No Place (11 page)

“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—”

“They could be looking for jobs!” a man snarled loudly, and a large part of the crowd clapped.

Mom set her jaw firmly. “Many of them already
have
jobs,” she snapped. “And some of those who don’t have been looking
for years
. And if you’ve ever been unemployed, you know how disheartening that can be.”

I felt like clapping, but didn’t want to attract attention to myself. I think some of the crowd was caught off guard by how ardent and unafraid Mom was. She gathered herself and then continued more calmly.  “As I was saying, when they’re
not
looking for jobs, they would have something rewarding to do instead of sitting around watching TV. This garden won’t cost the town anything, and there’ll be nothing permanent about it. When the time comes to dismantle Dignityville, they’ll just plow it under, seed it with grass, and it’ll be a park again.”

A couple of people muttered under their breath, but no one rose to argue. Mom thanked the council and sat.

Mayor George held a vote. The vegetable garden was approved four to three.

The meeting ended and people began to leave. Uncle Ron was coming down the aisle when Meg and I stood up. When he saw us, he looked perplexed, as if embarrassed to have spoken so harshly against the place where we were now living. I decided to make it easier for him. “How are the twins?”

He appeared to relax. “Still getting into mischief,” he said, then added, “They ask about you.”

“I’ll try to get over there,” I said.

“They’d like that.” He glanced toward the front of the room, where Mom and Dad were speaking with the town engineer. “How’re you doing?”

“Hanging in. Having that garden’ll make Mom happy.”

Uncle Ron’s nose twitched. It was weird. Here we were, family, but also enemies.
Famenies.
He sighed, nodded, and continued down the aisle.

“You know him?” Meg asked, not hiding her surprise.

“He’s my mother’s brother.”

“
That
man is your uncle?” she said, astonished. “Why’s he so against Dignityville?”

I explained that he was a real estate lawyer and had some half-finished condominiums that no one wanted. “I think he’s got some pretty serious financial problems.”

Meg didn’t reply. As we left Town Hall and started back toward Dignityville, I felt kind of weird, because in a way Uncle Ron was right. Aubrey did envision Dignityville becoming permanent. While that would be good for the homeless in town, there would be others, like Ron, who might be hurt.

Suddenly a hand grabbed my arm. “Dan?”

We’d gotten to a busy corner. The light was red.

“Were you going to stop?” Meg gave me a concerned look.

I wasn’t even aware that we’d been about to cross the street. “Thanks,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

No, not even close.

 17 

A PHONE CALL

“I’d like your help.”

“How?”

“I need to get in touch with a certain kind of person. I think you might know how to do that.”

“What kind of person?”

“Someone I could pay to do something.”

“Like what?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Because if you do, then I’ll help you. You do understand how I could help you?”

Silence.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. So are you willing to put me in touch with the kind of person I need?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I wouldn’t think too long if I were you.”

 18 

I hated to admit it, but I was relieved that Talia was away that weekend and not around to remind me of all the things I couldn’t afford to do. Instead I worked:
out
with Noah,
for
Ron’s neighbor, and
on
my studies.

Sunday evening was my turn to do after-dinner cleanup in the Grand Ballroom. When I got to the dining tent, the volunteers had begun serving dinner, but Mom and Stella were playing Chutes and Ladders. Mom was beaming and you could see how much delight she took in having a little girl to look after.

“Shouldn’t we get in line?” I asked.

“Go ahead. Stella and I haven’t finished our game.”

With her dark eyes Stella looked up at me. “I’m going to win. And this time Hannah isn’t letting me.”

“I’ve never let you win,” Mom protested.

“You did once,” Stella said accusingly.

“Okay, maybe once,” Mom admitted. “But not this time, young lady.”

Stella grinned devilishly. “And I’m still going to beat you.”

I didn’t know Stella’s precise age, but I would have guessed she was about five. Mona, her mom, had worked for a solar panel company until they moved their manufacturing to China. Now she had a job at Home Depot during the day and was a waitress a few nights a week. I assumed that’s where she was that night while Mom watched her daughter.

It was hard to imagine what it must have been like, being five and growing up in a camp for homeless people. There were a couple of kids around who looked like they were twelve or thirteen, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen anyone as young as Stella. No kids her age to play with. No playdates. And it wasn’t like the folks who spent their days watching TV in the back of the dining tent were going to let her watch cartoons.

*  *  *

At school Lisa, the lunch lady, made a habit of slipping me extra food, but I only took advantage of the offer when I’d missed breakfast or was really hungry. I guess we’d gotten a little lackadaisical about it, though, because the day came when I was in line and she said, “Need a little extra today, honey?”

“Yeah, thanks.” I hadn’t bought breakfast that morning because the weekend was coming and I wanted to hold on to whatever money I had for going out.

Lisa had just given me some extra chicken nuggets and
tater tots when the next guy in line said, “Can I have some extra too?”

“You can buy another main course if you want,” Lisa told him.

The guy pointed at me. “How come he doesn’t have to?”

“Are
you
homeless?” Lisa asked.

It was one of those moments when everything stops. I knew Lisa didn’t intend anything mean by what she’d said, but it didn’t matter. The guy scowled at me and I felt my face go hot and red.

And it didn’t end there. When I got to the lunch table where the usual suspects were huddled in conversation, Tory glanced up and saw me, then whispered something that caused them all to go silent.

Stopping a few feet away from the table, I said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

Talia patted the spot beside her. “Uh . . . it’s Jen’s birthday on Friday, and she wants us all to go Wally’s.”

Wally’s Wowza-Burger was a sort of imitation Planet Hollywood, and it wasn’t cheap. Talia said, “We can go, right?” and gave me a look that I interpreted as,
Don’t worry, I’ll pay for everything.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that everyone else at the table read that look as well. For the second time in less than two minutes, I felt my face go red with embarrassment.

Congratulations, Dan, you’re now an official charity case. And everyone knows it.

*  *  *

They say timing is everything, but what they don’t add is that it’s true of bad timing as well. They also say that things come in threes. After being publicly humiliated twice in less time than it takes to lace up a pair of cleats, I couldn’t wait for lunch to end. Food wasn’t the only thing simmering in the cafeteria at that point. So was I. As soon as Talia and I left, I planned to ask her to be a little less obvious about the signals she sent in front of her friends.

“Yo, Dan.” Out in the hall the scraggly haired kid came around the sign-up table and planted himself in front of me, blocking my path, intruding in my space. Then he said, “I mean, come on.”

That may have been what he said, but it wasn’t what I heard. What I heard was, Dude, now that
the whole school
knows you’re living in Dignityville, how can you
not
sign up for the march?

I snapped. Grabbed his collar and yanked him toward me until our faces were so close that I could count the blackheads dotting his nose and forehead.

“Hey!” he cried, clamping his hands around my wrists and struggling to get out of my grip; but the only things clenched more tightly than my fistful of shirt collar were my teeth.

Everyone in the hall stopped and stared.

“Dan!” Talia gasped.

“Jeez, man, come on!” The kid squirmed.

It was over in a flash. I’d made a mistake, and let go.

Red-faced and breathing hard, the scraggly haired kid scuttled back around the table. Feeling everyone’s eyes, I raised my hands, palms out. “No harm, no foul.” It must have sounded lame, but it was all that I could think of.

Talia tugged my arm and we started down the hall again. “What was
that
about?” she hissed, as if
she
was the one who’d been embarrassed.

“Maybe my girlfriend freaking out because I’m temporarily homeless?” I spat angrily.

“I’m not the one who’s freaking out. I just . . . wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“And you think I don’t?” I asked incredulously.

She had chemistry next and we stopped outside the lab, but neither of us spoke. Finally, Talia let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Let’s just go to Wally’s on Friday and have a good time, okay?”

“Sure,” I mumbled. “Whatever.”

 19 

That night on the phone Talia and I smoothed things over. But it was starting to feel like each time we saw each other, a problem developed that related to me being homeless. And this time there were other repercussions. The next morning after second period, Noah and I were passing the counseling office when Ms. Reuben came out. “Oh, Dan,” she said as if seeing me reminded her of something. “Don’t go anywhere.” She went back into her office and returned with a folder. “You’ve got a study hall seventh period. Why don’t you come down here.”