The weak, insecure part of me wants to give up and confess Meg and I are homeless and Mom is missing. The police have resources and experience to help find her, but Meg and I could land in foster care—who knows if Mom would ever get us back.
My mind spins so fast I can’t decide what to do. Am I making a mistake by not telling the police Mom is missing? I won’t endanger Meg for another night, that is certain, but I also want to find Mom myself and keep us together if I can.
I force myself to be brave and look the policeman right in the eye. “Is it illegal to panhandle? I see people doing it all the time.”
The cop twists up his mouth. “Look, miss. Whether panhandling is legal or not is irrelevant.” He puts his hand over his mouth and slides it down his face until it drops to his side. “I hate to be blunt, but you are a target for every pimp in Eugene. You’re African-American, so you stand out in this lily-white town of ours. Plus, you’re young and I’m guessing homeless or a runaway. Those guys hunt for kids like you. They prey on teens, but especially girls.”
My legs turn to water and my knees grow so weak they threaten to collapse. Was the guy wearing that black leather jacket a pimp? He walked by Friday night with two girls that looked younger than me. Does he lure kids into hanging with him and then feed them into a system of prostitution and human trafficking? He didn’t say or do anything wrong, but he still scared me. I stiffen my legs into posts and stand strong, but I can’t keep the tears from springing to my eyes.
The officer throws his arm out toward a group of kids hanging out on the corner across the street. “I know those kids. Most of them have been on the street a while.”
He turned back to me. “But I spotted you a block away because you’re new. That means pimps and traffickers and half the bottom-feeders in Eugene are watching you too.”
The policeman’s broad shoulders rise and fall with a hopeless sigh. “Homeless people and runaways get beat up, raped, robbed, and even killed. And half the time, no one knows or even cares.”
He glances back in time to see tears slide down the side of my face. “You are in real danger, miss. Go home, go to a friend’s house, or find a shelter.” His serious brown eyes search my face. “But get off the street. Understand?”
I nod and watch the officer walk toward the black-and-white squad car parked in the drop-off zone. My body feels hollow, empty of bones or muscles or enough organs to sustain life. I need food, but my weakness is not just from a few missing calories.
Meg. I quickly turn back to see her nose and hands pressed against the glass of the kiosk. I paste a limp smile on my face and wave. She waves back.
Ebony walks up beside me. “You okay?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“What did the cop want?”
I look over at her. “He told me the same things you did. I stand out because of my brown skin, and that I’d better get off the street.” I stick my hand in my pocket. Most of the money is small coins, but I pull out the dollar bill the first guy gave me. “Here.”
“Don’t be a dork.” Ebony waves the money away. “I don’t need it.”
I should fight her over it, but somehow all that comes out is, “Thanks.”
Ebony looks straight into my eyes. “The cop is right, Mattie. Get off the street.”
My chin pops up. “You’re making it.”
Ebony shakes her head and makes a little snort with her mouth. “I live in a house in the suburbs with a mom and dad and a dog named Ralph.”
My mouth drops open. “You’re not a runaway?”
“No, but don’t spread that around.” She waves her hand at the library. “The kids in there think I am.”
“Then why aren’t you at home?” Constantly hanging out at the library when you don’t have to is so foreign that I can’t even process the idea. “Why aren’t you curled up with your dog watching TV, or eating pancakes with your parents, or just sitting in your room with a pile of books?”
Ebony shrugs her thin shoulders. “Got sick of my life, I guess.” She glances over at the coffee shop. Meg stares out the window and gives us another cute two-handed wave.
Ebony waves back at her. “A few years ago, Mom and Dad kind of gave up on the whole parenting thing, so I gave up on their happy-little-family thing.”
We stand side by side. Not talking. Just thinking. For me, I realize how lucky I am. No matter how tough our life gets, Mom devotes herself to her kids. She pours all her love into us and gives us every scrap of energy she has.
Meg keeps staring out the window at me, never moving an inch. “I’ve got to go.” I turn to Ebony. “Thanks again.” I pat the pocket of my jeans, bulging with change. “This is enough for now, and hopefully I never need to beg for cash again.”
Ebony’s eyes soften, making her black eyeliner stand out as too harsh for the sweetness of her face. “Good luck.”
Chapter Nineteen
Going back to Darren’s apartment makes my skin turn cold and prickly. The guy’s a low-life jerk for getting drunk and taking out his frustration and anger on Mom. But would he really kidnap her? Snatching somebody could land him in jail for years, but I suppose a scumbag like Darren could do just about anything if he got tanked up enough.
Meg and I stand at the bus stop and hold hands. I stare down the street—like I can’t wait for the bus to get here—but it’s all a mask. I keep myself as calm and quiet as I can on the outside, but inside I’m a wreck. Worries, questions, and fears swirl through every cell in my body.
Could Darren even pull off a kidnapping? Wouldn’t Mom fight him with every breath she had? How would he get her into his truck if she was kicking and screaming? A new thought hits me. What if he didn’t take her to his place, and I never find her? I press my lips together and swallow the nausea that surges up my throat and into my mouth.
A bus pulls up at the stop behind us. People get off, and others line up to get on. I turn and watch, not because I care, but because I don’t dare let myself think through all the horrible possibilities battering me. The bus driver steps off and stretches. She paces around the sidewalk for a minute or two before she climbs back on and drops into the driver’s seat. A couple of kids hurry to the bus door. Just before they step on, one of them drops a half-eaten Whopper into the trash.
My body reacts before my brain has time to think. I jump toward the garbage can and snatch the sandwich off a heap of crumpled plastic bags. Before I can get it to my mouth and take a bite, a man’s dirty hand clamps onto my wrist. I stare up at a scraggly guy, not much older than me. His dirty blond hair is short and choppy, sticking up in tufts all over his head. His eyes are dark and wild. I tighten my grip on the Whopper, narrowing my eyes. “Back off.”
Meg grabs my other arm with both her hands and tries to tug me away. “Mattie! No!”
I ignore her and stare at the guy holding my arm. “Let go, or I’ll scream my head off.”
The guy leans toward me and crushes my wrist. His body odor is so strong that my nose wrinkles and my stomach churns.
“No you won’t.” That’s all he says, but his eyes say the rest. He’ll break my arm before he lets go. I grit my teeth and hang on, hoping I’ll be wise enough to drop the burger before my bone cracks.
“Drop it, Jase.”
The voice is so close I flinch. An even raggier guy, with long greasy hair and tattered clothes, slaps Jase on the shoulder. “Give the girl her lunch, man.”
I ignore the scraggly friend and keep my eyes locked on the guy with a grip on my arm.
Jase grits his teeth and glares.
“What’s next, you idiot?” says Jase’s friend. “You gonna rip a baby bottle out of some little kid’s hand?”
Jase eases up on my wrist long enough for me to jerk it free. I pull the Whopper in close to my chest and back away. Meg sticks to my side, still gripping my arm with both of her hands. Jase turn
s and shoves his friend hard on the shoulder. The friend just laughs, and the two take off, leaving me with a half-eaten burger warm in my hand.
The Whopper is in my mouth and I’m biting down before I can even think. Hunger turns me into a fiend, and I stuff the sandwich into my mouth with shaking hands, not stopping until there is only one bite left. Meg. I stop, look at my baby sister, and offer her the last little bit. Meg wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. I pop it in my mouth and wonder how long it will take all the nasty germs I just ate to give me a snotty nose or an aching head. Ending up with a life-threatening virus wouldn’t be all that great either.
Our bus arrives, and Meg and I step on. I pay for the tickets; bus fare isn’t that expensive, but it still leaves us with only a few dollars in change. Not enough to buy much of a lunch. Definitely not enough to buy dinner. I could panhandle more, but I hated begging and never want to do it again. If it’s between holding out my hand for a few coins and starving, though, I’ll stand in front of the library all day and beg until my arm falls off.
I find us a seat near the back of the bus and settle Meg by the window. She presses her hands and nose against the glass, studying every person that walks by. The day is still beautiful; the sun is so bright and yellow you want to throw your hands over your head and dance in the warmth. Or, that’s how I’d feel if Mom were sitting right next to us and we had full bellies and a safe place to sleep for the night. Our bus pulls away, and Meg keeps her face right up to the glass. I turn away from the window and stare straight ahead, not seeing a single person.
What do I do when we get to Darren’s? Saunter up to his door, bang on it, and ask him to please hand over my mom? That scenario is so ridiculous it’s laughable, but I need a plan. Call the police? Can they search Darren’s place on my say-so? Wouldn’t they need some reason to believe Mom was in his apartment?
I try to concentrate, but that burger didn’t do a thing to clear the fuzz in my brain. It only made my stomach howl for the full meal deal with fries, a large chocolate milkshake, and a stack of chocolate chip cookies thrown in for dessert. The bus rumbles along, picking up new passengers and dropping more off. It’s slow, it’s boring, but I don’t mind.
My plan has to be as safe as possible. Meg and I survived a week living in a car and a night alone on the street. I can’t be dumb now and lead us right into the jaws of disaster. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice Darren’s apartment complex until Meg pokes me in the side.
“Aren’t we going to Darren’s?”
My arm shoots up in time to pull the cord. The driver rolls into the next stop, and the doors open with a whoosh. Meg and I shuffle forward and step off the bus onto the sidewalk. Darren parks his pickup in the slot right in front of his place, so if the truck is there, we’ll know he’s home. I’m not worried he’ll spot us, because he always keeps his blinds drawn.
Meg and I walk down the street until we get to the first building in the complex. A woman steps out of her home carrying a baby in an infant carrier. She walks over to her car, buckles the baby in, and drives away. Nobody else is around, but that’s normal. Sundays are always quiet, with people staying tucked into their apartments, enjoying a few extra hours of sleep and a lazy day at home.
I keep walking, dragging Meg along with me. What if Darren comes out and sees us? Would he take us too? I’d kick and scream and wake up the entire apartment complex. If somebody saw him drag us into his place, hopefully they’d call the cops. Once the police showed up, they’d have a reason to search Darren’s apartment. Perfect, except that scenario counts on somebody witnessing the kidnapping and calling it in—a big if in a place where people try to stay out of everyone else’s life.
Darren’s truck is in the parking space right in front of his place, which means he’s home. As I expected, the blinds on the windows are closed even though it’s a bright, sunny day. When we lived there, Mom would pull up the blinds in the morning and let the light stream in. The apartment would look bright and cheerful and halfway decent until Darren closed everything down so he could watch TV. Even in the summer he had a way of turning his apartment into a dark, dreary hole.
Meg squeezes my hand with both of hers. “I’m scared.”
“I am too, Meg. Really scared.”
I turn back to Darren’s apartment. If I draw him out, maybe I can race in, lock the front door, and get Mom out the back. Ideas buzz around me like a swarm of bees. I toss most of my ideas out, but I grab onto bits and pieces until I’ve got a plan. Darren takes better care of his truck than anything else he owns. That has to be the key.
Meg wraps her arms around my stomach and presses her face against my sweatshirt. She should be racing around the playground on this beautiful, quiet Sunday. She should be curled up on the couch with her stack of books or playing with her dollhouse, not worrying about what happened to her mom or where she’s going to sleep for the night.
I take a deep breath, kneel in front of her, and outline my plan. I go over every detail I can think of, partly so Meg knows what’s coming and partly because I need to get everything squared up and tidy. It may work. It may not.
I put both hands on her shoulders. “Do you remember your little hideout in the bushes, where you played pretend?”
Meg nods and points at a small clump of shrubs that separate the apartment buildings. “Those?”
“Yes,” I say. “You can hide in there while I find out if Darren has taken Mom.”
Meg stares up at me with eyes so big and watery they look like deep blue puddles. “But what if Darren grabs you too? What if he takes you into his apartment and you’re gone?”
“Then run to George and Edith’s and knock really loud so they can hear you.”
Meg’s face crumples. “But they yell at us for every little noise and say mean things about you and Mommy, and they frown at me like they hate me even though I always tried my very best to be good.”
I pull my little sister close and give her a hug. “They know you, and George will be more than glad to call the police for you.” I lean back and look into her eyes. “And that’s what you ask them to do—call the police. Understand?”
“But why can’t I stay with you, Mattie?” Meg blinks back her tears. “Darren would have lots more trouble grabbing two of us.”
“The biggest help is for me to know you’re safe. Plus, you can look out and see me the whole time.” I give her another big hug. “We’ve got to be brave, okay?”
I walk Meg over to the shrubs. She looks at me long and hard before getting on her hands and knees and crawling into the little nest she made for herself.
“Be brave,” I whisper, “and stay here.”
I stand up, cut across the scrap of lawn in front of George and Edith’s apartment, and stop on the sidewalk by Darren’s pickup. It’s one of those big heavy-duty ones with wide black tires and shiny silver hubs. The paint is black and so polished I can see my face in it. Darren constantly washes it, keeping the inside super tidy. He loves it more than anything or anybody, including Mom.
I walk over to the driver’s side door and peer inside. I’m hoping to see Mom’s backpack, phone, or something to tell me she’s been here, but there isn’t even a stray candy wrapper in the cab. I try the door. Locked. Darren always locks his truck, but I run around to the passenger’s side. That door is locked too.
My plan is to draw Darren out of the apartment, and the only way he’ll get far enough away from the front door is to save his truck. I’ll convince him that if he doesn’t let Mom go, I’ll damage his truck so bad he’ll be paying repair bills for the next five years.
If Darren doesn’t give up Mom with just the threat, I’ll scratch the paint with a key or anything else I can find. That will bring him running out the door. Then I’ll race toward the apartment, hopefully get in before Darren catches me, and lock the door. It might be enough time for me to get Mom out the back
through the sliding glass door. My plan is flimsy. Scary. Even dangerous. But how else are we going to see if Mom is in there?
The more I run through the plan, the faster my heart beats. I dig in the front pocket of my pack and pull out my keys. I’ve only got two, a car key for Ruby—even though I don’t have my license yet—and Darren’s apartment key. The idea of scratching the side of Darren’s truck with his own house key almost makes me laugh.
I’m so jittery it feels like I’ve eaten ten giant candy bars and tossed back five supersized Cokes. I look at my phone. The battery icon blinks at me, indicating it’s almost dead. I shut my eyes and rail at myself. I sat in the library for almost an hour and never plugged it in. I just sat there useless, with my mind frozen. How could I be so stupid? All week, I’ve been careful to charge up my phone every chance I got. Never once have I forgotten—not until this morning, when I need it the most. I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and tap in Darren’s number.
It rings three times before I get a “This person is no longer accepting your calls.”
How stupid of me. Of course he blocked my number. Meg and I are nothing to him. Why wouldn’t he block my calls? Especially if he’s the kind of person who would kidnap Mom.
I put my phone back in my pocket. Okay, I think, new plan. I’ve got to go right to his door and bang until he opens it.
I run through the whole scenario like I’m watching a cop show on TV. Knocking on his door puts me in a vulnerable position, but if I’m quick enough to get back to Darren’s truck, I can drag his key down the side, scratching up his paint. He’ll be so worried about his car, he won’t be thinking about Mom.
I walk toward Darren’s door like I’m one of King Arthur’s knights heading toward a fire-breathing dragon. Slow and cautious, but strong and skillful. Ready to dodge at an instant. I hold my keys out in front of me like a sword. Darren can’t see me, but acting like a dragon slayer gives me confidence.
Touching the door makes my stomach roll over. I swallow, afraid I’ll be sick and ruin any hope I have of getting Mom out.
Sleeping in My Jeans Page 14
