Stand Alone (36 page)

Justine nodded.

“Do you have someplace you hang out? Like a base of operations? Or are you just
  
…
 
wherever? Where would I find you tomorrow, you know?”

“Some of the guys squat in a warehouse over on the west side. We’ll show you where. That’s a good place to start out, if you’re looking for us. You got a place to live?”

Justine shrugged, giving nothing away.

“It’s okay either way,” Rooster assured her. “Doesn’t matter to any of us. Some of us squat, some rent places of their own. Some still live with their families, go to school, even, and just join in when they can. You don’t have to have a place, or not have a place. It’s all cool.”

Justine was relieved that they were so laid back about everything. She loved the idea of being part of a skater community. Back home, it had been her and Christian. Now and then, they ran into other random skaters, showed off tricks for a while, and eventually went their separate directions, maybe running into each other again sometime, and maybe not. There was nothing to hold the community together. Not enough people to really form any kind of club or gang. Justine envisioned long days filled with nothing but skating. What could be better? Rooster had stopped talking and was looking at Justine. She tried to replay what he had been saying, but her mind had been on other things and she hadn’t caught anything.

“What?” she questioned. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Lay off the pharmaceuticals,” he joked. “I said if you need a place to stay, we could help hook you up. Where are you from?”

“Here and there,” Justine said vaguely. “And, yeah
  
…
 
it’d be nice to have a place to hang my hat. I’m finding park benches and shelters aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“No kidding,” he agreed. “That’s a good way to get rolled, too. You set up with some of us, and we respect your stuff. No one’s gonna even touch your board without your permission.”

That would be a big relief. Every time Justine went to sleep, with her backpack under her head and her arms wrapped tightly around her board, she was worried that someone was going to be able to take it without her waking up. Then what would she do? Without her board, she’d be nothing. She couldn’t even get around.

“You got a nice board, by the way,” Rooster commented, eying it. “Where’d you get it?”

Justine put it on end and twirled it for him to see.

“Got it online,” she said. “No skating stores where I came from.”

“I bet it cost a bit of coin!”

“Yeah,” Justine agreed, “but I didn’t exactly use my own money to pay for it, so
  
…”

He chuckled.

“Even better.”

The conversation was broken up for a few minutes as they both took turns jumping. Then they stood back and watched some of the others attempt their tricks.

“You know what else I like?” Rooster questioned, his eyes on the other skaters. He hooted when Dickie muffed a flip and ended up rolling across the sidewalk. Dickie got up and brushed himself off, shrugging at them, and then turned around to wait for his next opportunity. The boy with the tattooed face hadn’t done much jumping, but he had a camera that he variously set up on a tripod or followed them around with, zooming in and out.

“What else do you like?” Justine questioned vaguely, her eyes on a Hispanic girl who hadn’t yet pulled off anything spectacular, but had obviously been working hard on the fundamentals. She had a certain flair that made you want to watch her, made you expect a good show.

“Your hair,” Rooster said.

“What?” Justine said distractedly, turning to look at him with a frown.

“I like your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with hair that long. When you’re skating, and it’s floating and blowing around you
  
…” he shrugged, face going a deep shade of red. “I dunno. It’s just
  
…
 
cool. That’s all.”

Justine swept her hair back with both hands, a bit self-conscious.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling her own face flush. “It’s been forever since I could really wash it or anything, so it’s kind of a mess.”

“No, it’s beautiful. I mean, it’s cool. If my hair was that long, I’d be afraid of getting it tangled in my wheels or something. But you look really
  
…
 
graceful.”

He cleared his throat and looked away from her. Dickie skated over.

“What are you two talking about?” he demanded. “You’re both as red as tomatoes! Rooster here propositioning you, new girl?” he suggested slyly.

“No,” Justine protested, shoving Dickie back a step. “We’re just talking skating.”

“Sure you are,” he said in an insinuating tone. “Just keep saying that and see if anyone believes you.”

“And I have a name, you know,” Justine told him.

“Yeah
  
…
 
but you need something cooler. And I haven’t decided what, yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

Justine laughed.

“Okay,” she said, shaking her head, “But until then, it’s Katie, not ‘new girl’.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Dickie agreed, nodding.

Justine took her turn, botching a basic jump and grind, and returned to the little row of spectators.

“What’s the tattoo guy’s name?” Justine asked Rooster.

“Squints.”

“Dickie’s nickname?”

“Yeah. Dickie names most of us.”

Squints and a few of the others took Justine to the warehouse. They didn’t use the door to get into the warehouse. It was obviously sealed and padlocked. If anyone broke the lock, the cops or security company were sure to notice. There was a boarded-up window that had been rigged to swing open on a hinge, and after checking to make sure that no one was watching them, Squints swiveled a nail and then pulled on the boards, motioning for Justine to go ahead of him. A couple of the others jumped in behind. Justine looked around. It was dark, but there was enough light coming in through the other boarded up windows to dimly light the interior. There weren’t separate rooms, but it was obvious from the way that various crates and pallets had been set up that different living spaces had been carved out. There was a big central area with a half-barrel in the middle that Justine thought might be used for a fire. A few smaller areas contained mattresses and boxes that functioned as beds and dressers or side tables.

“If you’re looking for something fancy, this ain’t it,” Squints advised. “But it’ll do if you’re just starting out.”

“You live here?” Justine questioned.

“No. Crashed here a few times, but
  
…
 
I’ve got a lot of equipment, calls for more secure storage.”

Justine nodded.

“Yeah, makes sense.” She looked around. “So I can claim any space that’s not already in use?”

“Uh-huh. Drag stuff around and make yourself comfortable. Blondie is good at scrounging mattresses, she’ll show you were to go.” Squints looked around, hands on hips, “Look out for snakes,” he said casually, “they crawl in here looking for mice sometimes. Don’t kill them, they’re not usually poisonous. Just hungry. They keep the vermin down, so it’s best to just put up with them.”

Justine suppressed a little shudder. Snakes were not something she had much experience with. And she didn’t even know what a venomous snake might look like. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to find out.

“It ain’t much,” Squints offered again.

Justine waved her hand at him.

“It’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”

He nodded.

“Okay, then.”

A while later, there was a scratching noise and a creak as the makeshift entrance opened up again, and a few more of the group came in.

“Hey, Zel,” Dickie said casually to Justine. She looked at him and blinked.

“It’s Katie,” she reminded him.

“Not any more. I like Zel.”

“Zel doesn’t make any sense,” Justine objected. “At least pick something that—”
 

“It makes sense,” Dickie interrupted, “Zel is short for Rapunzel.”

Justine groaned.

“Really? My hair? We’ve got Rooster, Blondie, and now Rapunzel? Do you have a hair fetish, or something?”

He shrugged.

“It’s your best feature,” he said with a smile. “Rooster ain’t the only one who’s noticed.”

“If Dickie was an Indian,” Squints said, “He’d call you ‘Girl with Long Hair’. Be thankful for Zel! It sounds cool and it could be worse—at least he didn’t shorten Rapunzel to ‘Rape’.”

Justine wrinkled her nose, and shook her head.

“Fine, then, I accept ‘Zel’. The namer has spoken. By the way
  
…
 
What’s with ‘Dickie’? You can give everyone else a good name, but you go by Dickie?”

He smiled at her smugly.

“If you’re lucky, maybe someday you’ll find out.”

Justine groaned, and Dickie and Squints laughed.

C
HAPTER
16

J
USTINE
LEFT
THE
CIRCLE
of firelight and groped her way through the makeshift aisles of the warehouse to her space. She hoped that as her eyes adjusted to the dark, it would seem just a little bit lighter. Despite her penchant for sleeping in abandoned buildings, Justine didn’t like it to be really dark. The houses that she slept in always had windows that let in some of the moonlight and city street lights from outside. Even windows that were boarded were rarely completely blocked.

She felt for the empty space she had cleared. She didn’t have a mattress yet, just a couple of blankets stolen from others. She lay down, turning toward the fire barrel. She could just dimly see its light in the darkness of the warehouse, and soon the fire would go out. Maybe she should volunteer to be the keeper of the fire. To lie down near it and keep it going all night long. Would they see right through her? Change her nickname to ‘Baby’ or something like that?

Some of the others had phones or flashlights that Justine could see flickering on and off in the dark. That would help, but only as long as they were awake. She stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t see it. There were some holes in the building that you could see in the bright sunlight of the day, but at night she couldn’t see them. Justine turned and stared at the fire again. It was getting low. If she was going to keep it going, she should go put more wood or trash in it now.

She grew too drowsy to get up and take care of it. Eventually Justine just closed her eyes, and sleep took her.

Justine let out her breath and looked over her little nook. It wasn’t really private, but she had her own space. No door to shut like at Em’s, but she felt more like it was hers than she had ever felt about her room at home. Blondie had helped her to scrounge a mattress, as Squints had suggested, and it wasn’t smelly or broken or anything. A few blankets and pillows, and it was actually pretty comfortable. She had fashioned some modular furniture out of crates and put her few clothes and possessions into them. Dickie warned her to still keep some stuff in her backpack and carry it with her, just in case anyone broke into or raided the warehouse. It could happen; you had to be prepared for contingencies. So for now, her dresser was pretty bare. But she had a place to sleep at night, and it was so much better than a park bench or the close, stinking, wheezing homeless shelters.

Justine saw a dark shadow snake through some debris a few feet away, and froze, her heart in her throat. She would have screamed, but it happened to fast, and she just stood there looking, her chest tight with anxiety and her pulse beating loudly in her ears.

“Hey, Zel,” Rooster yelled from across the big room. “Are you comin’ or what?”

Justine tried to raise her voice, but couldn’t. He approached.

“Zel, that’s your name now, remember?” he joked. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“A snake,” Justine whispered.

“What?”

“I saw a snake.”

“There’s no snakes in here,” he laughed.

“Squints
  
…
 
Squints said there were snakes. And some of them were venomous.”

Rooster cackled with laughter.

“There might be snakes out in the hills,” he said, “but not in here! Squints was just trying to spook you.”

“But I saw
  
…”

Rooster giggled.

“Not a snake,” he assured her. “Maybe it was Mister Wiggles.”

Justine just stared at him. Rooster had a hard time getting his laughter under control to talk to her. His face was bright red. He rubbed at the corners of his eyes, sniffling and snorting. Justine waited coolly for him to settle down. Now that she knew there wasn’t a snake, her own body started to settle down and cooperate, and she stood looking at Rooster, hands on hips, like she was his mother or a schoolteacher or something. His giggles subsided.

“Mister Wiggles,” he said, with attempted dignity, “is a cat. Good mouser. We give him treats, so he keeps coming back here. It’s best not to leave any food around here, ‘cause of rodents, did anyone tell you that?”

Justine shook her head. She hadn’t left any food in her bunk anyway. She looked around, wondering if it had been Mister Wiggles she saw, and if so, where in all of the piled junk he was now.

“Does he come when you call him?” she questioned.

“If you’ve got food.”

Rooster looked around, and picked up a discarded food wrapper. He crinkled it in his hands.

“Mister Wiggles?” he called in a falsetto. “Oh, Mister Wiggles? Where is Mister Wiggles?”

He smacked his lips and crinkled the wrapper some more. Justine looked around for some sign of the cat, but couldn’t see or hear anything. Then suddenly a slim calico jumped up beside Rooster and let out a raspy yowl. He had a long tail that was all black. Rooster reached out and patted it and scratched its ears, and Mister Wiggles purred, nuzzling Rooster’s hands, looking for food. When Rooster had nothing to offer him, he snorted and jumped down again, disappearing into the piles of boxes and trash. Rooster looked at Justine with one eyebrow cocked, and shrugged.

“Mister Wiggles,” he said. “No snakes.”