“Don’t forget the hunk of Brie.” She actually smiled.
“That’s stealing!”
“Only if you use capitalist thinking. I look at it through a different lens. I buy the things that are reasonably priced. I only pocket items that are marked up ridiculously high. Stores like this rob us blind by charging those prices. They’re a part of the capitalist system. I’m just leveling the playing field.”
“But it’s a No Frills!”
“Böna, it’s still a business. And I plan on buying everything else in this cart. They’ll still make a profit off us. Think of me as your own personal Robin Hood.” She pushed the cart around the corner and into the next aisle.
Astrid’s argument made my head hurt, and I didn’t know how to respond. When we approached the counter, I stood in front of the cart, blocking her path. I spoke in a whisper. “If you get caught—”
“The only way I’ll get caught is if you keep acting like there’s something up. So cut it out.” She gave me one of those smiles that wasn’t a smile.
We joined the line. I was sweating with fear. But Astrid was cool as a cucumber as she started placing our groceries onto the conveyor belt.
The sullen cashier had all sorts of piercings. The one in her forehead looked painful and infected.
I started to hiccup.
Suddenly I felt really angry. Astrid was putting us in a new kind of danger.
I grabbed a chocolate bar from the rack and threw it onto the conveyor belt.
Astrid gave me a warning look. “Fine. One chocolate bar—”
I threw down two more, still hiccuping, daring her with my eyes to tell me I couldn’t. She stared at me hard, then shrugged at the cashier, who must have been medicated; she had no expression whatsoever.
“Fifty-four eighty,” said the cashier.
Astrid opened her purse and rummaged for her wallet. I could see the bag of almonds, sitting on top. I started to sweat again. If I could see them, surely the cashier could. I bagged the groceries. We walked out of the store. I kept waiting for a security guard to come chasing after us and tackle us to the ground.
Nothing happened.
Astrid loaded the bags into the back of the van. “See? All that worry for nothing.”
“If you’d been caught—”
“But I wasn’t.”
“But if you were—”
“But I wasn’t.” She said this in a tone that meant Drop it right now or else. Then she tossed me one of my chocolate bars. “There’s a free concert outside the CBC building in an hour. Want to go?”
We went. And I didn’t mention the shoplifting again.
* * *
—
I’d like to be able to say that the food Astrid stole tasted like sawdust in my mouth. But it didn’t. It tasted delicious. We had the Brie on crackers as a predinner snack. And the sausages, fried up in a pan, tossed with a pot of spaghetti, were mouthwateringly good. Even Horatio ate a piece of the Brie and loved it, but we paid for it later because it gave him wicked diarrhea, which stank up the van even after I washed his cage, and him, in one of the beach washrooms.
I’d also like to tell you that her shoplifting never happened again. But as time marched on and our bank account dwindled, Astrid did what she felt she had to do.
It really bothered me when she shoplifted from smaller stores, like Ahmadi Grocery on Broadway. We went there because their produce was well priced, so it didn’t seem right when I saw Astrid slip some grapes into her purse one day, or a bag of avocados another. The owner of that store wasn’t getting rich. He wasn’t part of the capitalist system.
“Maybe we can go to a food bank,” I suggested one night.
She looked at me like I’d asked her to commit murder. “We do not need to visit a food bank.” Her weird snobbery again.
I should make clear that as soon as we are able, we have every intention of paying each store what we owe them.
Well. Maybe Astrid doesn’t. But I do.
I’ve been keeping a ledger. I have it with me.
Once we come into some money—which is going to happen very, very soon—I’ll go to the stores we stole from and set up a repayment plan.
I’m not sure how I’ll explain it.
But that’s a worry for another day.
By mid-October the weather was getting worse. Colder. A lot more rain.
One night we were huddled in the van, bickering. Even though it was only six o’clock, it was pitch-dark outside. “I’m freezing,” I said. “Horatio’s freezing.”
“So you’ve said. Twenty thousand times.”
“Mel is freezing.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“And I’m bored out of my mind and I’m claustrophobic and it smells like old farts in here—”
Suddenly Astrid moved into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.
“Where are we going?”
She didn’t answer. She just drove, up the hill and west, into the neighborhood of Point Grey.
She turned onto a block that seemed almost deserted. A lot of the homes were brand-new and appeared empty. She pointed to one that was maybe two-thirds complete. “I’ve driven past this one a few times. No one’s living there, I’m sure of it. And also, the garage door isn’t locked.”
“How do you know that?”
She didn’t answer. She just turned off the van’s lights and drove down the back alley. She motioned for me to get out and open the garage door. “Astrid—” I started.
“It’s your choice, Felix. You can open the door, or we can go back to the beach.”
I opened the door.
* * *
—
My worry evaporated after the first couple of nights. Whatever laws we might be breaking, it was worth it. When we lowered the door, no one knew we were in there. There was electricity, so we could turn on the overhead lights and plug in our fridge and keep stuff like milk and eggs, and we could read as late as we wanted. There were power outlets to charge our ancient laptop and our phones. We ate in our camping chairs inside the garage, but outside the van. It felt positively palatial. And because there was a tap beside the house, we could even fill up some buckets after dark and heat up the water on the stove in the mornings and wash our bits.
And yes, when it was dark, we peed in the yard.
But only peed.
Except once, when it was an emergency.
The houses to the left and right and directly behind us also appeared to be empty, but still, we were cautious when we came or went. It meant a much longer walk to school for me, but I didn’t mind. I felt better rested than I had in a while. Astrid looked less tired, too.
At school one morning, the girl doing the announcements said, “Mark next Friday on your calendars—it’s the first school dance of the year! Invite that special someone, or come with your friends and dance the night away! Well, until ten p.m., when the school shuts us down!”
“School dances are a joke,” Winnie declared at lunchtime. We sat across from each other in the cafeteria; Dylan was in line, buying fries. “Archaic. I should write a scathing exposé for the November paper.” Winnie had completed her article on Bob the Bard for the October edition. It wouldn’t be out until the end of the month, but she was already hunting around for her next idea.
“A scathing exposé on school dances?”
“Yes! They only disappoint. They set up unrealistic expectations. Sure, they say you don’t need a date, just go with your friends! But secretly all these poor girls—and boys, but usually girls even though it is the twenty-first century—are waiting to be asked. Hearts get broken. Tears are shed.”
“Um. Are you talking from personal experience?”
“No,” she said. A little too quickly.
“So you’r
e not going?”
“Of course I’m going! With you.”
I almost spit out a piece of my bologna sandwich. “Huh?”
“Research! I have to be there to be able to write about it, don’t I?”
“Couldn’t you just go by yourself?”
“No, dodo. Then I’d be too conspicuous.”
“So I’ll be, like, your cover?”
“Yes.”
My brain hurt. “Um…okay?”
“Good. You can pick me up at my place at seven p.m. And for a corsage, I’d prefer wrist, and nothing pink.” Winnie took a huge bite of her sandwich.
What had just happened?
And also, what the heck was a corsage?
* * *
—
Dylan and I talked about it on the walk to his house after school. “Yeah, Sophie asked me,” he said glumly.
“What did you say?”
“Yes. But, I don’t know…a dance? Ugh. I won’t be able to wear this.” He glanced down at his uniform of wrinkled T-shirt and frayed jeans.
I felt a little ball of anxiety in my stomach. “You think we have to dress up?” I only had one set of nice clothes. And it was in Soleil’s basement.
“Probably.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’d rather have bamboo shoots stuck under my fingernails.”
I thought for a moment. “I’d rather lie in a tub full of cockroaches.”
“I’d rather eat maggots for lunch.”
“I’d rather slide naked down a razor blade into a pool of iodine.”
That one cracked us up so hard, we had to stop to catch our breath.
* * *
—
When I got back to the garage that evening, Astrid was making sloppy joes for dinner and singing along to an old Monkees song on the radio. Even though it was cold outside, it was warm and toasty in our makeshift home. The space heater Abelard had left behind was running full blast. She grabbed my hand and twirled me around, then started kissing the top of my head.
“Aagh, stop!” I said.
She let go.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I had a couple of good interviews today,” she said.
“That’s great.”
“Fingers crossed.”
I started singing too. “ ‘Now I’m a believer!’ ” I fed Horatio and got out our plates. When we sat down to eat, I shared my news. “I’ve sort of been invited to a dance.”
“Really? Boy? Girl?” Astrid believes that a parent should never assume a child’s sexuality.
“Girl. Winnie Wu.”
“Winnie. What a pretty name. Do you like her?”
I opened my mouth to say no—but I stopped.
Because it wasn’t true.
The truth was, Winnie Wu had grown on me.
“Sort of,” I admitted. “But she’s very strong-willed and bossy and opinionated.”
Astrid smiled. “Then I like her already. And if she likes you, she has excellent taste.” She ruffled my hair.
“But the thing is, she wants me to buy her a thing called a corsage. And I need to dress up, at least a little. And my dress pants and shirt are at Soleil’s.”
Astrid nibbled on a cookie. “No worries. I’ve got it figured out.”
I wished I could say that made me feel better.
* * *
—
“Okay, I think we’re good to go in,” Astrid said. We were standing across the street from Soleil’s house sporting dark sunglasses and hats, which I thought made us look more conspicuous. We’d taken the bus instead of driving the van, because, as Astrid pointed out, Soleil knew exactly what our van looked like, down to its THE ROAD TO ENLIGHTENMENT HAS NO SPEED LIMIT bumper sticker (Abelard’s addition, not ours).
Soleil and her husband had just driven away with the twins in their Volvo station wagon. The kids were in soccer uniforms.
My hiccups started as we made our way toward the back alley. “I still don’t understand why we didn’t just call her—”
“For the thousandth time, Felix, she’d ask too many questions. And remember, it’s not breaking in. We’re simply getting a few things that belong to us.”
“It’s breaking in if we’re doing it behind her—hic!—back,” I said. “She doesn’t know we have a key. She doesn’t know we know—hic!—her alarm code.”
“Meaning she’ll also never know we were here. It will be like it never happened. You know that expression, ‘If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ ”
“Yeah, but if someone is around, like if Soleil comes home and catches us, she’ll make a sound,” I said as we entered their yard through the back gate.
Astrid turned to me. “Do you want your dress clothes or not? I’m trying to help you here.” She inserted her key in the lock and opened the door. The alarm system gave off its high-pitched noise. Astrid punched in some numbers.
The noise continued.
She tried again.
It still didn’t work.
“She’s changed the code.” We stood frozen. My whole body felt numb, and I worried I might collapse in a heap. “The alarm’s going to start wailing in about thirty more seconds,” Astrid continued. “Walk out through the back gate. Don’t run. Walk. Meet me at the bus stop.”
“But, Mom—”
“Go.”
So I did what she said. I walked slowly, even though every bone in my body told me to run as fast as I could.
As I left the yard, the alarm started to wail. It was so loud, I could still hear it when I was two blocks away.
I waited at the bus stop for what felt like forever but was probably five minutes. Then I saw Astrid walking toward me, calm and confident and wheeling one of our large suitcases. “I grabbed what I could. We won’t be able to go back there for a while.”
The bus came a minute later. I collapsed in a seat near the back, hiccuping over and over.
Astrid reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills. She handed me two of them. “Buy Winnie a wrist corsage. Maybe a yellow rose. She’ll like that. And use what’s left over for whatever you like.”
My mind flashed to the purse I’d seen lying just inside Soleil’s back door.
I pocketed the money without a word.
The suit didn’t fit.
I stood in the middle of the garage, tugging at the navy sleeves as if that would make them grow longer. I’d been noticing lately that my pants and sweaters all seemed short and tight, like they’d shrunk in the wash.
Astrid stated the obvious. “You’ve grown.”
“The dance is in two days.”
“Don’t worry, Lilla Gubben. We’ll just have to take you shopping.”
“But we don’t have much money.”
“So? We’ve always been awesome thrifters. And there are some great secondhand stores near here.”
The next day after school we hit two different shops, one run by the Salvation Army and the other by the SPCA. I did really well. I got a new pair of jeans, three T-shirts and a sweater, and, for the dance, a button-up shirt, dress pants and a suit jacket. Astrid peeled off no more than two of those twenty-dollar bills to pay for it all.
My favorite find was a red polo shirt that looked almost brand-new. It had a small grease stain on the bottom front, but you could hardly see it. “The color looks great with your skin tone and hair,” Astrid said.
On Friday morning, Dylan told me his dad had offered to drive the four of us. “We can come get you,” Dylan said. “I still haven’t seen where you live.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just come to your house. Really. My place is out of your way.”
I stopped at the florist after school to pick up Winnie’s wrist corsage. When I got
back to the garage, Astrid was already there, ironing my shirt and pants on a piece of cardboard propped on top of a recycling bin. “Since when do we own an iron?”
“Since today. I can’t have my boy looking anything less than super-duper for his first dance.”
I made a face. “Super-duper?”
When she was done ironing, I climbed into the van and changed. The pants were a little more threadbare than I remembered and the sleeves of the jacket were a bit frayed and there was a hole in one of the pockets, but other than that, it looked great. When I stepped out, Astrid whistled. “You look amazing.” She combed out my hair, giving it maximum volume. “Let me see the wrist corsage.” I showed her the yellow rose in its plastic container. “It’s perfect. She’ll love it.”
Astrid fed me a quick dinner, then walked with me to the Brinkerhoffs’. It was a crisp, cool night. The stars were bright. When we arrived I asked, “Do you want to come in and say hi?”
She shook her head. “I think I won’t.” I noticed there were tears in her eyes. “Your first dance. I love you, Felix.”
“I love you, Astrid.”
She kissed my forehead and walked away.
* * *
—
Alberta opened the door. “Oh my God, you look way too cute,” she said, mussing my hair.
Dylan catapulted down the stairs. His dress shirt was wrinkled, and it was only half-tucked into his gray dress pants, but he still looked neater and tidier than I’d ever seen him. “Dad, let’s go!”
While we waited for Mr. Brinkerhoff we endured Alberta’s teasing. “Do you have condoms?”
“Shut up,” said Dylan.
“We don’t want any teen pregnancies.”
“Doofus! We’re twelve!”
“They say kids are getting started younger and younger these days.”
Thankfully Mr. Brinkerhoff appeared, and we were off.
We picked Sophie up first. She wore pleather pants and a hot-pink top. Mr. Brinkerhoff introduced himself; Dylan just grunted. “So, Sophie,” said Mr. Brinkerhoff, trying to fill the silence, “how’s seventh grade treating you?”
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