Paper Things (23 page)

Now it’s Ms. Finch’s turn to get a bit teary. “You’re very welcome, Arianna.”

“What should I . . . ? If someone asks . . . ?”

“Tell them a friend gave them to you,” Ms. Finch says. “It’s the truth.”

I give her a big thank-you smile, then tuck my old shoes into my backpack. I turn to leave but stop myself. “I’m sorry about that day in your class, the day I was working on my bibliography.”

“Oh,” she says, brushing my words away. “I may have overreacted. I shouldn’t have taken your actions so personally. I realized that after you left. That’s why I passed your homework on to Mr. O’Neil.”

It was Ms. Finch who turned it in?

I want to rush over and hug her, tell her that she saved my life, but before my new dazzling feet can move, she’s behind her desk, glasses on, back to work.

I feel like Cinderella in my new shoes. During dismissal, kids tell me how cool they are and ask where I got them.
Tell them a friend gave them to you. It’s the truth.
So that’s what I do. I wish Sasha and I still did our partway walk home; I would have liked for her to see them. But I’ll wear them tomorrow and every day after, so I suppose she’ll see them soon enough.

My new shoes are also a big hit at Head Start. Juju keeps rubbing her hands on them like they’re magic or something, and Carol tells me I look very fashion-forward.

The one person who
doesn’t
love my new shoes is Gage.

“You could have used the money in your piggy bank to buy shoes,” he says as we’re walking to Chloe’s. I think about my piggy bank and wonder how much money is in there. Would there really be enough for a new pair of shoes? I start daydreaming about all of the apartment stuff I could buy with that much money: silverware, towels, sheets . . .

“Anyway,
I
like them,” I say to Gage, ignoring his bad mood. “And they’ll keep my feet warmer than my old shoes.”

Today the stairwell at Chloe’s is crowded with a bunch of guys, spillover from some party happening in the apartment below hers. The strong scents of their shaving creams and hair gels cover the usual smell of pee.

“Hey,” says a guy about Gage’s age, but he doesn’t say it to Gage — he says it to me. He takes a drink from a can of beer.

“Hi,” I mutter, my eyes on the stairs in front of me.

“Hey, how old are you?” another guy asks as we climb the stairs.

“Don’t answer,” says Gage softly.

Chloe greets us in the doorway, seeming really excited to see us. Like usual, I slip inside the apartment to give them a moment. Neither Nate nor Cody is home. The apartment seems empty without them. I hear Gage say, “I want to, Chloe, but I can’t. I don’t want to leave Ari alone with those creeps downstairs.”

“She doesn’t need someone to watch her. She’s old enough to
be
a babysitter, Gage. And it’s not fair to keep asking me to pass things up or to go alone.”

I hate that I’m the reason Chloe and Gage are fighting. I don’t want them to break up. Gage is trying to come through for Chloe, to come through for me, to come through for Mama.

Stay together always.
That’s what Mama said. That was the promise. But I think that both Gage and I know deep down that it’s not the promise that’s making us hold on to each other so tightly.

It’s the fear of letting go.

I can’t hear what Gage is saying, but I know he’s upset.

Quickly I step into the hall. “Sorry to interrupt,” I say, “but I just remembered that Sasha invited me to stay at her place tonight. Would that be OK?”

Chloe looks at Gage, hopeful. But Gage frowns. “It’s a school night,” he says.

“I know,” I say. “But Marianna said we can work on our Carter applications together. I could really use the help.”

“Gage . . .” Chloe pleads. I try not to feel hurt by how badly she wants me out of their hair.

“Chloe and I could have plans tonight,” he says slowly, and Chloe’s face splits into a wide grin that makes it all worth it. “We’d have to leave soon, though,” he says. “I wouldn’t have time to take the bus with you to Sasha’s.”

“That’s OK,” I say quickly. “I can have Marianna pick me up here. I’ll tell her Chloe was helping me with my Carter application.”

“Thanks, Ari,” Chloe says. “You’re a trouper.” She brushes by me to get her purse and her phone.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember earlier,” I say, “but she asked me a couple of days ago and I sort of lost track of what night this is.”

Gage is looking at me like he doesn’t know whether to believe me or not.

“Call Marianna and make sure she can pick you up,” he says.

I hold out my hand for his phone.

“Use the landline,” says Chloe, pointing to the telephone on the kitchen counter. “You’ll save minutes.”

I pick up the phone and dial. “What’s the address here?” I ask at some point in the phone call.

The call that I made to convince Gage.

The call that I faked.

’Cause I was just talking to the local weather recording.

As Chloe and Gage head down the stairs, I hear a guy say, “Hey, where’s the little one?”

Gage says something I won’t repeat, and one of the guys says, “Hey, easy, man. We’re just having a little fun.”

Then I hear Chloe say, “Forget them, Gage. We don’t have time for this,” and they’re gone.

The silence in the apartment takes me by surprise. Even though I’d expected them to leave, I still can’t quite believe that my plan worked. Gage will be mad when he gets home and finds that I’m still here — that I lied to him about staying at Sasha’s and faked the call to Marianna — but I know he and Chloe need a night out together. I know he’ll eventually forgive me.

Although I can hear voices from downstairs, I feel a million miles away from anyone. The rooms are cavernous. I can see why Chloe wants more furniture, to make it feel more homey. My mind goes to where it usually does when we stay at Chloe’s — to spreading out all my Paper Things. But I can’t do that tonight. I can’t bear to pull them out and see them ruined.

Then I remember that I haven’t had dinner. I look in the freezer to see if there are any Hot Pockets. Nope. Only ice and something wrapped in foil — hamburger, maybe. The fridge has a Tupperware container of leftovers, but when I open it, I see white mold growing on the top.

The cabinet has more stuff than the refrigerator. I push around some flour, baking soda, bread crumbs, and a can of tomato paste, and behind them all is a half bag of potato chips, which I eat even though they are
incredibly
stale.

There is yelling in the stairwell.

Sirens wail.

A cockroach scurries along the kitchen floor and under the sink.

I try to turn on the TV, but the remote has so many buttons, it’s hard to figure out. I push the button labeled “Power,” but nothing happens.
What the . . . ?
I push and push and push, thinking it must take just the right touch, but nothing. Then I start pushing all of the buttons on the remote, one after another. All kinds of commands come up on the screen, but no TV. That’s when I see another remote. I pick it up, press Power, and the screen is lit. I change the channel to HGTV, and there, thankfully, is my favorite show.

I get my blanket and pillow from behind the couch and stretch out. Almost immediately, I start to feel a little cheerier. I feel like I’m there with the young couple who are house hunting. Alongside them I walk into three different houses and ask,
Could this be my home?

At the end of the show, the couple have a little party to celebrate their new home. There’s a pitcher of lemonade on the table, and there are lots of platters with veggies and dips and cheese and crackers. Friends and family come to their house and tell them how beautiful it is. The woman points out her favorite corner, where she has a big, puffy chair with pillows. Behind her chair are shelves of books.

And then, suddenly, I start to cry. And not quiet little sniffling, but huge, full-body crying. I don’t care how much noise I make in this echoey apartment that isn’t mine. I don’t care how much snot runs down my face. I just let myself sob.

But I’m not crying because the show reminded me that I don’t have a home.

I am crying because I do have one.

I
do
have one.

And I miss it.

There is a sudden screeching, and it’s loud — so loud that I know it’s coming from inside the apartment. I blow my nose with a paper towel and search for the source of the noise. It doesn’t take long to figure out that it’s coming from the smoke detector in Nate and Cody’s room. But I can’t see any smoke and I can’t smell a fire. I go over to their open window and look down. There are lots of people standing on the fire escape, smoking. Perhaps the smoke has drifted up here. Someone on the fire escape sees me and waves. I close the window all the way. But even with the window closed, the smoke detector doesn’t stop screeching. It yells, and yells, and yells . . .

I grab a magazine from Nate’s dresser, stand on the bed underneath the smoke detector, and fan the magazine frantically back and forth, back and forth, till it feels like my arm’s going to fall off.

Eventually the wailing stops. I put the magazine back where I found it and wander into the kitchen.

Before I really even know what I’m doing, I pick up the phone and dial Janna’s number.

She answers on the third ring. I tell her where I am and ask if she’ll come get me. That’s all. No small chat, no explanation. Just a question.

She’s silent for a moment, and I hold my breath. “I’ll be right there,” she says.

I hang up and go sit on the couch to wait. Gage will be so mad when he finds out. . . . And hurt. But I can’t help it.

I’ve made up my mind.

Just like that.

I’m going home.

When Janna picks me up and I grab my backpack, she says, “Is that all you need?”

I nod but think,
No.
No, I need so much more than what is in my backpack. I need a homemade dinner, a warm shower, shampoo that smells like strawberries, a cozy bed. I need a place to keep my things, a place to do homework. I need a routine, a regular bedtime, a place to invite friends to. I need rules, all 465 of them.

I need the Queen of Rules.

“Where did you eat? Where did you sleep?” Janna asks, now that I’ve had a shower and am sitting at the kitchen table. “Did that apartment in the West End, the one where I dropped your things, did it ever belong to you?”

I don’t want to provide details — details that will make it sound even worse than it was, details that will incriminate Gage. I simply shake my head no.

“I should have realized. I should have checked in with you more often. I should have talked with Human Services. I shouldn’t have let my anger and resentment get so out of hand.”

And your hurt feelings,
I think but don’t say. ’Cause I realize that a lot of what gets between Janna and Gage is their pride
and
their hurt feelings.

“It’s funny,” she says as she sets a grilled-cheese-and-tomato sandwich in front of me. “Before I had you guys, I had all kinds of ideas about how kids should be brought up. When I first met you, I couldn’t believe how lax your mother was. She seemed to ask so little of you and Gage, and you seemed to get away with so much. She never —”

“Gage is a good guy,” I interrupt. “Responsible. We may not have had an apartment, but he took good care of me.”

Janna nods. “You’re right. In some ways, he’s quite mature for a boy his age. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before. I was so sure that he was going to turn out to be just like your father — impulsive and headstrong, following his passions and ignoring reality. But I’ve done a lot of soul-searching while you guys were away, and I think I might have misjudged your brother. Maybe your father, too.”

I was tempted to tell Janna that I knew about her and our dad; maybe she’d feel she could open up to me then and explain what actually happened all those years ago, why she’d ripped all those pictures in half. But I worried that the only thing she’d hear was that I’d snooped in her scrapbooks, so I remained quiet, finishing my sandwich and wondering when Gage was going to call.

Wondering
if
he was going to call.