It never happened. Early pulled out the note and looked at it so many times that the edges became worn. She felt guilty now that she’d ever thought Mr. Waive was scary; she hoped they hadn’t frightened him away.
Aisha had pneumonia. She’d been rushed to the hospital one night and the next day her mom had left the shelter. Mrs. Happadee promised to let Early know as soon as she heard where Aisha and her mom had gone. Early felt sad she hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye, and already missed her one good friend.
Sum visited a day care center with Jubie that week. The only place with an opening was in a dank basement with dirty floors, a TV blaring in the corner, a broken bathroom sink, and just a few blocks and dolls. Most of the kids were crying on the day Sum and Jubie walked in.
Each afternoon when Early got back from school, she went straight upstairs to find Jubie. Her brother was growing more and more difficult and restless. He whined lots, and had a constant cough and runny nose. Sum seemed barely to notice. When Early took him, it at least gave Sum a chunk of time to make calls. If the tutoring room wasn’t open, Early played with Jubie until dinner.
She’d found a box of half-broken crayons in the trash at school, and squirreled away paper from the recycling bin outside her classroom. Now her brother could do some coloring. She tried to explain that he shouldn’t use all the paper at once but that only made him cry, so she watched sadly as he filled a handful of sheets with bold blue and yellow scribbles in about ten minutes.
Sum had seemed to perk up after Mr. Waive’s visit, but as each day passed with no word from Dash’s old teacher, Early watched her mother slip further and further down some kind of crack. One afternoon when Early went upstairs to find Jubie, Sum was simply lying on the lower bunk in their fort, her eyes barely open, while Jubie used his toothbrush to shoot everyone who walked by. “Pow! You’re dead! No more talking!” he said, over and over. When Early took Jubie downstairs and told Sum, “Okay, there’s still time for calls today,” her mother didn’t move or even answer. Early saw Mrs. Happadee a few minutes later and said, “My mother isn’t doing too well. Can you help her find an okay place to take Jubie so she can get going on a job?”
Mrs. Happadee sighed. “I’ve given her all the references I have. Maybe I can move you-all to your own room one of these days. Then maybe she’ll feel a little more like herself.” She patted Early on the back. “Your mom is lucky to have you,” she said.
Jubie, meanwhile, had started pulling on Early. “Don’t want to go no place! Want to stay with you and Sum!” he moaned, half-crying as he pulled on her hand. Then a coughing fit started, disgusting stuff poured down his face, and Early had to hurry him to a bathroom to get him cleaned up.
Many of the kids in the shelter were sick with an endless round of colds. Of the group she’d met that first day in the tutoring room, only one or two had returned, and Early began to understand that was the way things went at Helping Hand: Families dropped out of programs, suffered through emergencies, had to move overnight. No one seemed surprised when a kid stayed out of school or didn’t come to meals; no one asked where he or she was, as if missing stuff was just part of life.
Early decided she couldn’t wait another day for Mr. Waive. Tomorrow she’d ask in the office at school for his number and then she’d call him herself. Maybe he didn’t realize how bad things were, or how desperately they needed to find Dash.
He couldn’t see that Sum and Jubie were both falling apart and that no one but Early seemed to know it.
Crack
At bedtime that night Early asked Sum to read more Treasure Island. She shook her head. “Just don’t have the heart, baby. I’m sorry, I really am,” she murmured. “Plus, it’s a little too close to what’s real. Too painful to read right now.”
Early said, her voice getting louder and louder, “But you’ve got to have the heart, Sum! And we don’t have pirates here! You gotta read and you can’t give up! Jubie and I need you so badly, and Dash needs you even more. What about rescuing Dash? You’re the grown-up, and you can’t give up! What about Dashsumearlyjubie? What would Dash say if he saw you like this?”
Sum’s face crumpled and her voice got high and squeaky. “He’d say, ‘What’s wrong with you, baby? We got places to go and things to do!’ It’s just — it’s just — so hard. I can’t see a way out of this, you know? I’m losing hope. Maybe Dash isn’t coming back.” The tears were running freely down Sum’s face now.
Early yelled at her mother, “Stop it! You can’t talk that way!” and ran downstairs. She heard Jubie crying at the top of the stairs, calling, “Early! Don’t go away! Don’t be mad! Keep me caaaam-pany!”
Early sat down at one of the eating tables, put her head in her arms, and tried to hide her tears. Soon someone was rubbing her back. Early looked up to see Velma, the woman who had first spoken to them when they’d gotten to Helping Hand, who’d lost her kids and many of her teeth.
“I heard you up there. Your mama’s a good one, now. She’s a good one. Maybe it’s up to you. Sometimes kids can do a better job than their parents when life gets mean. We try, but we got confusions.”
These words comforted Early. She looked at Velma. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”
“You go on back and tell her you love her. That’s all a mama needs to hear.”
“Yeah,” Early said, realizing Velma probably never got to hear that from her kids.
Things could be worse; they were still three. Early walked slowly back up the stairs, splashed her face with cold water, and headed over to their cluster.
Sum was up and opening drawers with a jerk, one after the other, moving faster and faster. “Hey, where is it? Where’s our First Book of Rhythms? I was going to read a few pages aloud to you two tonight, just to bring us back to happier times, but I don’t see it. Early, did you take it to school?”
Early shook her head. “Of course not. And I’m sorry, Sum. I didn’t mean —”
“Jubie!” Sum shouted, her voice strange and shrill. “You didn’t do anything with it, did you?”
Jubie’s eyes got big, and he whispered, “I gave it to a boy. He let me play with his truck.”
“Which boy? Which?” Sum was crouched in front of Jubie now, and her intensity frightened both kids.
“It’s okay, Sum, I’ll look around,” Early said, and began to walk between the bunks, asking for the book. “Seen our old family read-aloud? My brother gave it to a boy in this room, and we’re sorry but we want it back. Anyone got it?”
Sum rushed around the room after Early, shouting at everyone. Jubie couldn’t seem to remember which boy he’d given it to. No one offered to give it back. The guard came over and threatened to call Mrs. Happadee if Sum didn’t simmer down.
Sum then turned her back on Jubie, who was now wailing; Early had to step in and quiet him down. When he finally fell asleep, she lay awake, feeling angry, but this time not at Sum. Her mother was obviously in trouble. How dare someone keep their book, a book Dash had found for the family, when they’d asked for it back? She peeked out at the tiny slivers of light coming through the shelter blinds, and thought about what it felt like to fly. To escape.
Crack
Before going to school the next morning, Early printed big signs and put them all over the shelter:
∗ ∗ ∗
Missing! The First Book of Rhythms. Means lots to the Pearl family. Please return if you have it. We thank you.
∗ ∗ ∗
When she got to school, she went directly into the office. Mrs. B. was there and beamed a cheery hello. “Well, you’re the girl with the pearl, aren’t you! The girl with the pretty name.”
Early nodded and tried to look pleasant; her smile felt stiff.
“I’m wondering if you could give me Mr. Waive’s phone number.” Early paused, and Mrs. B. blinked. Early hurried on, “I have something new to tell him. He came here last week to meet me, when you were out of the office, and then he even came to our shelter that night and talked w
ith my mom and little brother.” She stopped for breath. “Please,” she added.
Mrs. B.’s nails, pink this time, strolled across the counter while she looked at the ceiling. “Well, if he didn’t give it to you himself, I’m sorry, honey. I can’t do that. No wiggle room in rules.”
“Ohhh.” Early looked so sad that Mrs. B. said, “But I could leave something on the counter by mistake.”
“Oh!” Early said. “Yes, maybe I’ll stop back in at lunchtime. Wow, Mrs. B.!”
“Just a scrap of paper, no idea what’s on it,” she said cheerfully, and winked at Early.
That morning the classroom felt less strange. From her desk, Early looked around. Ms. Chaff smiled at her. “Why, you look so awake this morning! I’m trying to decide on a project for our first free-writing time this month. How about a recent dream you’ve had? How does that sound, kids?”
Early scowled, and Ms. Chaff paused, confused. “Or any dream you remember and would like to share with us,” she added.
Some of the boys snickered and there was a creaking of chairs. Ms. Chaff looked irritated. “Look. Okay. Write about what you’d like to, but it needs to be appropriate. A wish or a dream. You may have to read it aloud.”
Early wondered what on earth she could say. She couldn’t talk about Dash visiting them and teaching her to fly, or Velma, who’d lost her kids, or her upset little brother and sad mother, both of whom cried all the time now. Or Dash, who was the best and smartest father in the world and was wanted by the police. But she could …
She bent over, scribbling madly. As she wrote, her face relaxed and a tiny smile appeared.
In what seemed like no time, but was really twenty minutes, Ms. Chaff interrupted with, “Okay, that’s all we can do today. Early, would you read yours to us?”
Early froze, suddenly remembering the girl with the braids in the lunchroom. Was it safe to read what she’d written? The room was quiet. She shook her head.
“Oh, come on!” Ms. Chaff had her hands on her hips and was pleading in an embarrassing way now.
“Well, okay,” Early agreed, feeling as though any more of a fuss would make things worse. “This is about a house in our old neighborhood, and my family and I had a kind of dream about it. We used our imaginations.”
“Very good,” Ms. Chaff said encouragingly.
Her stomach churning, Early read:
“What if you could pick where you lived? What if you could pick a house and make it just like you wanted? My family and I used to play that game, especially with a home we walked by in Woodlawn.
“It always had a cat in the front window and red roses in the yard every summer. There was a swing on the porch and rocking chairs. If I lived in that house, I’d change the curtains from white to lace so lots of light came in. I’d hang a crystal in my bedroom window so that rainbows danced around the walls. I’d make a big sign that said Welcome to the Pearl Home right next to the doorbell.”
Early paused, swallowing. Something about the words Pearl Home sounded so far away, like they came from someone else’s story. She went on:
“My little brother said he’d drive his trucks on the walk all day and eat cookies on the front steps. My dad would mow the lawn and paint the kitchen a sky blue. He loves to read and wants bookshelves in every room. My mom would sit on the porch, be happy again, and watch everyone go by. And at Christmas we’d have a tree with a thousand lights and balls and ornaments, sparkling away in the living room. When you looked in from outside, you’d think, That is my dream home!”
She shuffled her two pages together in a neat pile, and sat absolutely still.
Ms. Chaff dabbed her nose with a tissue and said, “That is so moving. Just beautiful, Early!”
From the back of the room, someone mimicked, “Just beautiful,” and sniffed loudly.
Ms. Chaff spun around. “Who said that? Jason? I’d like you to read yours now.”
There was a scuffling, shuffling sound and then a slow voice began:
“I dream about having money so we don’t have to worry anymore. So we can get me a stunt bike and get my teenage sister a big TV, so her friends will want to come over. So we can hang some things on the windows and walls of our home. It’s always so bare and we don’t got no decorations. My dad sits on the couch all day and wants a job. My mom comes home from work and yells at him ’cause there’s toys everywhere and beer bottles tipped over and dishes in the sink. Money is always in my dreams.”
Ms. Chaff said, “Ver-ry good. My. Home is a big thing, isn’t it?”
Silence. “Not really,” a girl said, and giggled. “Kind of bo-ring.” There was tittering.
Early suddenly felt a spurt of fury. She turned around in her chair to face the girl who’d spoken and the other kids who were smiling. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard! Try life without a home and you won’t laugh about it. Try not having even one family bedroom or even one parent with a job. Try sleeping with a ton of other strangers in the same room. Try having your dad vanish and having a mom who used to be happy and is now sad or mad all the time. Try waiting in line to eat every meal and waiting in line to make a phone call. Just TRY it!” Early jumped out of her seat and ran, bumping into three or four desks on the way.
Once out in the hall, she bolted blindly toward the bathroom, locked herself into a stall, and sobbed. What had she done? Now she’d never be able to face anyone in this school again! She dried the tears on her sleeve and sat quietly, trying to figure out what to do next. The bell rang.
Soon the bathroom filled up with girls, and to her horror, kids kept rattling the handle on her stall. “Hurry up! I gotta go! Who’s in there?”
Early covered her mouth and said, “I’ll be right out,” hoping that would disguise her voice. Then she heard, “Ohhh, it’s the homeless girl! The one who read in class!” followed by “Shhhh, that’s not nice,” and then, “Whoever you are, you’re not early any longer, you’re gonna be late if you don’t get goin’!” and then, “Can’t make a home in a toilet, won’t work,” followed by a wave of laughter.
Early flung open the door. “Who said that?”
Her voice shook but she felt strong with anger. No one answered. “Whoever you are, you are the worst person I’ve ever met! I hope you lose your home and — and — everyone in your family leaves you behind and you have to start begging for food!” Early slammed her shoulder into the metal door of the stall, making one of the girls stagger backward. Elbowing her way past the others, she stomped on a bunch of sneakers.
A chorus of “Oooh, she hurt me!” and “Ow, I’m tellin’!” drifted out of the bathroom behind her.
She was dying to leave school and go back to the shelter on her own, but knew the guard at the exit would stop her. Glancing toward the door, Early almost missed what she then absorbed: The chair, miraculously, was empty. Not a soul to be seen. Maybe only for seconds! She ran as fast as she could and burst outside into the cold, bright air.
Crack
Pulling up the hood on her sweatshirt, Early walked as fast as she could, slipping and sliding on the icy sidewalk.
She passed a group of police officers and glanced nervously in their direction, but they had bigger problems. One prodded a person wrapped in about a hundred jackets, a lump lying against a building. No face was visible, but the head shook no again and again. Early felt like telling the police to leave the poor soul alone, but she kept going.
Another cop bent over a form slumped in the doorway of a boarded-up building. “No response,” he called out, to someone sitting in a patrol car at the curb.
Early shuddered and hurried on. Even a week ago she would’ve been shocked at the thought of someone dying outside in this neighborhood, but not anymore.
She knew shelter rules were that no kids were allowed in unless their parent was there also. Sum, you better be here, oh, please! she prayed over and over as she hurried down the block.
Grabbing the shelter door, she yanked it open and bumped right into Mrs. Happad
ee. “Oh, my, Early! You’ve got everyone so worried. The school just called. What happened?”
Early felt her legs wobble beneath her and she plopped down onto a carton of plastic forks that had just been unloaded by a food supply truck. “I want my mother,” she moaned. “Can you get my mother?”
Mrs. Happadee frowned. “Your mother just took your little brother to the hospital, his cough was so bad.”
“Ohhh …” Early’s breath whooshed out in a long, shaky sigh. “Please don’t make me go back to the school!” she pleaded.
Mrs. Happadee put her arm around Early and walked her into the office. She sat her down in the corner and shut the glass door. Returning to the front desk, the shelter director made a couple of phone calls.
Soon a policewoman walked in the door. Early felt her heart drop through the floor and zoom into outer space. Was she being arrested?
The policewoman walked toward her, as if in slow motion, with Mrs. Happadee now beside her. Early froze.
The door opened and Mrs. Happadee said, “Early, this officer is going to take you to the hospital to be with your mother and brother. And I’ll walk you upstairs to get a change of clothes and all three of your toothbrushes, just in case you folks are there for the night.”
Early nodded, unable to speak. They walked up the stairs. When they got to the Pearl cluster, there, on the floor between the bunks, was The First Book of Rhythms. Early pounced on it and gave it a hug. The paper jacket was a bit more ragged and the green cover beneath had a new streak of dirt, but it looked as though it was still in one piece.
“Thanks,” she breathed to Mrs. Happadee as they headed downstairs. She tucked the book into a plastic bag with their supplies.
“Here, this is clean,” Mrs. Happadee said, handing Early a long, mud-brown parka. “I always keep an emergency supply, especially when we get such a cold winter.”
Early slipped her arms into the jacket. It covered her hands. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Happadee,” she said. “I didn’t mean to leave my stuff at school.”
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