just temporary.” That had become my standard line. Maybe if I repeated it enough, it would come true.
“We lived with friends for a while, but it didn’t work. It’s not easy.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of seeing that. Everyone’s stepping on each other’s toes.”
We’d stumbled into another silent patch. Meg straightened her books and glanced around. Was she thinking that she should go? I didn’t want her to. It wasn’t like I’d ever feel comfortable talking about this stuff with Talia, and even with Noah it would be awkward. “So, uh, you ever think about a part-time job?”
“I bagged groceries for a while. Me and a bunch of old people . . . I mean, really old . . . like in their seventies and eighties, who were doing it because they didn’t get enough social security. It was so depressing. I mean, the ones who couldn’t even stand up for that long? And there was this one old lady . . .” She trailed off, her gaze slanting away as if she was recalling something troubling.
“Yeah?” I coaxed.
Meg sighed. “She was always buying cat food . . . only someone said she didn’t have a cat.”
It took a second, then I got it. “Serious?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t
5
In an effort to make the downstairs rec room feel homier, I put out a few of my trophies, but it didn’t work. Not only was it not my bedroom, it wasn’t a bedroom, period. The space was too wide open and echo-y, and every time someone was in the kitchen or used a bathroom, the sound of water running through pipes was in my ears. Instead of a dresser with drawers, all I had for my clothes was a couple of plastic tubs, and my desk was the folding table we’d used in our kitchen before we’d moved.
With the twins and Alicia constantly going in and out to play or look for toys, it was so hard to do homework that I started going to the media center at school every chance I got. One day Meg stopped at the table where I was studying. “Hey.”
“Uh . . . hi,” I said uncertainly, the awkwardness of our last encounter still fresh in my memory.
She swept a curly reddish brown lock away from her face and bit her lip. “I think I owe you an apology.”
I felt myself relax. “Oh hey, no problem. I was actually wondering if I was the one who should apologize. I mean, talk about being presumptuous.”
“No more than anyone else. People hear ‘homeless’ and just assume drunks and vagrants. You get a little defensive.” Her eyes darted away. “Well, that’s all I wanted to . . .”
I didn’t want her to go, and gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat.” She was cuter than I remembered. “You look different.”
“It’s what happens when you lose twenty pounds and some zits.” She sat. “I call it the Homeless Diet.”
“Serious?”
She smiled gently. “No. With all the fast food I’ve eaten I should be a hippo.”
It got quiet. She glanced around. I tried to think of something to say. “So, uh, you said your dad was sick?”
The smile left her face. “Cancer.”
“Oh, sorry.” I wanted to smack myself. Why did I have to bring that up? Couldn’t I have thought of something else to talk about? Too late now. “Isn’t the government supposed to help?”
“They do, with some of it. He used to manage a restaurant and they were supposed to pay for his pension and health benefits, but they went bankrupt. There’s Medicaid, but it doesn’t cover everything.”
“If he’s that sick, shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”
Meg stared down at the table. “There’s nothing they can do. He’s just supposed to stay home and take his medicines.”
Home was Dignityville. Now I felt even worse. “Sorry, I don’t know why I brought that up.”
She glanced my way. Her eyes were hazel and pretty. “You moved in with relatives?”
“Yeah, uh, it’s just temporary.” That had become my standard line. Maybe if I repeated it enough, it would come true.
“We lived with friends for a while, but it didn’t work. It’s not easy.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of seeing that. Everyone’s stepping on each other’s toes.”
We’d stumbled into another silent patch. Meg straightened her books and glanced around. Was she thinking that she should go? I didn’t want her to. It wasn’t like I’d ever feel comfortable talking about this stuff with Talia, and even with Noah it would be awkward. “So, uh, you ever think about a part-time job?”
“I bagged groceries for a while. Me and a bunch of old people . . . I mean, really old . . . like in their seventies and eighties, who were doing it because they didn’t get enough social security. It was so depressing. I mean, the ones who couldn’t even stand up for that long? And there was this one old lady . . .” She trailed off, her gaze slanting away as if she was recalling something troubling.
“Yeah?” I coaxed.
Meg sighed. “She was always buying cat food . . . only someone said she didn’t have a cat.”
It took a second, then I got it. “Serious?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t
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