"Oh ... right." Then I listen as she goes on about all the details and planning that come with the homecoming dance. Who knew there was so much involved? And then it hits me that this is going to cost money. Possibly a lot of money. Money I don't have.
"You're being awfully quiet," she finally says as she's pulling up to Westwood Heights. "Something bugging you?"
"No. Just tired."
"You're not coming down with the flu, are you?" She looks worried. "I hope you're not contagious."
I force a smile. "No, I'm not sick and I'm not contagious." Then I thank her for the ride and tell her to have fun scouting dresses.
"I'll keep you posted."
As she drives away, I realize I need to hurry since my threehour shift starts at four, giving me about fifteen minutes to get myself changed and to work. Yesterday I wore a nice outfit that ended up getting some food stains on it, so today I want to wear something washable and casual. But this might be a challenge, especially since jeans aren't allowed. And most of my wardrobe is too nice to wear there. Maybe my mom has something I can borrow. We're about the same size, but normally I wouldn't want to be caught dead in most of her clothes. However, I wouldn't want to be caught dead working at the nursing home either. So maybe that's a good combination.
Finally, dressed in a pair of my mom's old cords and a striped blouse that's so last decade, I put on my jacket and desperately hope no one I know sees me as I jog to River Woods for my shift.
"So you came back for more," Mary growls at me as I come into the kitchen. "And you're ten minutes late."
"I punched my time card at exactly four o'clock." I put on an apron. "Ms. Michaels had some paperwork for me to sign." Rule number one if you're working in the kitchen is you must wear an apron and a hairnet-unless your hair is long enough to be securely pulled back in a ponytail, which is how I plan to avoid looking like a cafeteria lady. Not that anyone here cares what I look like, but I still have a tiny bit of pride.
Mary puts me to work chopping onions and then grating cheese with the food processor, which I am slowly coming to terms with. I discovered yesterday that rather than asking her questions (which she hates), it's preferable to dig out an instruction manual (from where they are stored in a big drawer) and just figure things out for myself. I'm thinking it won't be long until I have the big food processor totally down. My goal is to be such a good assistant to Mary that she'll stop griping at me ... or at least tone it down some. But I suppose I could be dreaming.
Mary hates making small talk in the kitchen, but I can't stop thinking about the dance and how I'll need money, so I take a chance. "Uh, Mary, I forgot to ask Ms. Michaels when payday is."
She lets out a foul word, and I look over to see if she's cut herself. But there doesn't appear to be any blood. "Your second day and you're already whining about getting paid?"
"I just wondered."
"Payday is twice a month. The first and the fifteenth."
I want to ask her if that means I'll get a check in two days since that's the first of October, but I don't want to get yelled at again. Still, I'm hopeful. And unless my math is off, after deductions I should have a check for about a hundred dollars. While it's a relief to think I might have some money, it won't be nearly enough to cover my living expenses, which are meager, as well as what I need for the homecoming dance. Seriously, if I want to go to that dance, I'll need a fairy godmother.
I work quickly and quietly in the kitchen, and I can tell Mary is surprised at how I'm already catching on. Of course, she doesn't say as much, but I spy her glancing my way from time to time. I suspect she's hoping she'll get to scold me for something. But so far I've only given her two opportunities. Once for dropping a knife in the soapy sink water-a big no-no in Mary's kitchen because a person could lose a finger that way. The second scolding was for licking my finger when I wiped a spot of spilled chocolate pudding from the countertop. The irony there is that I've seen Mary lick her fingers numerous times. But I guess when you're the head chef, the rules change.
Mary's shift ends at six, which leaves me to finish the cleanup on my own tonight. But I don't mind. In a way it's kind of peaceful being in the kitchen alone. Also, time passes more quickly when you stay busy. So I'm not complaining. And just like that, my shift is over too. I punch out, grab my jacket, and head for home.
I feel a little uneasy as I walk down the darkened street. But not because I'm worried about muggers or anything. I'm used to being out after dark, and I pity anyone who tries to make trouble for me since I took karate in middle school and I know how to scream at the top of my lungs. In other words, I'm fairly street smart. Mostly I'm uneasy about the fact that my mom is still gone. Oh, I didn't expect her back this soon. And yet I hoped she might call. But I just checked my phone ... she hasn't.
As I let myself into the condo and lock the door, I feel lonelier than ever. This probably won't last for long. Maybe I should enjoy it a little. My guess is that my mom will be back by the end of the week. Maybe sooner. And hopefully I'll be paid by then and able to stock our kitchen with some food.
I'm just starting in on my homework when my cell phone rings. I grab it up, hoping it's my mom. But it's Isabella.
"I found a dress to die for."
"To die for, huh?" I set down my pencil and listen as she describes what actually sounds like a pretty cool dress. "So, did you get it?"
"Not yet. I thought I should make sure you and Lily approve."
"You need our approval?"
She laughs. "No, of course not. But I wanted you to see it first. I've got it on hold until tomorrow. Can you go with me after school to-?"
"I can't," I say quickly. Then I go on spinning a lie about how my mom's still really sick and how I need to be here to help her.
"Wow, that sounds serious." Isabella seems genuinely
concerned. "Has she been to the doctor?"
"Not yet. But if she's not better, I might need to take her in tomorrow.
"Well, how about if I send you a photo of the dress."
"Great idea," I tell her. "But really, you should probably just get it. I mean, it sounds gorgeous."
Then she tells me the price and I almost fall over. It would take me a month's salary to buy a dress that costly. Still, I don't act shocked. And when she says it's really a good deal, I agree with enthusiasm. But after I hang up, I realize that I am totally out of my league here. And I will have to think of some way to get out of this dance without hurting Jayden's feelings.
I close my math book, wander out into the living room, and just start pacing. Really, there has to be a way out. Maybe I could tell him I belong to some weird religion where dancing is not acceptable but that I temporarily forgot. Or perhaps I could fake a broken leg. It would be hard to dance with crutches. Of course, that would require money to rent crutches. Money ... money ... money. If only there were some simple legal way to get some.
Then I remember something. There have been times when my mom, desperate for money, pawned something of value. And sometimes she'd hold on to the ticket long enough to get the item back after she got flush again. So now I'm strolling around my house looking for items of value. But it's pretty bare bones in here. And I don't really have anything that would bring much. Even my cell phone is a cheapie. And my mom doesn't have any valuable jewelry anymore. Not that I'd consider pawning something like that anyway.
the only things worth considering are the thirty-inch flat-screen TV and Blu-ray DVD player my mom insisted on splurging on. As I recall, they were about four hundred dollars. Still, I can't imagine how angry my mom would be to come home to find that I'd pawned her TV. Of course, it might be what she deserves for abandoning me like this. Finally, I decide that I'll think about that tomorrow. Right now, I have homework to finish.
For the next couple of days, I maintain the charade that I'm still going to the homecoming dance. Not only that, but true to my word, I speak to Caleb on Lily's behalf. And by the end of the day, she too is going to the dance.
Now Bristol is the only one not going. But she could go if she wanted to. Obviously not with Jayden, but there are lots of other guys who would ask her, if she'd just give one of them a little encouragement. But it seems she'd rather feel sorry for herself-and aim all her poison darts at me.
At least some of my financial stress is relieved when I actually do get paid. It's not a big check, but I can't believe how comforting it feels to have real money in my purse as well as some food at home. Even so, there's no way I can afford a dress and everything for the dance and still have food to eat. And although I feel guilty, like I'm kind of leading Jayden on, I also keep hoping that something might happen to change my lot. Some miraculous way that would allow me to pull it off. Like maybe my mom would come home with a suitcase full of money. I've imagined Ben and her gambling in Vegas, hitting the big one, and coming home filthy rich. I'm sure I could forgive both of them for everything if that really happened.
I'm also still considering pawning the TV and DVD player. That might bring in enough to get me to the dance. But pretending I'm still going to homecoming with Jayden isn't my only lie. I'm also keeping up the pretense of having a very sick mom at home. So far I've only told Jayden and Isabella these stories. But by midweek, I've already "taken my mom to the doctor," where I was told that it'll be "touch and go" for a while and that "my mom may have to be hospitalized if she doesn't get better."
"So I really need to stick around home," I tell Isabella when she drops me at the condo on Friday, which happens to be my night off-the first day I haven't worked since Sunday. But caring for my mom is the only excuse I can come up with for not going dress shopping with her and Lily this weekend. "You do understand, don't you?"
"Sure, but don't wait too long to get your dress, Adele. All the good ones will be gone."
"I'm looking some online, too," I assure her as I get out of the car. And this is true. I've been searching for bargain dresses and shoes, and to my surprise, there seem to be some real possibilities. The only problem is I don't have a credit card.
I'm just inside the condo, where my mom is still AWOL, when my cell phone rings. It's Jayden. "Hey," I tell him, "I thought you were at a soccer match."
"I am, but it's halftime."
"Who's winning?"
"We are, of course."
"Good for you. I wish I could've come to see it."
"That's okay. I understand. By the way, how is your mom doing?"
"About the same." I turn on the lights in the kitchen. This is pretty much my standard answer now.
"Well, I got an idea. I thought maybe I could come by your place with a pizza later on tonight."
"But aren't you worried about germs?"
"No, remember I got my flu shot when I took my grandma for hers yesterday."
"Oh, yeah . . ." Now I'm trying to think of some other reason to talk him out of this plan, and yet the idea of spending an evening with Jayden is tempting.
"I just thought I could keep you company. It must get old being stuck at home like that."
I look around the condo and wonder if there's a way I can pull this off. I think I deserve a break after working all week. I imagine Jayden here with me, just the two of us. And pizza, after a week of old folks' dinners, sounds heavenly. "Okay, come on over.
"Great! So I'll see you around seven."
"Can't wait." As I hang up, I wonder if I've made a mistake. I could be blowing my own cover. But already I'm concocting a plan. "Mom" will be barricaded in her room-I'll even make it look like someone's in her bed just in case. But she'll be resting, and other than bringing her a cup of tea at some point in the evening, she will not want to be disturbed.
As a result, Jayden and I will have the rest of the condo to ourselves. That's when I notice the place has gotten a little messy. I've kind of let things go, thanks to my job at River Woods. So I do some quick cleaning, and in an attempt to make the living room look more furnished than it really is, I do some quick rearranging. I rob both my room and my mom's for a few more furnishings -a couple of lamps, some pillows, and a throw-which all help to make the place look less stark.
Then I run down to the market and get some sodas to stock in the fridge. This will stretch my frugal budget a bit, but it'll be worth it. I want Jayden to think I live a somewhat normal life. And I can explain that my mom was too busy with her job and then the sickness to get our condo tricked out just how we wanted it. I think he'll understand. I can also tell him that we decided to wait to get real furniture until we get into a bigger house-in order to get things that fit it better. My make-believe life sounds almost believable to me.
It's about six thirty when the doorbell rings, and thinking Jayden's here early, I happily open the door. But to my surprise it's a man in an expensive-looking suit.
"Is Carlene here?"
I blink and try to figure out who this guy is. The expression on his face is serious. Is he an attorney? A well-dressed cop? Someone from Children's Services perhaps?
"I'm sorry." He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a business card. "I'm Mark Edmonds. I was Carlene's boss."
"Oh right. I'm her daughter, Adele."
Now he blinks in surprise. "Carlene has a daughter?"
I just nod.
"Oh ...?" He looks stumped.
"Anyway, she's gone right now."
"Well, I've been trying to reach her on her phone, but she must not be checking her voice mail."
I shrug. "I guess not."
"When do you expect her back?"
"I ... uh . . . I'm not sure." Now I feel hopeful. Is Mark here to offer Mom her job back? To say he's sorry? Maybe he wants to marry her.
"Because I really need to talk to her. It's urgent."
"Maybe if you tell me, I can get a message to her."
He seems uncertain. "Yes, I suppose that's a good idea. Here's the deal: I gave your mom an advance on her salary." He shakes his head like he can't believe what a fool he's been. "And I paid her rent for the first two months in the condo. But when your mom walked out on her job, I told her I expected to be recompensed for all the expenses. After all, we had an agreement and I trusted her, but she let me down."
That old feeling, like there's a brick in the pit of my stomach, returns as I stand there wishing I could say something to smooth this over. I even consider telling him that my mom has a really bad case of the flu, that she'll return to her job as soon as she gets well, but I have a feeling he won't buy that.
"So, anyway, the property manager called to tell me the rent was overdue on your condo. Naturally, I have no intention of paying it."
"Naturally."
"So unless your mom pays her rent, it looks like you'll be evicted."
"Evicted?"
He nods glumly. "I'm sorry. It doesn't seem fair to dump all this on you. But you look like you're old enough to handle the truth. Tell your mom that if she doesn't make some kind of an arrangement to pay me -rather the company- back, we'll be forced to hire an attorney."
"Right. . ."
"You'll let her know I came by then? Tell her that she needs to take responsibility for these things before it's too late?"
I just nod, knowing full well it's already too late.
"Thank you." He forces a smile. "Hopefully you'll learn from your mom's mistakes and never end up in a situation like this yourself."
"Hopefully." I match his forced smile with one of my own, then he tips his head and leaves. I close and lock the door, replaying his warning. "Never end up in a situation like this myself ... " Is this guy nuts? I'm already in a situation like this! It's my mom who ran away. And now I'm being evicted? What am I supposed to do?
aybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," Jayden says as he lays down the last of his cards, going out and winning his second game of rummy.
"Playing cards?" I toss my cards aside and frown at him. "After all, you're winning."
"No, I mean coming over here while your mom is so sick. I can tell you're pretty worried about her."
&n
bsp; "Oh . . ." I nod. "I guess I have been a little distracted."
"Do you need to check on her or anything?"
I stand and look at my watch. "Yes, it's time for her medicine. And I should probably take her something to drink."
"And I should probably go." He stands, then pulls me into a hug. "Tell your mom I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her."
"I will."
He leans down to kiss me, and suddenly I want to hang on to him and I wish he wasn't leaving. And I'm mad at myself for not making this evening more fun. What if Jayden decides I'm boring or not worth it or just gets tired of hearing about my sick mom all the time? Or even worse, what if he figures out I've been lying to him? Why didn't I just tell him the truth in the beginning? Maybe he would've understood. Now it feels too late.
"I'll call you," he says as he leaves. I lock the door and lean my head against it. My life feels like it's unraveling ... and fast. What am I going to do? What?
I cannot ignore Mark Edmonds' warning about getting evicted. I remember the time Mom and I got evicted a few years ago. I came home from school to find an eviction notice taped to the front door and all the locks had been changed. Everything we owned, which wasn't much, was still inside, but we weren't even allowed to get it. We spent the night at my mom's boyfriend's house. I can't even remember his name now, but he called the landlord and talked him into letting us have our stuff back. The next morning we went over to our house to find all our belongings strewn across the front yard. I remember feeling so humiliated as I gathered up my things with neighbors watching. One lady even stopped by to ask if we were having a garage sale.
Think . . . think . . . I pace back and forth in the living room. Then I notice the van keys on the counter and remember I haven't moved Ben's van since Wednesday night. I almost didn't move it at all except I didn't want to give that creep any excuse to park himself at our condo when (or maybe if) he and my mom came home. But now I'm thinking that van might be my only hope of holding on to my stuff, because if I come home from work tomorrow to find this place locked up ... well, I'm not sure what I'd do. Probably end up in a foster home wearing somebody's hand-me-downs to school next week.
Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless Page 6
