by David Skuy
That was a bizarre question. I’m sleeping in their garage and the first thing she asks is if I’m hurt?
Rasheed spoke next. “Why aren’t you at home?”
I spotted the red sleeping bag, which was still in its nylon bag. I needed it. Without answering, I wiggled out of the grey sleeping bag and grabbed the red one, and got to my knees.
“Talk to us, Jonathon. What’s going on?” Alisha pleaded.
I did something dumb and looked at her. She looked beyond shocked, as if she’d seen a Martian or something, and her eyes were watering, not crying but wet. I figured I had to say something. Besides, I still felt awful about how I’d yelled at her after I quit the team.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said, more calmly than I thought possible. “Pretend I wasn’t here. I won’t bug you anymore. Sorry. But I gotta take this or I’m gonna die,” and I held up the red sleeping bag. “I’ll bring it back when it gets warmer or I find another, I promise.”
“I gotta go — now,” I said, in what I hoped was a tough-guy voice. “Don’t try to stop me, I’m warning you. I mean it.”
Rasheed held out his hand. “Calm down, Jonathon. Tell us what happened, and maybe we can help.”
That made me laugh. Like they could get me back into the Underground or take care of W5, or give me money for food every day.
“Why did you run away from home?” Alisha asked.
I answered before I could stop myself. “What home are you talking about? I ain’t got no home.”
There it was. Now they knew I was a Streeter.
“What about your house, down by the station … did … did … something happen to it?” Rasheed stammered.
These two were so dumb. “I don’t live there,” I said with disgust. “I only pretended.” I stared right into Alisha’s eyes. “I don’t have a home. I live on the streets. I always have, even when you met me.”
Alisha gasped and put a hand across her mouth. Rasheed stood still like a statue.
He was the first to speak again. “Did you get in a fight?” he asked, pointing to my face. “And what happened to your clothes … like … are you okay?”
I could only imagine what I looked like, with a swollen eye, and ripped pants, and blood on me, and all dirty. Actually, Stink Bomb was a good name for me. I’d slept in garbage, I smelled like garbage, and I looked like garbage — and I felt like garbage too.
“Let’s go in the house, Jonathon,” Alisha said. Her eyes weren’t wet anymore. “I bet you need something to eat. Dad and Mom are home and they’ll know what to do. You can’t live on the streets. That’s … impossible. Come in, and at least eat something.”
The mention of her parents got my attention. “Bad idea — real bad. Forget that.” I gripped the sleeping bag tight. “I lost my sleeping bag, and I need this one. Like I said, I’ll give it back when I can.”
I took a deep breath and got ready to charge.
“I told you guys to hurry up. What’s taking so long?”
Rasheed’s father walked into the garage.
“Jonathon?”
I was done. I’d never smash past Rasheed and his dad. Once they found out that I’d stolen their sleeping bag, and the skates, I’d be arrested for sure.
I closed my eyes and prayed my mom wasn’t watching.
Chapter 27
I tipped the bowl to get the last bit of soup. I hadn’t had soup in ages, since my mom was healthy, which right now seemed like a million years ago, and it warmed my entire body all the way to my toes. This was my third bowl, and that’s after I had two peanut butter sandwiches. I know I looked like a pig, but it all tasted so good I couldn’t stop myself. The best part was the milk. I’d forgotten what it tasted like, and they kept filling my glass.
Honestly, I could have had another bowl of soup easy.
“My goodness, you certainly had a hunger,” Cynthia said.
I’d barely looked up from my bowl the entire time. Now, with all four of them staring at me from across the table, I had to say something.
“Sorry. I had some Chinese buns yesterday. I guess I was sorta hungry, walking around last night … looking for a place to sleep … and for some reason I’m … I guess I’m hungry is all. I feel better; and thanks for the food.”
Cynthia’s eyes grew all sad. She looked a lot like Alisha.
Rick cleared his throat. “Jonathon, how can we help you?” he said.
They were always asking strange questions. “Well … I guess … you could just …” I was about to ask them to let me go, but I knew there was no chance, not after what I’d done. “I don’t need anything,” I said real quiet. “You can call the police now.”
Cynthia put her hand on my arm. “Why would we call the police, dear?”
It freaked me out when she said “dear” because that’s what my mom used to call me. I got this big lump in my throat and I had trouble talking.
“Jonathon, please tell us why you were in our garage, and what happened to your eye?” Cynthia asked softly.
Everyone got real quiet after that, waiting for me to answer — so that’s what I did. I think I talked for hours — well, a long time anyway. I told them about my mom, and Ron taking off. I told them all about the Underground, and Rigger, and Lewis, and everyone, and W5, and Will, Rose and J.J., and getting jacked. I even told them about stealing the skates.
“So you were just skating at the arena every day when I saw you?” Rasheed said.
“I didn’t have anything else to do,” I said.
“Unbelievable,” Rick said when I’d done talking. “I did have a feeling you weren’t being completely honest with us, and I could tell by your clothes that obviously there were money problems. But I never suspected … It’s the most incredible story I’ve ever heard.”
“You may as well finish the rest of the soup,” Cynthia said. “There’s not much left anyway.” She poured it into my bowl.
“Shouldn’t we get some ice for his eye?” Alisha asked.
“Good idea, Ali,” Rasheed said. “I’ll get it.”
Alisha sat beside me as I finished the soup and then put the ice on my eye. I didn’t see the point, but Rasheed went to all this trouble to get it and smash it up and put it in a plastic bag. It stung at first, and then it felt kind of good. We had one of those quiet moments as everyone sat around the table. They’d been so nice to me, and obviously weren’t going to call the police right away, and had fed me. Alisha looked so sad and her eyes were so big. There was one thing I had to say.
“I did something else,” I began, “something kinda bad … to you.” I took a deep breath and said in a whisper, “I stole a sleeping bag out of your van after the first practice.”
“That’s okay,” Alisha said. “We understand. You needed it more than us, anyway.”
“And we don’t go camping until the summer, so it’s no big deal,” Rasheed said.
I looked over at Rick. “But I lost the sleeping bag,” I continued. “These two drunks stole it from me last night. I don’t think I can get it back.” I told them what happened, and then Rasheed and his dad couldn’t help laughing when I finished. It was kind of funny, I guess.
Alisha got real angry, though. “It’s not funny!” she snapped at her dad and brother. “It’s wrong that we can’t take care of people and they have to live on the street; and Jonathon’s a kid and he shouldn’t have to … fight every day just to eat.”
“Meet Saint Alisha,” Rasheed said to me. “She’s going to save the world — works with the school breakfast program every morning and volunteers at a women’s shelter.”
“You’re so selfish, Rasheed.”
Rick held his hands up. “That’s enough, you two. Alisha’s right, though. This is not really funny, although I confess when I think of those drunk guys all tangled up in that ugly old sleeping bag …”
He and Rasheed broke up again, and then Alisha began to giggle along with the rest of us.
“Quiet down, the lot of you,” Cynthia said,
but in a nice way. “Jonathon, we don’t know exactly how, but we want to help you if you’ll let us. Right, Rick?”
Rick nodded seriously.
“I imagine trusting people is not all that easy for you after all you’ve been through,” she said. “We can’t make too many promises, other than I promise you will not spend one more night sleeping on the streets. We also promise not to call the police. I do have to call some people I know who understand how to take care of kids who don’t have a home to live in, and these people work for the government. Is that okay?”
I knew what government people meant. Once they heard about the electronics store and the skates and the sleeping bag, I’d end up in juvie, for sure. She had promised not to call the police, though, and if I played along I could get some more food, and sneak off when I got the chance. And I knew where the sleeping bags were.
“So is that okay?” she repeated.
“Sure. Thanks. That’s real nice of you.”
They all smiled after I said that.
Chapter 28
The second I heard the door close I poked my head out the bedroom door. There was some family thing going on, a reception for Cynthia’s cousin who was getting married, or something like that. Rick told me they’d be back real quick. “Just have to put in an appearance,” he’d said.
Well, that would give me plenty of time. The more I thought about it the more ridiculous it sounded; like I was going to wait around for Rasheed’s mom to call the government. Maybe she’d get money for turning me in. Why help me in the first place? And why go on so much about trusting people — as if that wasn’t suspicious? That’s exactly what I’d tell someone before I double-crossed them. No one ever helped me.
I’d miss that bed, though. I couldn’t believe how soft it was. What a sleep. I still couldn’t believe how long I slept. It was dark outside, which meant I must have slept most of the day. Finally, my head felt clear and my headache was gone, and I could see out of my eye again. I guess that ice thing really does work.
I went downstairs to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I had to step back to take it all in. I couldn’t remember when I’d seen so much food in one place, other than a supermarket: fruit, milk, cheese, yogurt, veggies, chicken, containers with leftovers, jars, drinks. I decided on the chicken, the cheese and the yogurt. I looked around for a plastic bag to carry it all.
“The plates are in the cabinet to the right of the sink, and the cutlery is underneath the top drawer.”
I almost dropped the food, and I swear my heart did a cartwheel in my chest. Alisha was reading a book at the table. She smiled and pointed at the cabinets. Too stunned to think, I pulled a plate down, grabbed a spoon and some salt, although I have no idea why I needed salt, and sat down with her.
“Do you feel better, after your nap, I mean?”
I nodded and took a bite out of the chicken.
“Your eye sure looks better after icing it, although it’s still kind of black and blue.” She laughed a bit. “Chicken and yogurt is an interesting combination. Is that a particular favourite of yours?”
“Not sure. It’s okay, I guess.”
“I’ve been thinking about your life. That W5 must be a sad person, acting tough like that all the time and using violence. I bet he’s just insecure and scared.”
W5 sure didn’t seem scared to me, but I didn’t want to disagree with her. Best to change the subject. I asked the first question that popped into my head. “So what are you reading?”
I can be so lame.
“It’s a great book — The Catcher in the Rye. I’m reading it again. I bet you’d love it. I’ll lend it to you when I’m done.”
“That would be … great. Sounds interesting.”
She giggled again. “I didn’t tell you what it was about yet.”
I felt myself blush. “Oh, yeah. Well, I trust you.”
“Do you?” Her eyes opened wide.
And I was about to steal from her — or at least from her family.
This was torture. I needed that sleeping bag, and yet I swear I could hear my mom talking to me. She wouldn’t be happy if she knew what I was planning.
“I guess I do.” That stupid lump in my throat was back. It was like I couldn’t lie to her, not with Alisha looking at me so big-eyed and treating me fair. In a whisper I said, “Do you trust me?”
Her head jerked up. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“’Cause I’m a criminal … I stole stuff, lots of it, and from you, and your family, and I lie all the time … and I … I was going to steal this food and I was going to steal a sleeping bag and run away to the park.”
She’d hate me for sure. I didn’t really know why I told her, only it felt good and somehow I knew my mom would be proud of me for saying it.
“You’re no criminal. You had to steal to survive. You have to eat and get shelter, and stay warm.” She sounded so certain. “Jonathon, you have to forgive yourself and start new. You need a fresh start. So repeat after me, ‘I’m a good person.’”
I rolled my eyes.
“Say it,” she ordered.
“This is dumb.”
“It is not. Just say it like you mean it.”
I paused — and the words stuck on the tip of my tongue, like really stuck, as if I couldn’t get them out no matter how hard I tried.
“I can say it for you. I think you’re a good person. I do. I thought that from the minute I met you.”
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me.
The back door opened and Rasheed walked in.
“I thought you guys were out?” I said.
Rasheed waved his hand. “Mom and Dad wanted us to stay with you. They’re only going for a bit. Should we watch a movie?” He held a couple of DVDs in his hand.
“Sure,” Alisha said. “We can watch downstairs, Jonathon.”
I followed them to the basement. On the stairs, Rasheed turned around. “I spoke to Lou while you were sleeping — you can really sleep, dude, by the way. I bet you were out for like twelve hours. Anyway, guess what?”
I shook my head.
“All the guys want you to come back. We got a playoff game tomorrow against the Red Wings. We got smoked the first two games and if we lose again we’re out. With you, we can at least make them work for it. So are you up for it?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think it’s a good idea …”
It would be totally embarrassing. I couldn’t go into a dressing room with a bunch of guys that called me Stink Bomb. I just couldn’t. This was too much. And then I started to wonder if all of this was just crazy. These were Reggies, and here I was living with them and eating their food and trusting that they wouldn’t turn me in. I wished I knew what to do. But I had no one to ask.
Rasheed laughed and pushed me on the shoulder. “All the guys understand what happened, and it’s okay. Trust me. We all want you back on the team, and the coaches too.”
“Even Malcolm?”
“Maybe if you pass the puck a bit more,” he joked.
We both laughed at that.
“I guess Peter and Derrick aren’t much worse than those two drunk guys,” I joked.
“And they definitely ain’t no W5,” Rasheed added.
That was the truth. “How about I think it over. Maybe. I still feel kinda weird about it.”
“The hockey’s not so important. But you have to promise to stay and let us help you,” Alisha cut in, her eyes so wide they seemed to go from ear to ear.
This was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make. I knew life on the streets could be hard — and W5 and Scrunchy Face were out there, not to mention Will. How long could I hide from them? Only I didn’t know Rasheed and his family, not really. Why would they help someone like me, someone who stole their stuff and was about to do it again? I missed hockey though, more than anything except for my mom.
And there was that bed. Maybe staying and playing hockey were the smart things to do?
Chapter 29
Rasheed held the door for me. “Let’s kick some Red Wing butt.”
All the way over, he kept telling me everything was going to be okay. Was it really? If I heard one “Stink Bomb” comment I was out of there.
A huge smile crossed Lou’s face when he saw me in the arena lobby. “Tremendous. Truly. Great to see you, Jonny.” He dropped a hockey bag at my feet. “I see you’ve brought your magic skates.” I took the skates from my shoulder and dropped them into the bag. I could have done without all the attention; I just wanted to go to the dressing room. The coaches weren’t through with me yet, though.
The coaches came over, and Lou put a hand on my shoulder. “We’re glad to see you back. We want to forget about the past and start over. Okay? Does that work for you?”
I mumbled, “Sure.” I wasn’t so sure that was really true. How could anyone forget what I said? I sure hadn’t forgotten anything.
Malcolm patted me on the back. “You and I have had our differences, haven’t we? But I want to put that in the past, too.”
He held out his hand. I felt goofy but we shook.
“You’ve got a lot of talent,” Malcolm continued, “and man can you skate. I’ve been on you to pass, and I want you to think about something before the game. Good players score goals; great players help teammates score too. And I think you can be a great player.”
“I’ll try, Malcolm.”
“That’s all we want,” he said.
Lou was nodding the whole time, and he put my hockey bag on my shoulder. “Go get changed. We’re in Room 4. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes to talk to you guys.”
I was more than happy to end the conversation. That was embarrassing. It almost made me want to drop the bag and run out of the arena. I wondered if Malcolm was being serious about me being a great player, and I got the part about passing more. I know I sometimes carry the puck too much. I promised myself to really try this game. No more Mr. Puck Hog.
I stopped in front of Room 4, and suddenly a wave of fear washed over me. I would rather have faced W5 at that moment, I was so terrified. It wasn’t like they were going to pound me. But they knew my secret, that I’d been a street kid, eating out of garbage cans and hawking for money, that I had stolen stuff, and that I didn’t have parents or a home. Even worse, I was still going to be Stink Bomb no matter how clean I was now. I know kids. Like me, they wouldn’t forget. I stood there, literally unable to move. I wanted to leave; and I wanted to play.
