Paper Things: Chapters 14–26

I can’t tell if they’re working up enough courage to tease me or if they’re planning a hygiene intervention (the way Sasha and I once held an intervention to try to get Linnie to talk more softly—which, by the way, did not work).

Since I don’t have any money in my account anyway, and since I’d rather not be ambushed by Linnie and my supposed best friend, I figure I’ll just skip the cafeteria altogether.

Sure enough, Carol comes over and tells me that West would like to speak with me. Omar is none too happy about this, but Carol offers to take my place and Omar grudgingly agrees.

“Aren’t you looking dapper,” West says.
“Just came from a job interview.” Gage looks serious, and I start to squeeze his arm to console him, but suddenly he breaks into a grin. “I got it! I start at Jiffy Lube tomorrow morning.”

“Aren’t you looking dapper,” West says.
“Just came from a job interview.” Gage looks serious, and I start to squeeze his arm to console him, but suddenly he breaks into a grin. “I got it! I start at Jiffy Lube tomorrow morning.”

“It’d be a lot easier to swing if there were two of us pitching in for rent,” Gage says. At first I think he’s talking about me, and I cringe; how the heck am I supposed to find enough discarded change to pay half the rent? But then I notice that he’s looking at Chloe—and he’s got a big, teasing grin on his face.

“What’s it look like?” Gage asks.
“It looks OK,” Chloe says. “It says ‘prospective tenant must income qualify.’”
“What does that mean?” I ask, getting as close to the pictures on the screen as I can.

Gage stares at Chloe.
She stares back.
Nate gives me a grimace that says awkward.

Not just because Gage told me not to, but because I’m not going to do one more thing to jeopardize my application to Carter.

“I’m on my way to Head Start,” I offer instead. “I volunteer there in the afternoons.”
Ms. Finch raises her eyebrows, like she’s surprised. Another reminder of just how far I’ve fallen in her estimation.

I’m sitting at the cutting table at Head Start. Juju is next to me, cutting a shiny stove from a Home Depot flyer. Omar is tearing paper in his usual way. A couple of other kids have gravitated to us today as well.

Maybe we need something else, something to make our mission perfectly clear. The ideas are percolating as I grab another catalog page and start cutting. If the snowflakes got some kids’ attention, we could maybe get them to fight for our cause. They could help us stage an impromptu Crazy Hat Day.

“I could take that catalog page to Reggie...” I offer.
Fran laughs at my persistence. “Why not?” she says. “Wishing never hurt.” She slides the picture over to me, and I walk into the hall to carefully place it and the snowflakes in my backpack.

The bus pulls up to the stop by Chloe’s place. I get off and start trudging up the hill. Maybe I’ll even bump into Gage as I’m walking!

I can tell that my brother is confused. He’s pausing so the man will say more and he won’t look ignorant.

“The rent on this apartment is subsidized. In order to live here, you have to have proof from the Housing Authority that your income falls below a certain level.”

“Look,” says Reggie, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’ve got a place you can stay tonight. It’s not the Taj Mahal, it’s not even Motel Six, but it’s warm.”

“It’s pretty modest,” Reggie says apologetically. “There isn’t even a proper bathroom, though I make do with a camping toilet. But it’s dry and warm and no one will bother you.”

I look at Gage, who nods that it’s OK. “Thanks,” I say, reluctantly taking the dollar. I can’t help remembering that Reggie needed money for Amelia and wonder how he bought the tuna and how he pays the rent for his storage unit.

What choice do I really have? I can’t very well wear a smelly shirt to school again, not after all the nasty comments Sasha and Linnie made last time. Though I’m sure I’ll get an earful about how silly I look wearing a man’s shirt.

Class is just about to begin when Mr. Chandler’s voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Would the young man and the young lady who decided to enter the school unlawfully this morning and, further, deface school property come to the office immediately.”

I try to think of this like an essay for Carter. If I had to explain why I wanted to reinstate the traditions at Eastland Elementary, what would I say?

“Does Janna know what you were up to this morning?” he asks once we reach him.
“No, sir,” I say, my voice quavering.

“Speak up,” Daniel whispers to me.
I widen my eyes and shrug my shoulders. What could I possibly say? Mr. Chandler is right about the glitter; it was inconsiderate.

“I can’t stay home today,” she says. “I’ve got to get to work. Do you think you can fend for yourself?”
Now I’m the one who nods. I’ve never stayed alone when I was sick before.

Janna called her room the “sanctuary”—a place where she could be alone and do the things she used to do BK (before kids), like painting her toenails and working on her scrapbooks.

I feel a pang as I flip through the scrapbook; Gage and I don’t have baby albums of any kind.

Another page is devoted to prom. Janna’s pressed her corsage into the book. Even all dried and brown tinged, it’s still pretty.

“I’m ready to go,” I say.
After what feels like an eternity, Gage gives a decisive nod. “I was only asking for a little more time to put everything in place,” he says to Janna. “But as usual, things have to be on your terms.”

It will be great not to have to figure out who to sit with at lunchtime, or not to have to face everyone after the snowflake-and-projectile-vomit fiasco—especially Mr. Chandler.