Paper Things (20 page)

Nate answers the door. “Hey, guys,” he says. “Chloe! Company!” he calls over his shoulder.

Chloe’s sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen. Next to her is a guy I’ve never seen before.

“Hey,” Chloe says, jumping down from her stool and running to hug Gage. “Did we make plans?” she asks, looking confused.

“No, I just miss you.” Gage looks over at the guy in the kitchen. “Thought I’d see if I could take you out for dinner.”

“Tonight?” she asks.

Gage’s face falls, and I’m sure mine does, too. “Yeah, tonight. You got plans?”

She nods reluctantly. “Wyatt and I are working on a project tonight,” she says, gesturing toward the mystery man.

“Due tomorrow,” Wyatt adds.

“You don’t have time to stop for dinner?” Gage asks. But he and I both know that we didn’t come here just for dinner. And I think Chloe knows it, too.

“I’m sorry, babe. We were just going to order in and work through the night. But you guys are welcome to stay if you want.”

“Nah, we’d just be in the way,” says Gage. “We’ll peace. Come on, Ari.”

Chloe gives Gage a kiss, but he pulls away after only a second. And just like that, we’re back on the streets.

“Where to next?” I ask. “Briggs’s?”

Gage doesn’t say anything. His sour mood is back.

“Briggs’s?” I say louder.

Gage shakes his head no. “His landlord has him freaked out.”

“Perry and Kristen’s?” I’m trying to keep up with Gage.

“I don’t know what’s up with Perry. He hasn’t answered my calls for a few days.” Gage slows down. “How about Sasha? Do you think you could stay with her tonight?”

I start to say no — Sasha’s hardly talked to me in forever — but maybe I could tell her everything tonight. Maybe that would help get us back to being best friends.

“Do you want to call her?” Gage asks.

Feeling full of wishfulness, I take the phone.

Marianna answers. “Why, Ari,” she says, “don’t you have Sasha’s new cell number? Or do old habits simply die hard? Hold on — I’ll get her.”

“Hey, Ari,” Sasha says a few moments later. “What’s up?” But there’s no happiness in her voice. It’s like she’s a balloon and all the air has been sucked out of her. I feel my wishfulness start to fade.

“Can I come over tonight?” I say. “It would be fun to catch up, and I have something important to tell you.”

“Can it wait? I have lots of homework. Plus, my mother is making me finish the Carter application.”

“We could do it together!” I say. “I only just started filling out mine.”

There is a long silence on the phone.

“Um, I don’t think so. Keisha and I had a long talk today, Ari, and well, she thinks — and I guess I agree — that you’ve become kind of weird lately. You never invite me over to Janna’s anymore, and you’re always hanging out with Daniel. I mean, you didn’t even tell me about the snowflakes thing! What kind of a friend does that? So I’ve been thinking that maybe we need to make other friends. Especially since we’re about to go off to different middle schools.”

Different middle schools.
The words are like daggers.

I can feel Gage looking at me, and I turn away, blinking back tears.

“Anyway, I’m glad you called. I’ve been wanting to get this off my chest for a while, but you kept ignoring my messages.”

Messages I never got because the only number Sasha knew to call was Janna’s. But it’s too late to try to explain things now. She has already broken up with me.

“Yeah, OK,” I say, and hang up. No doubt Sasha and Keisha will be dissecting this call tomorrow, discussing how I didn’t even say good-bye.

I turn back to Gage and shake my head, handing him the phone.

Gage doesn’t say anything. We walk together in silence, the light growing dim around us.

“Let’s get to the soup kitchen,” he says, “before it closes.”

I don’t even bother to nod. I’ve already gone invisible.

Fortunately, the line outside the soup kitchen isn’t long. I’m standing behind Gage, waiting to enter the basement of the stone church and thinking about the first question on the Carter application:
How would other people describe you?
Holy moly, what a question! It seems to me that it would depend on who the other person was. I try to think of one-word answers that people I know might give:

Gage:
persistent

Mademoiselle:
disappointing

Ms. Finch:
sneaky

Mr. O.: I’m not sure. Two weeks ago he might have said
irresponsible.
But if I turn in my rough draft tomorrow — and if we stay at Lighthouse tonight, I should be able to finish it — he might change his word to
hardworking.

Mr. Chandler:
delinquent

Sasha: That one’s easy.
Weird

Daniel:

I’m trying to carefully choose my word for Daniel when suddenly something or someone barrels into my legs. I nearly fall over.

It’s Omar!

“Where. Have. You. Been?” he demands.

I’d forgotten that Omar’s family sometimes comes here to the soup kitchen. “I was sick,” I tell him. “I have to make sure that I’m all better before coming back to Head Start.”

Gage, who has been busy texting someone — Chloe, I imagine, or maybe Perry or Briggs — turns around just as Omar’s mother comes up the line to get her son.

“Sorry about that, Ari,” she says. “He’s been asking about you every single day. We told him you were sick, but I think he was afraid you’d disappeared!”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” I say. “I’ve missed him, too! But I should be back soon,” I promise Omar.

Omar and his mother move back in line to where his dad was holding a spot, while Gage and I pass through the doorway. Inside, the line continues to weave along the wall until it reaches the serving table. Already, many of the tables in the center of the room are filled with people gobbling down their warm meal. I try to see what’s on their plates tonight, but I’m not close enough yet.

I think about Omar as we meander closer and wonder if he and his family are living at the family shelter — or perhaps one of the long-term motels. Chloe’s roommate Cody once suggested to Gage that we rent a motel room, but Gage said that you end up paying so much money for rent and fast food (most motels only have a microwave in the room, if that) that it’s nearly impossible to save enough money to move out of it.

Good smells are coming from the kitchen, and word has passed back to us that tonight’s dinner is beef-vegetable soup, bread, corn dogs, salad, and dessert.

“What kind of dessert?” I hear Omar say from somewhere behind me.

I smile and shuffle forward with the line, almost as excited as Omar about tonight’s menu. The earlier tension between me and Gage has eased with time, and even the sting of Chloe’s rejection has dulled. Maybe tonight won’t be such a bad night after all.

And that’s when I see her. Standing at the back of the room, ladling out soup to the masses, is Keisha. As in Sasha’s new best friend, Keisha. Volunteering at the soup kitchen on the exact night when Gage and I decide to come by.

“I’m not hungry,” I say to Gage, ducking behind him and hoping that Keisha hasn’t already caught sight of me.

“What?” Gage says somewhat loudly.

“I don’t feel good. I’ll wait outside.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

I peek around Gage’s shoulder. Keisha’s dad is looking over, but Keisha is busy portioning out soup.

I shake my head. “I think I just need to get some fresh air,” I say. “Can you get me a plate, though? I changed my mind about not being hungry,” I say, and then hightail it out of there without waiting for an answer.

On the street, I bump into Reggie and Amelia. “Hey, Ari,” he says. “Coming to dinner?”

“My brother is getting me food,” I say. “I needed some fresh air. I’ve been under the weather lately,” I add, which isn’t really a lie. “Would you like me to watch Amelia while you eat?”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind,” Reggie says. “I bet Amelia would like that.”

Reggie pulls a leash from his backpack. I take it from him, intending to walk Amelia up and down the block a few times, but I don’t get far, because people keep stopping us. I’m amazed at how many folks on the way to the soup kitchen recognize her, want to give her a pat. An older woman and a boy about my age have both saved dog treats — the kinds that you can get for free at the bookstore or the coffee shop — for Amelia.

It’s getting cold and I’m beginning to see my breath when Reggie comes back and tells me that Gage is waiting for me on the steps of Lighthouse. “I hope you’re hungry, because he’s got quite a plate of food for you!”

I
am
pretty hungry, I realize. “Thanks for letting me walk Amelia,” I say, patting her on the head one last time, reluctant to leave her side. Also, a small part of me is hoping that Reggie might ask if we want to stay in his storage unit tonight.

“I’m the one doing the thanking here,” he says, smiling broadly. Just then, a young couple with a little baby approach us.

“Reggie!” the woman says, hugging him warmly. The man shakes Reggie’s hand while the baby gurgles at Amelia.

“Mary, Travis, I’d like you to meet my friend Ari. Ari, this is Mary, Travis, and their daughter, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, feeling suddenly shy, like I’m a third wheel. I should have known that lots of people would know Reggie, too, if so many people knew Amelia. But somehow I guess I’d thought that he was my secret.

“Thanks again, Ari,” Reggie says, and he walks off with the small family. As they go, I hear Reggie say, “It’s not the Taj Mahal, but it’s warm. . . .”

And I realize that just as Reggie isn’t my secret, neither is his little home. I picture the family of three all warm and snuggly there — probably with Amelia, too.

Gage is right where Reggie said he’d be. He’s spread out on the top step of Lighthouse — a bowl of soup on each side of him and a takeout bag in his lap. He lifts up one of the bowls and I plunk down beside him.

“That girl serving tonight — she someone you know?” he asks.

I nod. “Keisha. Sasha’s new BFF. Do you think she saw me?”

“I doubt it. You ducked out of there pretty quick, and she wasn’t really looking at the faces of the people in line.”

I sure hope Gage is right. The last thing I need is for word to get out that I eat at the soup kitchen. People would start asking uncomfortable questions, and it would probably be just a matter of time till someone thought to check in with Janna. Not to mention the fun Keisha, Linnie, and Sasha would probably have gossiping about me being dirty, smelly,
and
someone who eats with the homeless.

West comes out when we’re nearly done eating. “Hey, man,” he says to Gage, and they do some elaborate handshake thing. “Hey, Ari,” he says to me.

“Hi, West,” I say around my last bite of apple pie.

“Listen, Gage . . .” he begins, sounding a little nervous, which of course makes me nervous, too. Is he going to tell us that we can’t stay here tonight?

“What’s up?” Gage asks, and I can tell that he’s trying hard to sound nonchalant.

“There’s a new supervisor on tonight,” West says. “I don’t think I can sneak you into the storage area with him on watch. You’ll have to register.”

“But Ari isn’t old enough, remember?” says Gage.

“I’ll leave her age blank when I fill out the paperwork,” says West. “It will look like an oversight.”

I frown. “Gage and I will have to sleep in separate rooms?”

West nods. “You’ll be OK, Ari. The girls who come here in the middle of the week are typically well behaved. They know they’ll be asked to leave if they’re not.”

“But what if someone under eighteen wants Gage’s bed?” That’s the rule at Lighthouse; anyone between eighteen and twenty has to give up his or her bed if a minor needs it.

“Then he’ll have to give it up,” West says. “But if I know Gage, he’ll figure something out and be back for you in the morning.”

I look at Gage. He looks so tired. Like he can’t take one more step tonight. “It’ll be OK,” he says. “It’s only one night. If it comes to it, I’ll just crash at Chloe’s place.”

I hold his gaze, trying to see if he’s lying to make me feel better, but I can’t tell.

I shrug. What choice do I really have?

I gather up our trash and follow the guys inside. Gage goes into West’s office to check us in. I’m left in the living room with a group of five teenagers: two girls and three boys. I sit down at the table that’s off to the side and try to become invisible.

As I wait for Gage to be done, I think again of Keisha and of how she and Sasha seem to have become best friends in no time flat. How was it possible that Sasha could ditch me so quickly and become best friends with someone she’d barely spoken to till a few weeks ago?

I’m reminded of a math game we played in third grade called Mingle. We’d all stand and buzz around one another like bees, mumbling; “Mingle, mingle, mingle.” Then, when our teacher called out a number, we had to quickly form ourselves into groups of that number. It was a way of explaining division and remainders. If you weren’t fast at grabbing friends, if you didn’t get into a group of two, or three, or four, you were a remainder.