Free Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless by Melody Carlson Page B

away. And now I'm being evicted? What am I supposed to do?

aybe this wasn't such a good idea after all," Jayden says as he lays down the last of his cards, going out and winning his second game of rummy.
    "Playing cards?" I toss my cards aside and frown at him. "After all, you're winning."
    "No, I mean coming over here while your mom is so sick. I can tell you're pretty worried about her."
    "Oh . . ." I nod. "I guess I have been a little distracted."
    "Do you need to check on her or anything?"
    I stand and look at my watch. "Yes, it's time for her medicine. And I should probably take her something to drink."
    "And I should probably go." He stands, then pulls me into a hug. "Tell your mom I'm sorry I didn't get to meet her."
    "I will."
    He leans down to kiss me, and suddenly I want to hang on to him and I wish he wasn't leaving. And I'm mad at myself for not making this evening more fun. What if Jayden decides I'm boring or not worth it or just gets tired of hearing about my sick mom all the time? Or even worse, what if he figures out I've been lying to him? Why didn't I just tell him the truth in the beginning? Maybe he would've understood. Now it feels too late.
    "I'll call you," he says as he leaves. I lock the door and lean my head against it. My life feels like it's unraveling ... and fast. What am I going to do? What?
    I cannot ignore Mark Edmonds' warning about getting evicted. I remember the time Mom and I got evicted a few years ago. I came home from school to find an eviction notice taped to the front door and all the locks had been changed. Everything we owned, which wasn't much, was still inside, but we weren't even allowed to get it. We spent the night at my mom's boyfriend's house. I can't even remember his name now, but he called the landlord and talked him into letting us have our stuff back. The next morning we went over to our house to find all our belongings strewn across the front yard. I remember feeling so humiliated as I gathered up my things with neighbors watching. One lady even stopped by to ask if we were having a garage sale.
    Think . . . think . . . I pace back and forth in the living room. Then I notice the van keys on the counter and remember I haven't moved Ben's van since Wednesday night. I almost didn't move it at all except I didn't want to give that creep any excuse to park himself at our condo when (or maybe if) he and my mom came home. But now I'm thinking that van might be my only hope of holding on to my stuff, because if I come home from work tomorrow to find this place locked up ... well, I'm not sure what I'd do. Probably end up in a foster home wearing somebody's hand-me-downs to school next week.
    I pocket Ben's keys and head straight for my room, gathering up clothes and shoes and packing them in my duffel bag. I realize it's going to take a few trips. I also remember how smelly that van was, and I can only imagine what kind of junk might be in the back of it. So leaving my duffel bag in the house, I arm myself with cleaning products and garbage bags and go down to work over that van. I bag up a bunch of what I assume are Ben's clothes and personal items and drag these back upstairs, dumping them in my mom's room. Let her deal with them.
    Next I park the van by a dumpster and throw the rest of the junk away. Then I move the van, which I have named Darth Vader, over on the side of the street beneath a streetlight. And now I sweep and scrub and eventually decide old Darth Vader might not be so hopeless after all. It's after eleven by the time I park Darth in my mom's parking space close to our unit. Although I'm exhausted, I spend the next hour hauling everything I want to keep down to the van. I even put the TV and some other items that might be worth money down there. All my efforts might be futile if my mom and Ben show up, but it's a chance I'm willing to take. For all I know, I could be living in that van before long.
    With that in mind, I go back upstairs and launder my mom's