Fifteen and Change

by Max Howard

  Mom’s Speech

  You’re gone all the time. Who knows where. A fancy car drops you off. You hide thousands of dollars in your room. Plus two Ds on your report card. Drugs are a big NO, mister. I love you. This is tough love, honey. She slides her soapy ring back on her fing

  We Can’t Have a Kid Stay Here

  Olivia’s housemate says. He has a long black beard. Olivia, what if his mom calls the cops? You have to think about the movement. He crosses his arms over his chest so his muscles look bigger. Just for tonight, Olivia says. She unrolls a sleeping bag on the dining room floor. Beard guy stomps off.

  Olivia and I Are Alone

  in the empty dining room. She’s in her PJs and I’m in a blue bag. What? she asks. I swallow. The heater clangs. I want to say one thing. But I say something else: What does bread and roses mean? It’s from a song that changed the world, Olivia says.

  The Story of Bread and Roses

  A hundred years ago the bosses locked the workers inside the factory to control them. Then the factory caught fire. The workers burned. A woman named Rose got all the workers together. They went on strike. Asked for better pay. And not just better pay. For safety. Respect. Dignity. They wanted bread and also roses.

  Olivia Takes My Hand

  She brings it to the rose tattoo on her arm. Her skin is warm. She says, The striking workers carried signs saying, The worker must have bread, but she must have roses, too. We have a right to good wages and respect. Today we fight with them. With those workers who fought for us.

  While Olivia Is Talking

  the heater roars. My blood, too. I’m touching her tattoo with my fingertips in the dark. Then suddenly she’s zipping up her sweatshirt. Pushing me away, saying, Good night, Zekers. Sorry to get so intense. I’m just a history nerd. She’s gone. My heart bangs louder than the heater.

  I Don’t Sleep and I Can’t Calm Down

  Not until biology class. I like bio. Mr. Leo never calls on random kids and I know a lot about plants and animals. Plus today it’s just coloring a flower diagram. As I turn plant parts pink, my heart slows down. I don’t want to go home. But sleeping at Olivia’s— it’s like slamming Red Bulls and pixie sticks. It’s too much.

  Most Improved

  Things will get better, Mom promises when I come home. Once in Blue Way teachers voted me Most Improved Student. It didn’t feel like a compliment. But Paul is now Most Improved Paul. He’s working night security at a hospital. He’s always gone or sleeping.

  Beach Day

  It’s five below so Mom blasts the Beach Boys and bakes a Jiffy cake. While it cools on the counter she opens the oven door so the heat flows out, rolls over us. We take off our shoes and go barefoot while she cranks open a can of pineapple, saying, Aloha. Welcome to Hawaii.

  Just Because

  Mom and Paul are engaged doesn’t mean it’s going to work out. Mom and Dad WERE MARRIED. Now Dad is gone. Maybe Paul will go, too. It’s good to be prepared. I need a new hiding place for my money. Maybe at Olivia’s.

  Timothy Tells Me to Forget About Mom

  Says my pizza money would better serve me as a college fund. But the point of money, the only point of anything, is to take care of people you love. I tell Timothy, You’d be better off, too, if you ditched your dumb daughter and stopped paying child support. Left her like my dad left me.

  As It Turns Out

  Olivia doesn’t like me to buy roses with my paycheck. But we have fun walking around downtown in the cold giving the roses away. She tucks one in a homeless man’s wool blanket. Gives another to a cop. Olivia is not afraid to talk to cops.

  Timothy’s Daughter

  I finally meet Jasmine. Tiny. Runny nose. Muddy tutu. But when Timothy sees her it’s like a light goes on inside him. His silver dreadlocks shine. His silver eyes glow. His smile keeps turning into laughter and when he laughs, his ribs dance.

  The Bible

  Olivia tells me I can keep my money at her house. She gives me the Bible her parents gave her for First Communion. Hide your money in here, she says. She slips a five between the pages. No one will look. Who’s going to read the Bible in this house?

  Olivia’s Room

  is a pigpen. Papers and dishes all mashed in with work shirts. Feather boas. Oreo boxes. She points to a spot on a bookshelf between a dead fern and a pink sock. Sets the Bible there. If I’m not home and you need money, just ask someone to let you in.

  Olivia’s Kitchen

  smells like cinnamon and hot beans. Dylan’s at the table drinking a root beer. Hey, man, he says. You here for the meeting? I thought he hated Olivia. He thought $15-an-hour meetings were fancy or stupid. I don’t know what to say. So I kneel down and pet the white cat that lives here.

  The White Cat

  weaves away from me. Olivia’s housemate picks her up, lets her tangle her white paws in his long black beard. He says, Y’all need to start squirting fake blood over every pizza you sell. Like blood diamonds, Dylan says. Only blood pizza.

  Blood Pizza

  I think of Mary’s red cough and cracked hands. I think of the purple bruises Paul left on Mom’s arm. I think of the pizza ovens. How much it hurts to get even the tiniest burn. I think of those old-time factory ladies burning to death. I think blood and pizza, bread and roses.

  Spring Is Colder Than Winter

  because it is wetter. Slush goes right through my shoes. I can’t feel my feet by the time I get to work. Hey, Mary, I say. I watch her ponytail whip. Did you leave your car running in the parking lot? Mary turns red. Says, Just go clean the toilets, kid.

  Dylan and I Break Down Boxes

  We haul cardboard out back to the wet recycling pile. Dylan’s beard has grown thicker and now he wants to major in pre-med. When we pass Mary’s car, he knocks on the window. Three little kids pop up. They roll down the window. Dylan gives them mints from the counter.

  Olivia Is Crying Behind the Pizza Boxes

  She wipes her tears on rough Casa napkins. I keep one. I know it’s creepy. But I stuff it in my apron pocket anyway. Say, Olivia, what’s wrong? It’s Mary, she sniffles.

  Mary

  couldn’t pay rent because she missed her shifts. So then she got evicted and no shelters have space. And if she can’t give her kids a home, Child Services might take them from her. Oh, Zekers. It’s so sad and so real. Olivia sobs.

  Olivia Sobs

  but Mary whirls around Casa, yelling: Watch your cheese lock, Hannah. Wipe down that counter, Timothy. Were you raised in a barn, Zekers? Her teeth flash, her ponytail snaps. She hollers, That’s too much meat on that pie, Dylan. You think Casa’s made of money?

  Quietly and Without Anyone Noticing

  Hannah turns a hunk of dough into a perfect pizza crust. She drips sauce carefully over the crust. Works drop by drop. Until suddenly in the center of the crust a rose— tomato red, bloody red— blooms. When she takes it out of the oven, Olivia starts crying again. Says, Hannah, you’re an artist. Says, Look, everyone. Bread and roses.

  Overtime

  CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH Scott’s in his office, making the schedule. Mary says, Scott, I need overtime. Scott snorts. Uses a high, girlish voice to make fun of her. He says, I need a sick day. I need overtime. I need this. I need that. His voice goes low. He grunts. Says, It’s not my problem.

  Olivia Slices Up the Rose Pizza

  Gives everyone a piece on a napkin. Gives a big piece to Mary, saying, You know you’re hungry. Mary’s eyes are hard, but her mouth goes soft. She snaps up the rose pizza. Dips it in ranch. Eats.

  I Make a Mistake

  with some pepperoni. Mary takes the mistake-pizza to her kids waiting in the car. Olivia tries to get Mary to take a few bottles of Coke, too. But Mary draws the line at Cokes. Explains: We get dough and cheese and meat at cost. But our profit margin on bottled beverages is very narrow.

  Action

  Olivia and Dylan are doing an action next month with Burger King workers. They’ll walk off the job during dinner rush. Stan
d downtown on strike with signs demanding fair pay. Scott found a flyer. Says that if we go we won’t have jobs to come back to.

  Trash Duty

  I started double-bagging the trash at home. A habit from Casa. It’s a good thing, too. The outer bag rips on the stairs. Only one thing falls out. It looks like a thermometer. Only it’s not. It’s— Oh God. A pregnancy test. Is Mom having a baby?

  Blue Way?

  More like Far Away. I’m too mad to go back inside. It’s cold and raining but I take a walk. Stomping through puddles. I like babies fine. But a baby will tie Mom to Paul for years.

  I Know What to Do

  When I walk past Casa, I see Mary’s car in the parking lot. Inside, three little kids crowd around the glow of a phone while rain splats. Suddenly I know what to do. There’s only one thing that can make me feel better. The Bible.

  At Olivia’s House

  Beard guy answers the door. The white cat clings to his black beard. Beer foam clings to his mustache. Go on up, he says. There’s no answer when I knock. I twist the glass knob. Push open the door. And there’s Olivia and Dylan kissing. His hands in her wild red hair.

  They Don’t See Me

  It’s like I’m invisible. Only this time being invisible doesn’t feel good. I tiptoe in. Grab the Bible. Run. Take the cash. All $400. Throw the Bible, Olivia’s present from her rich parents, in the gutter. Rainwater rolls over it, golden in a sudden sunbeam.

  Invisible Again

  At Casa I slip in the back door. Grab an empty pizza box. Stuff the cash inside it. All $400. Outside rain thunks on the box lid. Mary’s little boy opens the car window. Smiles, missing two front teeth. A delivery? he asks. Something for your mom, I say.

  Crap

  I have to work with Olivia today. I could just not show up. Lose my job. Why do I need it if there’s no way to get back to Blue Way? I’m not going. Then I hear Mom puking in the bathroom. Gross. I go to work. Get there late.

  Never Been

  late before. Never seen Scott bite his nails before. We’ve never run out of banana peppers before. I’ve never been in love before. Also. I wanted to, but I never punched Dylan in the mouth. Never asked him if Olivia’s rich lips tasted salty from salting in. Never wished I’d never met her.

  At Least

  Olivia has a cold sore on her lip. Small miracle, says Timothy. (He’s talking about Jasmine’s inhaler. But I think it fits for a cold sore, too.) He lays mushrooms out on a pizza to make a dollar sign. Then the number 15. Wait, I say. I thought you didn’t want to join the fight for fifteen?

  Timothy Sprinkles Onions

  He says, There’s a lot of things I can’t do anything about. My ex’s sleazy boyfriend. Jasmine’s asthma. But in this case I can be the man I want to be. I can stand up. For myself. For Mary. CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH Scott is standing behind us nibbling his nails. But Timothy doesn’t shut up.

  Timothy Gets Louder

  So what if I get fired? There’s plenty of crap jobs with crap pay and crap bosses in this town. Scott spits a strip of fingernail out of his mouth. It lands in the Cambro container with the chopped onions. What did you say, Timothy? You heard me, Timothy says.

  I Nearly Trip Over Hannah

  She’s hiding behind the stacks of pizza boxes. She’s drawing cartoons on the inside lids of each box. The cartoon is a sad face vomiting on a pepperoni pizza. Beneath the picture she writes, Did You Know We Don’t Get Sick Days? #Fightforfifteen Or Eat Puke!

  Dylan Is Whistling

  His arms are up to the elbows in blue dish water. I check his lips for signs of a cold sore. But his beard is too thick. When he sees me, he reaches out a wet hand for a high-five. But I just stand there wishing he couldn’t see me.

  Mom Threw Up Lucky Charms

  while cleaning a stay-over at the motel. Hurled pink right into a guest’s cowboy boots. She tells the story while flipping pancakes. She tells it like it’s funny. Paul laughs. Folds a big pancake. into his mouth. Says, Huh. I’m going to be a dad.

  Mary Is Living at the Elk Horn Inn

  She pays $60 a night for a peed-on king-size bed and a dirty microwave. My $400. Three weeks’ wages will last one week. Mary’s begging for overtime. I give her a shift. So does Olivia. So does Dylan. Then Scott says, Enough.

  Princess

  Dylan throws a pepper at Olivia. Olivia dumps ice down the back of Dylan’s green work shirt. That’s it, princess, he says. Picks her up. Swings her around. She squeals. Her feet knock over the trash can. Onion skins fly everywhere. Olivia! Timothy snaps. Aren’t you the one who wants all that respect? Straighten up!

  Quietly

  Dylan sweeps up the spilled trash. Quietly Olivia restocks the soda cooler. I breathe quietly. Chop mushrooms quietly. Never heard Timothy speak up before. Quietly Mary dries her hands on her apron. She gives Timothy a big thumbs-up.

  Employee Meeting

  Scott holds up a pizza box. Opens the lid. There’s Hannah’s cartoon, stained with grease. Customer complained about this, Scott says. Very upset. Timothy says, How upset? Scott crunches twice on a pepper. Says, Excuse me? Timothy stands up. Says, Get real. They ate the pizza. How upset could they be?

  I Hide in the Walk-In Freezer

  Shivering. So Olivia can’t offer me a ride home. Walking is good exercise anyway. I find Hannah in the freezer waiting for me. She gives me an ice cream sandwich from 7-11. She’s been keeping it cold in there all day

  First Day of Spring

  Mary uses Olivia’s phone to find a shelter. Finally gets a bed at a place downtown across from the courthouse. Hustle, people, Mary says, ponytail wagging. Once you get behind, it’s hard to catch up.

  75 and Sunny

  The day of the action, Olivia rolls by just to pick people up. When Scott sees her BMW, his mouth falls open. Olivia raises an eyebrow. Says, Beautiful day for a protest. Dylan, Hannah, and Timothy pile in. Zekers? Olivia says. I turn around. Go back inside.

  Slammed

  Burger King. Arby’s. McDonald’s. Subway. All closed due to the strike. So everyone wants pizza. The printer drums out order tickets nonstop. They pile up on the floor like snow. Hurrying from prep area to oven, oven to counter. We cover the white tickets with saucy red footprints.

  Get in the Zone, People

  Mary says, cheese flying from her fingers. She spins pepperoni like quarters, each round landing neatly on the raw pie. She slides it into the oven. Then pulls out a fresh baked Veggie Queen. Slices and boxes it. She moves so fast her ponytail stands straight up, electric.

  We Run Out of Pizza Boxes

  I cut my finger folding more. Trying to work fast. Then we run out of sauce. I cut my finger on the huge can lid trying to wrench it off. We run out of peppers. I would’ve cut my finger trying to slice them. But thankfully the knife was too dull.

  Hungry Customers

  don’t like waiting. They jam up the counter area, pointing at us. Saying, Is that my pizza? That’s a Meat King. Is that my Meat King? Mary stares them down. Scolds, You just be patient. Scott and I work as fast as we can. Cheese is flying everywhere. Hurry! Scott yells. Forget about cheese lock. It’s an emergency!

  Scott Is Cracking

  under the strain. Doing toppings with one hand. Shoveling peppers in his mouth with the other. We push pizza after pizza into the oven. I stink like sweat and spilled olive juice. Once I slip on pizza grease, dropping an extra-large in front of the customers.

  The Fog of War

  I quit hearing the angry customers. Only hear crunching crunching. It sets a rhythm. A flow. Scott and I prep and bake. Mary boxes and sells. Two hours later, face sliding with sweat, voice rough, Mary says, Oh my God. We sold four thousand dollars’ worth of pizza in two hours. I made $14.50.

  Scott Gasps, Surprised

  And when he does he inhales a chunk of pepper. Starts to choke. His face turns red. He grabs on to the prep counter. Mary’s far away. She’s yelling at a customer. Ponytail bobbing. Scott turns purple.

  I May Act Invis
ible

  but I pay attention in health class. I do what I have to do. Get behind Scott. Wrap my arms around his belly. Grip. Squeeze. I don’t see the pepper fly out, but Scott falls forward suddenly breathing breathing breathing.