No Fixed Address

by Susin Nielsen

  “Fine.”

  No one said another word on the rest of the drive to Winnie’s.

  I hopped out when we arrived at her building. Winnie was waiting in the lobby with her mom. She wore a shimmery silver sleeveless dress that stopped just above her knees and silver ballet flats. A white shawl was draped around her shoulders.

  She looked, just…wow.

  “You must be Felix,” her mom said. “I’m Eleanor, Winnie’s mom.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Eleanor.” We shook hands. “You deliver babies.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Winnie cleared her throat. “Why, thank you, Felix, you look nice, too.”

  “Huh?”

  Eleanor smiled. “I think my rather rude daughter is fishing for a compliment.”

  Oh. “You look nice,” I said. Winnie’s expression darkened. “Very nice?”

  “Please have her home by eleven,” Eleanor said.

  “I will.” We turned to leave the building. Winnie cleared her throat. Once. Twice. “You coming down with something?”

  “Take my arm.”

  Eleanor gave me an encouraging smile. I took Winnie’s arm. “Duì nǐ de péngyǒu hǎo yī diǎn,” she called after us.

  “She told me to be nice to you in Mandarin,” Winnie explained. “Since when am I not nice?”

  Halfway to the car I remembered the box in my hand. “Oh yeah. Here’s your corsage thingy.” I handed it to her and kept walking.

  Winnie stopped. “Felix.”

  “What?”

  “Take it out of the box and put it on my wrist.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “Because you’re supposed to do it.”

  “But this isn’t even supposed to be a real date!” She glared at me. My P.O.O. told me this was going very badly, but I had no idea why. “Fine!” I slipped the corsage onto her wrist. “You happy now?”

  “No!”

  The drive to the school was short but deadly. Mr. Brinkerhoff tried to crack jokes. “Where do Canadians keep their armies?” No one answered. “Up their sleevies!” We filed silently out of the car. “For God’s sake, try to have fun!” he shouted after us.

  * * *

  —

  The gym had been decorated with streamers and balloons. The lights were dim. No one was dancing yet. Kids stood on the perimeter of the dance floor, eating snacks or goofing around.

  I brought Winnie a glass of punch. She stood with her arms across her chest, scowling. “Winnie. Forgive me if I’m confused. You told me I was your cover. That this was research for the school paper. Then you want me to behave all…datelike.”

  “For a supposedly smart guy, you’re really stupid.”

  “What?”

  “Did it honestly never occur to you that I like you?”

  No. It had not. I suddenly felt very warm inside, in a not-unpleasant way.

  “See, this is what I hate about school dances,” she continued. “They get hopes up, and then those hopes are crushed, and you feel embarrassed and humiliated.”

  A slow song came on.

  “Anyway, do whatever you want. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

  “Winnie—”

  “I’m the idiot here, not you. Me.”

  “Winnie—”

  “Story of my life, really, you probably haven’t noticed but I’m not the greatest reader of social cues—”

  “Winnie.” She shut up. I held out my hand. She looked at it, puzzled, then her eyes lit up. I walked her to the middle of the dance floor. We were the first couple out there. I put my arms around her waist. I’d never slow-danced in my life, so I just shuffled around in a little circle.

  After a while, more kids joined us. Winnie rested her head on my shoulder, which felt nice.

  We only left the dance floor twice, once for snacks and once to pee.

  Winnie never wrote her scathing exposé on school dances.

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Brinkerhoff picked us up just after ten. We dropped Winnie off first, then Sophie. Once Sophie was out of the car, Dylan exhaled loudly from the front seat. “Thank God that’s over. That was awful! I’m so sweaty!” It wasn’t from dancing; he and Sophie had barely hit the dance floor.

  “I thought you liked her,” Mr. Brinkerhoff said.

  “I thought I did, too. But then she said that she thinks poltergeists are restless spirits who want to cause pain and suffering, and I was like, ‘That is so not Bernard!’ Bernard’s a practical joker, but he looks out for us, too! And she wasn’t buying it. And I was like, ‘How do you know? I’m the one with the poltergeist!’ ”

  I caught Mr. Brinkerhoff’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he winked. “Felix, where do you live?” he asked.

  “It’s out of your way. Just drop me at the bus stop.”

  “Absolutely not. We’re driving you home.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. What’s the address?”

  I drew a blank. How could I give them an address when I didn’t have an address?

  I remembered I’d told Dylan I lived on the edge of the catchment area on the first day of school. So I blurted out the one address I knew that fit that description.

  Soleil’s.

  As we drove farther and farther away from the van, Mr. Brinkerhoff told us stories about school dances he’d been to when he was young. I couldn’t concentrate. Halfway there, I started to hiccup. As we pulled up outside Soleil’s house, Dylan’s dad wrapped up his latest tale. “Never a good idea to vomit on your date’s new shoes!”

  He stopped the car. Dylan gave a low whistle. “Wow. Nice digs, Felix!”

  “We’re just—hic!—renting the basement.”

  Mr. Brinkerhoff turned off the ignition. He started to get out of the car. “I’ll walk you to the door. Say a quick hi to your mom.”

  “You can’t!” I said, louder than I meant to. “I mean—she’s out. On a date. But I’ll tell her—hic!—you said hi.”

  He looked at me for a few seconds longer than was comfortable. “Okay. Well. We’ll just wait here till you get inside.”

  “Great. Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car, my suit jacket flung over my arm. I walked across the street. There were still a couple of lights on in Soleil’s house, including, thank goodness, one in the basement.

  I walked down the path at the side of the house. I opened the gate. A floodlight went on, with me directly in the beam. Please, please, don’t let anyone look outside.

  I waved once more to Dylan and his dad. As gently as I could, I closed the gate. I tiptoed through Soleil’s yard to the back gate, the one that led into the alley. A dog started barking inside the house.

  Soleil and her family had got a dog. Maybe they’d gotten a dog because they were afraid. Maybe they were afraid because someone had recently broken into their house.

  I fled through the back gate. The arm of my brand-new used dress shirt got caught on something, and I heard a ripping sound. More lights went on in the house, and I heard the back door open. “Who’s out there?” Soleil’s husband, Arpad.

  I ran down the alley. When I was a few blocks away, I pulled out my phone and texted Dylan: Safe inside!

  The beautiful, clear night had turned frosty and cold. I pulled the suit jacket on, but I shivered as I waited for the bus, which was late. When it finally arrived I sat by one of the heaters, trying to warm up. I inspected the tear in my shirt. It was about three inches long. I wanted to cry.

  But I didn’t.

  After all, it had been a mostly wonderful night.

  The rest of the weekend was long and dull. Dylan had a karate tournament, and Winnie had to go to her cousin’s wedding. “I love seeing my gōng gōng and pōpō, but these things go on forever. We have to sit th
rough a ten-course banquet. Ten courses!” she’d complained the night before. I wanted to say “Ten courses! Can I come?”

  Astrid and I filled our time doing our laundry and our shopping. On Sunday afternoon we went to the library to get out some books and to use their free Wi-Fi.

  I had an email.

  Congratulations, Felix Knutsson! You’ve been selected to audition for a spot on Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition. Auditions will be held on Tuesday, October 30, at the Sunshine Inn, downtown Vancouver. Please arrive by nine a.m. at the latest for check-in. And good luck!

  Sincerely,

  Nazneen Iravani

  Producer

  I showed Astrid. We whooped so loudly that the librarian had to shush us three times.

  * * *

  —

  I told Dylan on Monday morning when we arrived at school. “That is amazing, Felix!” he said. “I got an email, too. A thanks, but no thanks.”

  We ran into Winnie on the front steps. She’d bought herself a brand-new beret in canary yellow, and matching canary-yellow socks. “You look…bright,” I said.

  “Like Tweety Bird,” added Dylan.

  Any fears I’d had that it would be weird between us after the dance disappeared when she launched right in. “I heard from Who, What, Where, When. I got an audition.” She was trying really hard not to look smug.

  “That’s awesome,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  “Wow,” said Dylan. “I can’t believe I know two people who got an audition!”

  Winnie blinked. “Oh. Felix got an audition, too?”

  “Yep,” I replied.

  It took her a moment before she said, “Well. Congratulations to you, too.”

  She did not sound entirely sincere.

  * * *

  —

  We had only a week to prepare, and we made the most of it. Dylan drilled us every day after school at his house. Sometimes Alberta and Henry helped too, using questions from their Reach for the Top packets.

  Because I’d watched the show so often, I knew the categories we should focus on: world geography, classical literature, pop culture, world history and science.

  “What city was once known as Constantinople?”

  “Istanbul.”

  “In which U.S. state did Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury take place?”

  “Mississippi.”

  “What is the periodic table of elements symbol for mercury?”

  “Hg.”

  Astrid also quizzed me when I got back to the garage.

  “What year did Hitler invade Poland?”

  “Nineteen thirty-nine.”

  “How many planets are in the solar system?”

  “Used to be nine, now it’s eight.”

  “Which product wanted to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony?”

  “Coca-Cola.”

  The night before the auditions, we went to the community center. I had a long shower. I laid out all my clothes on the passenger seat: dress pants paired with my brand-new used red polo shirt and fresh socks. I set two alarms. No way was I going to be late.

  I said goodnight to Horatio, my mom and Mel, and climbed into bed early, but I was jangly with excitement; I got through at least ten different lists in my head before I finally fell asleep.

  Then, at 6:58 a.m.—just before my alarm went off—disaster struck.

  Someone was opening the garage door.

  My mom cursed from her bed.

  Whoever it was started banging on the side of the van and shouting in another language. I scrambled down from my bunk in my Minions pajamas and grabbed the nearest weapon, our frying pan. Astrid, in her long johns and T-shirt, slid open the door.

  The man was dressed in work clothes and work boots. He kept shouting. I didn’t need to know the words to know he was angry.

  “We just needed a place to park for the night,” my mom said. “We’ll go.”

  The man—probably the contractor who’d been hired to finish the house—took out his phone and hit speed dial. I was so scared. Horatio looked scared, too. He ran around and around on his gerbil wheel, like he was trying to escape.

  Astrid scurried into the front seat. She put the keys into the ignition. “Tusan,” she said in Swedish.

  “What? Mom, just go!”

  “We’re plugged in.” She looked at me. “Felix, we are plugged in.”

  I knew what she wanted me to do. I glanced out the still-open side door. The man started talking to someone on the other end of the phone in his mother tongue. Was it the owner of the house? The police? I had no idea. He turned away from us for a moment.

  I seized my chance. I leapt out of the van, ran to the electrical outlet and pulled out our extension cord. Astrid started the engine.

  The man turned around and saw me. Just as I tried to scramble back into the van, he grabbed me by my pajama top.

  I bit down on his hand, hard.

  He yelled. He let go. And I dove into the van.

  Astrid tore out of the garage as I tried to close the side door. The man kept yelling at us, shaking his fist as we drove away.

  “Okay. It’s okay, Lilla Gubben,” Astrid kept repeating, like a mantra. We’d driven back down to Jericho Beach and parked in one of the oceanfront parking lots. I was in the passenger seat beside her, and I was shaking.

  “How can you say that? It is not okay! How do you know he wasn’t calling the cops and giving them our license plate number? How do you know they’re not looking for us right now?”

  “He didn’t call the cops. He was probably calling the owner, or the developer.”

  “But he might have copied down our license plate, or memorized it. The owner might have told him to call the cops next—”

  “Felix, stop it. Stop being such a worrywart—”

  “Don’t call me a worrywart! Just because I’m the only sensible one in this family, it does not make me a worrywart!”

  She glanced over at me. “Ouch.”

  I started hiccuping. “I bit him. I can’t believe I—hic!—bit him.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  I caught sight of the time on the dashboard display. “Aw, crap!”

  “What?”

  “I’m supposed to be—hic!—meeting Winnie at the—hic!—bus stop right now.”

  “It’s okay, Böna. It’s okay.” Astrid tried to pull me into a hug.

  I wriggled free. “No, Astrid. It is not okay! None of this is—hic!—okay!”

  She took a deep breath. “You’re right. It isn’t. But for now, you need to pull yourself together. Go to the washroom and get changed. Then I’ll drive you downtown.”

  I started hunting for my shoes. “Oh no. Oh no!”

  “What?”

  “My shoes are in the garage. I left them outside the van because you said they stink.” I thought of the other things we’d left behind: our lawn chairs, the space heater, our pot and our dishes.

  “It’s okay. You have other shoes.”

  “I have—hic!—rubber boots.”

  “So put them on.”

  I slipped on my rubber boots. I got out of the van, clutching my clothes, and ran to the beachfront washrooms. The closer I got, the more I realized I really had to go. Number one and number two. I grabbed the door to the men’s washroom and pulled.

  It was locked.

  I pushed, just for good measure, then tried pushing and pulling to make sure. Normally they were unlocked much earlier. Why, today of all days, was the unlocker of the bathroom doors late for work?

  Panic rose in my throat. I was desperate.

  I had no choice. I ran to a nearby tree. I pulled down my Minions bottoms.

  I let loose.

  There were dog walkers on the path, but they w
ere far enough away that they couldn’t see what I was doing. It didn’t matter, though. I had never felt so awful.

  So pathetic and worthless.

  Thank God I had some old Kleenex balled up in the pocket of my hoodie. But I couldn’t clean up the mess I’d left. I couldn’t wash my hands afterward. In all our weeks of living in the Westfalia, this was the first time I felt truly homeless.

  Hopeless.

  I pulled up my bottoms and turned to walk back to the van.

  That’s when I saw a woman, maybe twenty meters away from me, walking a dachshund.

  One look at her face and I knew that she’d seen everything. She was gaping at me, speechless with disgust.

  You think you’re disgusted, I wanted to shout. Imagine how I feel.

  * * *

  —

  Astrid drove me downtown. Traffic was bad. She tried to talk to me, tried to buoy my spirits, but I refused to answer.

  I changed in the backseat as she negotiated her way through rush-hour traffic. I smeared a ton of deodorant under my arms, and a bit down my pants, which stung.

  “You want me to park and come in?” Astrid asked when we finally pulled up outside the Sunshine Inn with five minutes to spare. She was still in her long johns, her hair a tangled mess; she looked as close to a crazy lady as I’d ever seen her.

  “No.” I opened the passenger door and climbed out.

  “Okay, well, I’ll wait here for you, then—”

  A wave of hot, black anger rolled over me. “NO! Just go! I’ll take the bus. I don’t want to see your face!” I slammed the door shut.

  And turned to find Winnie, in her canary-yellow beret, standing in front of the hotel, gaping at me.

  * * *

  —

  We bounded up the staircase to the second floor. “You’re late.”

  Shut up.

  “I was worried. I let two buses go by.”

  Shut up!

  “I was texting you—”

  “Look, I’m sorry. Really. It was beyond my control.”