Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless by Melody Carlson Page B

somewhat cryptic note, trying to make sense of it. Where on earth are they going? How long will they be gone? And how can my mom possibly afford this so-called vacation? Or is this Ben guy footing the bill? And if so, where does he get his money since he obviously isn't employed? And really, what does she even know about him? What if he's some kind of sociopath serial killer? And where does he get off expecting me to move his van for him? Think again, Ben! I don't care if the creep comes home to a truckload of parking tickets.
    Still, it's unsettling rambling around our condo knowing my mom's gone AWOL. I check out her room to see that: (1) it's a mess - so much for those nice, clean sheets-and (2) she has packed up most of her stuff like she really plans to be gone awhile. And I feel a cross between anger and hurt. But there's another part of me that's not terribly surprised. Kind of like I'd been waiting for something like this to happen. And yet as I get into bed, earlier than usual even for a school night, I feel slightly numb.
    The next morning, it's not like I'm doing anything different than usual as I get ready for school. But for some reason it just feels different. Maybe it's the being alone part ... being really alone. That's different. But I tell myself it doesn't matter as I go through my usual paces of showering and getting dressed.
    Although I know there's nothing to eat in the kitchen except a couple more cans of soup, I look in the fridge, as if I expect that yogurt or waffles or orange juice is going to magically appear. Then I finally settle on minestrone soup, which just shows I am hungry because I really don't like minestrone. But it's all that's left. And with a dollar and change in my purse, I wait for Isabella to pick me up. But while I wait, I wonder how long I can keep this up.
    It's amazing and slightly weird that none of my friends has any idea of what's going on with me. It's like they just assume that everything in my life is the same old, same old ... status quo. And really, it's what I want them to think. But at the same time it's a bit bizarre-like I'm leading a secret life. Of course, their oblivion is probably because everyone, including me, is so self-centered and wrapped up in their own lives.
    To be fair, I don't really know what's going on with all of them when they're at home with their families. Oh, I assume that their lives are perfectly lovely, that they have delightful parents who really care about them, that there's food in their fridges, and that none of them cried themselves to sleep last night. But I could be wrong.
    "How's your mom?" Jayden asks me as we walk to resource together after lunch. "Is she still pretty sick?"
    I should be pleased that he cares enough to ask, but just thinking about my mom makes my head hurt. "Oh, she's about the same."
    "Well, I told my grandma about your mom getting the flu, and it reminded her that she needs to get her flu shot."
    "Does your grandmother live nearby?"
    He chuckles. "Yeah, pretty nearby."
    "Oh?"
    "Didn't I tell you my grandma lives with us?"
    "I don't think so ... not that I recall."
    "Yeah. She's got her own apartment in our basement. It's actually a pretty cool setup with a full kitchen and everything. And if I get tired of my mom's cooking, Nana is always ready to whip something up for me."
    "Wow, that is a cool setup." I give him a cheesy smile. "I'm envious.
    "Well, you'll have to come over and meet her sometime. She doesn't get many visitors."
    Now I almost let the cat out of the bag by mentioning Mrs. Ashburn at the nursing home to him. I was about to say how she told me she doesn't get many visitors either, but then I'd have to explain why I was at River Woods. While I suppose I could lie and say I went there to visit, I think the safest plan is to keep the entire thing under wraps. Maybe someday, when I know I can trust Jayden with my secret and when I know he won't dump me for being poor ... maybe then I can tell him.
    After