Free Dream Smashers by Angela Carlie Page B

sneak a peek out the window
next to the door. His hands are stuffed into his front pockets and
he shuffles his feet. Blond hair hangs in his eyes. A shiver races
down my arm before I open the door. “Hey Evan.”
    “You must be psychic.” His face glows.
    “Nah, I saw you pull up. You ready to meet
Grams?” I tug his arm into the house. “She’s waiting in the
kitchen. Hope the smoke doesn’t bother you. I totally told her not
to smoke in the house, but I think she did a little bit ago.”
Thanks once again Grams for stinking up the house.
    “Oh, it’s alright. We aren’t staying long,
right?” He hesitates.
    I laugh. “It’ll just take a sec. She wants to
say hi.”
    Grams steps into the hall before we make it
to the kitchen. Her face scrunches into a smile, making it pucker
up more than normal. With her raspy voice, she says, “Hello Evan.”
And gives him a hug.
    Flippin’ double embarrassing.
    Then he hugs her back, so maybe not so
embarrassing. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he says. “May I call you
Grams?”
    A laugh thick with phlegm escapes her.
Complete mortification runs over me. Times like this, more than
any, I wish she would quit smoking. “Of course, dear.” She holds
him away from her and pats his shoulder—like they’ve known each
other forever.
    “Are you two for real? You make me want to
gag.” I crinkle my nose.
    Evan looks at me. “Why?”
    “Uh, you two are being all mushy and stuff
and you just met. Enough with the niceties. Can we go?”
    Evan blushes and then smiles.
    Grams touches his arm this time. “Don’t you
listen to her, dear. Grandmas like hugs once in a while.” She
sticks her tongue out at me.
    “Whatever. Get your fill now then ‘cause you
know you’re not getting any hugging from me.”
    “This is true. So what do you say, Evan? Give
this old lady another hug?”
    “No problem.” And he does.
    “Okay freaks. Break it up! Evan, let’s go.” I
pull the two apart—which is very weird and creepy.
    “Where are you going?” Grams asks.
    “Evan volunteers at the Share Home. I said I
would help.”
    “You did?” She steps toward me and puts her
hand on my forehead for the second time today. “Are you sure that
you aren’t an imposter? Autumn doesn’t help when she doesn’t have
to.”
    Sigh. I grab my jacket off the chair. “Bye
Grams. Have a nice evening.”
    “It was nice to meet you Grams,” Evan says
all heartfelt.
    “It was a pleasure. Come back anytime.” She
waves.
    We walk out the door. “I’m sorry about that,”
I say.
    “About what?”
    “Never mind.” I climb through the passenger
side door of his car.
    “Have you ever been to the Share Home?” he
says about halfway down the road.
    “No. Oh! I was totally going to ask you, what
exactly is it? I know it’s a place for bums and stuff, but what do
they do there?”
    Evan’s chest rises like an inflating balloon,
and he clenches the steering wheel. Then the balloon deflates and
he relaxes his grip. “I guess some think it’s a place for bums. A
bum, in my mind, is a person who lives off of others because he
doesn’t want to work. I’m sure the Share Home gets a few bums every
so often, but for the most part, they house people who are
misplaced or are in a difficult part of their lives. Homeless
people.” He stops the car at a stop sign. All clear. He continues
down the road. “Some of the people have worked hard their entire
lives, yet, just had some bad luck, got laid-off, fired, in an
accident, or whatever—”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like
that. Truly, I thought that bum meant homeless person.”
    “Oh, that’s okay. Sometimes I get a little
defensive.” He glances over at me for a moment, letting me know it
really is okay.
    “So, what will we be doing there?”
    We turn down C Street, which connects to
Broadway. “Today, we’re helping with dinner.” He parks the car on
the street and turns off the ignition. “Ready?”
    “Is it