Free No Place by Todd Strasser

pockets.”
    Mom looked over the seat at me again. “I know this is difficult, sweetheart. I know it’s not what you want. But I want you to give it a chance. I promise, if you still hate it after a week or two, we’ll try to come up with something else.”
    “Seriously, Mom? Then why bother? I know I’m going to hate it.”
    “Maybe not. I’m just asking you to try.”
    I wanted to argue, but there was no point in it. Mom was going to have her way.
    Our new address was site number thirty-seven, a square plywood platform raised about six inches off the ground. Aubrey wasn’t around, so we were assisted by Wade, rail thin and scruffy with a red bandana around his forehead and long graying hair in a ponytail.
    “We don’t have a lot of rules,” he said as he helped us raise the tent and secure it to the plywood platform. “You probably saw the board when you came in. The only thing I’d add is no loud music or talking after nine o’clock. A lot of folks have to get up early for work. Aubrey told you about the hot dinner every night, right? As far as other meals, you’ll have to fend for yourselves.”
    “What do people do?” Dad asked.
    “The regular things. Some prepare their own on camp stoves. Some go to Subway or the diner. The hard-luck cases’ll eat at the church or the food pantry. And if you do prepare food here? Don’t forget to separate out your recyclables just like you did at home. Oh, and you get these.”
    He handed out three small booklets of bus passes. “Two free trips a day for work or appointments. And don’t forget to sign up for kitchen detail. Everyone volunteers at least once a week to either serve or clean up. Of course, you’re welcome to do it more often if you feel like it.”
    Wade left. To be honest, I felt paralyzed by the numbness of disbelief. My parents had both gone to college, and I was on my way next year. We’d had a house. They’d had jobs. This wasn’t supposed to happen to people like us.
    Mom and Dad rolled out their sleeping pads and bags. Having done a lot of camping in the past, we had our own gear, but we hadn’t used the tent in years and it smelled unpleasantly musty. My parents shot quick looks at me. I still hadn’t moved.
    Dad said, “There’s no rush, Dan.” Which basically meant, There’s no point in standing around.
    Despite the smell the tent was pretty spacious and had room for plastic shelving for our clothes, and stackable plastic bins for our personal stuff.
    “I wouldn’t leave anything valuable lying around,” Dad said, glancing at Mom to see if she agreed.
    She nodded.
    “Like my laptop?” I asked.
    “Can’t hurt to keep it out of sight,” she said.
    “Under your dirty underwear,” Dad suggested with a wink.
    That reminded me: “Where do we wash clothes?”
    “There’s a Laundromat about a block away,” Mom said.
    Right. I’d seen Meg with that laundry basket. Looked like I’d be joining her. I reached for my sleeping bag and unrolled it. This move was real. It was happening. And there was nothing I could do about it.
    For now.
    *  *  *
    “So,” Mom said once we’d settled in, “shall we go for a walk?”
    Dad and I shared an uncomfortable look. All along I’d sensed that while he was trying to be supportive of Mom, he wasn’t completely stoked about Dignityville either.
    “Remember what Aubrey said,” Mom reminded us. “Don’t look at this as a place for the lost and disenfranchised. Imagine a day when there are hundreds of Dignityvilles, and all kinds of people live in them not because they have to but because they want to.”
    I felt myself wince inside. It sounded like Mom had taken a big gulp of Aubrey-flavored Kool-Aid. Dad put his arm around her. “You’re right.”
    They both turned to me. “Coming?”
    “I have to do some reading for school,” I said.
    “It’s a little dark in here,” Mom said. “Why don’t you go over to the dining tent?”
    “This is fine,” I said, thinking, No way am