No Place Page 8

  “Pretty good,” I said. “At least nothing hurts.”

  “Hear that?” Zach said to Tyler, who’d wandered behind me to look at something.

  “Yeah,” I heard Tyler answer. “Always a good sign when nothing hurts.”

  The next thing I knew, a pair of arms went around me from behind.

  “Hey!” I yelled, more annoyed than panicked since I knew it had to be Tyler.

  Zach pulled what looked like a blue bathrobe out of his backpack and threw it over my head. Everything went dark . . . blue. “What the . . . ?”

  Tyler had my arms pinned to my sides. Now I felt something like a belt go around me as Zach tied the robe closed. “Be cool, Dan. We’re doing this for your own good.”

  “Resistance is futile,” I heard Noah add. They started to guide me . . . back toward the school, I assumed.

  “Guys, you don’t have to kidnap me,” I said calmly as they led me across the grass. “I’ll go wherever you want.”

  “Not if you knew where you’re going,” Noah replied ominously.

  When we stepped down from a curb, I knew we were in the parking lot. A car door opened and they guided me into the backseat and buckled the seat belt. They sat on either side of me in case I tried to squirm out from under the robe.

  “You don’t think someone may notice that you’ve got a guy tied up in the backseat?” I asked when the car began to move.

  “We’ll take our chances,” Noah replied from the front.

  We didn’t go far. When they helped me out of the car, I could hear traffic and had a feeling we were at a strip mall. We went through a door and the scent of burgers and fries wafted into my nose. I could hear bits of conversations and some chuckling as the guys led me to a seat. Surely they’d take the robe off my head now, wouldn’t they?

  Nope. Instead, dishes clattered, soda fizzed as it was poured into glasses, and something scraped the tabletop.

  Whispers and girlish giggling followed. Now I thought I knew what was up. They’d taken me to Wally’s Wowza-Burger and the girls were all there for a “Let’s Cheer Up Homeless Dan” party. Whoop dee doo!

  “Ready?” I heard Noah ask.

  Some female voices answered yes and I was just registering the fact that they weren’t familiar female voices when the robe was pulled off and I found myself staring at a huge platter of chicken wings with a candle on top.

  Wally’s didn’t serve chicken wings.

  I raised my eyes. On the other side of the table half a dozen smiling Hooters girls in tight T-shirts and shorts started clapping and singing the Hooters birthday song.

  And just like that, Homeless Dan cheered up.

  * * *

  “I had to tell them it was your birthday,” Noah said later while he drove me home. “It was the only way I could get them to sing.”

  “Thanks, man.” I punched him playfully in the arm. He was a solid friend . . . something I really needed right now.

  Back “home” in the tent I found Mom cutting Dad’s hair. He was sitting with a towel around his shoulders while she snipped with a pair of office shears.

  “Since when do you cut hair?” I asked, feeling the cheerful glow of the Hooters party quickly dissipate now that I was back in the last place I wanted to be.

  “It’s not that hard.” Mom squeezed a lock of Dad’s hair between her fingers and carefully trimmed the end.

  When she finished cutting, she lathered the back of Dad’s neck and shaved it, then carefully removed the towel so Dad’s hair didn’t fall on the tent floor. I had to admit that she’d done a pretty decent job.

  “Next?” She swept her arm toward the empty folding chair.

  She was right. Maybe I was more sensitive than usual about looking scruffy. Would people look at me and think, Oh, yeah, that’s the homeless kid. Probably can’t afford a haircut?

  I sat down.

  “Buzz cut?” Mom joked.

  “Just a trim, thanks.”

  Dad decided to take a shower. When he took off his shirt, I noticed a small wad of gauze taped to the inside of his forearm.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He seemed puzzled. “Sure. Why?”

  I nodded at his arm.

  He looked surprised, as if he’d forgotten about the gauze. “Oh, yeah. It’s nothing.”

  “Just a checkup?”

  “Right.”

  * * *

  Our Dignityville neighbors were Mona and her young daughter, Stella, who went to day care on the days her mom worked as a cashier at Home Depot. On the other side were Fred and Diane, an older couple with a strangely upbeat attitude considering what their lives had been reduced to. Diane was gray-haired and plump. Fred was a skinny bald guy with a pointy Adam’s apple who always had a lame joke to tell. It seemed like they spent most of their week waiting for the weekends, when they’d babysit their grandchildren.

  “You going to the meeting at Town Hall on Friday?” Fred asked after dinner that night.

  Mom nodded. “Aubrey put the proposal for the garden on the agenda.”

  “How do you make an artichoke?” Fred asked.

  “Steam it?” said Mom.

  “No, strangle it.” Fred grinned.

  “Oh, Fred.” Whenever her husband told a corny joke, Diane would slap him lightly on the shoulder and they’d both giggle like a couple of kids.

  They were homeless. How could they be so jolly?

  16

  Ruby’s Bar and Grill was fancier than the name might have implied. The brass door handle was polished and the velvet drapes were a deep, rich maroon. Inside I almost didn’t recognize Aubrey behind the bar. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a white shirt and dark vest.

  The bar was half-full and he motioned me down to the end where we could speak in private.

  His smile was genuine. “What’ll it be? Martini? Manhattan?”

  “Job?”

  He grinned. “Victor’s out for a few minutes, but I told him you were coming by.” He poured a Coke with ice and slid it in front of me. “How’s it going?”

  All I could do was shrug. Aubrey nodded as if he understood. “Listen, man, I know it’s impossible not to take what’s happening to you personally, but sometimes a little perspective helps, okay? It’s not your parents’ fault, and it’s not the government’s fault. Downturns have always been part of the economic landscape. But they don’t last forever. Things’ll turn around. Don’t forget, you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

  “Someday we’ll look back at all this and laugh?” I asked with sour humor.

  “I sure hope not.” Aubrey poured himself a Coke. “Hopefully, we’ve learned a lesson. And because of it, we’ll change things so that the next time something like this happens, there’ll be safety nets to catch people before they slide all the way down to Dignityville.”

  “But if things are going to get better, why make Dignityville permanent?”

  With a finger, Aubrey wiped some condensation off the glass. When he looked up at me, some of the brightness had left his eyes. “Things will get better someday . . . because they always do. But it may take a while. And by the time it happens, it may be too late for some people. They may not have the education or skills for the jobs of the future.”

  A short, bald man in a neatly pressed suit joined us, and Aubrey made the introductions. He was Victor, the manager of Ruby’s.

  “Aubrey tells me you’re responsible and a hard worker,” he said in a gruff voice. We talked while Aubrey left to serve some customers. I guess I made a good impression, because Victor said that if I could wait until after Thanksgiving, there’d be a busboy’s job for me.

  I told him I could wait, and thanked him gratefully. By now people were coming in after work and Aubrey was too busy serving drinks to chat. He waved good-bye and said we’d catch up later.

  I left Ruby’s in a state of semishock. Aubrey hardly knew me and couldn’t possibly have known that I was responsible or a hard worker, and yet he’d put his word
on the line to help me get that job. What an outstanding guy.

  * * *

  The following afternoon Noah couldn’t work out because he had to help Derek move a new soundboard into the studio. Talia had one of her after-school meetings, and I figured I’d study in the media center and wait for her.

  It didn’t occur to me that her meeting would be in one of the small glass-enclosed rooms that ran along one side of the library, but there she was, along with Tory, Ben, and a few others.

  And, from the expressions on their faces, it was obvious that they weren’t having fun. I stood on the other side of the media center and watched what appeared to be a heated argument.

  Ben looked up and saw me through the glass. Inside the room, he said something and instantly Tory and Talia swiveled around and stared. It might have been self-centered to think that whatever they were discussing had something to do with me, but from the way they were acting, it was hard to think otherwise.

  Almost as quickly as they’d swiveled to look at me, the girls swung back and began talking again. A lot of head-shaking and anguished expressions followed and I figured I better turn my attention to schoolwork. I was just about to sit down at a table when the meeting room door opened and Talia waved at me to join them.

  It seemed strange that they’d want me in their meeting, and only got stranger when everyone in the room except Tory, Talia, and Ben left. Talia closed the door and we sat. I couldn’t imagine what was going on. An awkward moment passed and then Talia said, “Dan, how would you feel about a scholarship to the winter formal?”

  I frowned. A scholarship to a school dance? I’d never heard of such a thing. Then the jarring realization hit home. “For me?”

  Ben let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, Dan. I’m trying to explain to them that we can’t do it.” He turned to the girls. “You can’t create a scholarship just so you can give it to a friend.”

  “What if it’s based on need?” Talia asked.

  “Then you have to consider everyone else who might qualify,” Ben said. “Now you’re talking about people applying for it based on financial need. They’d have to present financial statements, bank accounts, all sorts of stuff. And you’d have to go through it all, and if the scholarship went to Dan everyone would still think it had been created just for him.”

  It wasn’t hard to get the picture. The least expensive thing about the winter formal is the ticket to the dance. There’s also the tux rental, the party bus or limo, the after-party club, and on and on. It probably wasn’t that Talia didn’t want to pay for me, as much as she didn’t want the whole school to know.

  It made me incredibly uncomfortable. “Thanks, guys, but I can’t accept charity.”

  “What about your scholarship to Rice?” Talia asked.

  “I earned that by pitching.”

  “Not to mention what they’ll earn on ticket sales, merchandise, and TV deals,” Ben added.

  Talia began to argue. “But—”

  “Talia!” I didn’t mean to raise my voice as sharply as it came out. Talia instantly hunched her shoulders and went quiet. Suddenly none of them could look me in the eye.

  “Ben, you’re totally right. There’s no way I’d accept this.” I turned to Talia and put my hand on her arm. “Listen, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but . . . it’s just . . . try to see it from my point of view. That’s not the kind of attention I need.”

  She nodded mutely.

  Tory cleared her throat. “We have a lot more that we need to discuss here, Dan, so maybe . . .”

  “I hear you,” I said, and left.

  * * *

  Talia and I had a long talk that night. She started off upset and defensive—insisting she’d only been trying to help—but I got her to calm down by telling her I appreciated it, and then repeating that I didn’t want to do anything that singled me out. Eventually Talia said she understood, and the topic of the winter formal was left unresolved.

  On Friday night Mom and Dad went to Town Hall after dinner. The whole weekend lay ahead and I was wondering what to do. Talia and her mom had planned a bunch of college visits, so she’d be away. At Dignityville a group gathered each evening to watch the TV at the back of the dining tent, but I couldn’t picture myself among them. Then I spotted Meg and an older woman coming up the path between the rows of tents. The woman’s hair was curly gray, but her skin wasn’t as wrinkled as you might have expected. She got closer and I began to see the resemblance and knew she was Mrs. Fine.

  They stopped and Meg introduced us.

  “Meg’s told me about you,” Mrs. Fine said, and gave her daughter a kind of amused smile as if they knew something I didn’t know. Then she said to Meg, “Not too late tonight, okay?”

  Meg nodded. Her mom said it was nice to meet me and left.

  “What was that smile about?” I asked.

  “That you thought I was Aubrey’s girlfriend.”

  “Hey, it was a natural mistake. Anyone could have made it.”

  “I know. We just had a laugh.” She gave me a curious look. “Whatcha up to?”

  “Not much. You?”

  “Aubrey asked me to go to the town council meeting. He’s bartending tonight.”

  “Think something’s going to happen?” I asked.

  “We never know. He’s always worried they might try to sneak a motion through that will hurt Dignityville, so if I see something like that happening, I’m supposed to call him.” She paused and studied me. “Want to come?”

  I can’t say I was thrilled. Going to that meeting sounded like as much fun as doing the crab walk in gym, but at least it would pass the time.

  * * *

  We sat in the last row. Not only had I never been to a city council meeting, I’d never been to Town Hall. The room was more than half-full when the council came in and sat at a panel in the front. Mayor George, a heavy, red-faced man, sat behind a plaque that said COUNCIL PRESIDENT. Three women and three men sat beside him.

  The meeting started with the Pledge of Allegiance and some reports on various town projects. It wasn’t long before I leaned over to Meg and whispered, “Boring.”

  “It’s government,” she whispered back. “It’s supposed to be boring.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to be funny, or just stating a basic fact. Either way, I was seriously considering leaving when Mayor George asked for comments about a proposal to add permanent toilet facilities to the washing area at Dignityville.

  Chair legs scraped in the middle of the crowd and Uncle Ron stood up. I’d had no idea he was there, and from the looks I caught on my parents’ faces when they swiveled to see who was speaking, it was pretty obvious they hadn’t either. I slid down in my seat to make sure they didn’t see me in the back of the room.

  “Mayor, I’d like to speak for all the residents who are sick and tired of seeing our town turned into a dumping ground for bums,” Uncle Ron began forcefully. “I’d also like to remind the council that when it approved this incredibly bad idea of turning a public park into a camp for the homeless, it did so with the understanding that it would be on a temporary basis. Now it looks more and more like you want to make it a permanent part of our community. I don’t have to tell you what this is doing to our property values and to the reputation of our town in general.”

  A bunch of people in the audience clapped, and you could see that Mayor George wasn’t happy. Meg leaned close and whispered, “This is what Aubrey’s worried about.”

  “Think you should call him?” I whispered back.

  “Maybe. Let’s see.”

  Mayor George leaned forward. “We are not trying to make it a permanent facility.”

  Mutters of disbelief and disapproval flitted through the crowd. I was starting to get the feeling that most of those attending were against Dignityville.

  “But you just said you’re planning to remove the portable restrooms and replace them with permanent toilet facilities,” Uncle Ron pointed out.

 
; “Strictly as a cost savings,” replied Mayor George. “It’s my understanding that the sewer lines can be easily disconnected when and if the homeless problem decreases.”

  For confirmation he glanced at the town engineer, who nodded.

  “If the homeless problem decreases?” Uncle Ron repeated angrily. “How many times do I have to remind you that erecting that camp and now improving the facilities isn’t going to decrease the problem. It’s only going to make it worse!”

  More applause. You could feel the animosity in the crowd. It was like playing an away game at the school of our archenemies.

  “I’d like to point out that Dignityville has been open for almost four months and we’ve had no indication that anyone has moved in from another community,” the mayor replied.

  “Just wait until they hear about the improvements you’re making,” Uncle Ron shot back.

  “Yeah!” someone in the crowd agreed loudly, and other people nodded.

  Once again Mayor George leaned forward. “I’d like to remind all of you that the town council’s mandate is to act on behalf of the entire community and not just for the benefit of a few individuals like yourselves. We have a significant homeless problem here in Median and it is our responsibility to care for them while they try to get back on their feet.”

  A few people booed, and someone shouted, “If they really wanted jobs they’d either go get them or start a business!”

  “I say we have a recall vote and elect a new mayor!” yelled someone else.

  “Thank you for your opinions,” Mayor George replied tersely. “We’re going to move on to other business.”

  More grumbles of disapproval followed. His face flushed with frustration, Uncle Ron was about to sit when he saw Mom and Dad near the front. From his surprised expression, it was obvious that he’d had no idea they were there.

  Meanwhile Mayor George studied the papers in front of him. “Up next is a proposal to turn approximately three thousand square feet of Osborne Park into a vegetable garden for the benefit of those living there.”

  He looked up with a woeful expression, as if he knew he was about to catch serious grief. “Any comments?”

  More mutters of disapproval bubbled up from the crowd, but Mom was the only one who raised her hand. I felt proud when she stood up and turned so that she was speaking to the crowd as well as the council. “I’d just like to say a few things. First, the vegetable garden will save the town money because the residents will eat what they grow. This will also help them have a healthier diet, which should cut down on medical costs. In addition there’ll be certain times of the year when we’ll probably grow more than we’ll be able to consume, and we can sell the surplus at the farmer’s market and use the money to pay for fertilizer, farming tools, and other expenses. Finally, a garden will be beneficial because it will give the residents a reason to be active. As a resident of Dignityville myself, I’ve seen firsthand that one of the problems is that not everyone has enough to—”