Angie stood there, wondering what she’d done wrong. Finally, with a sigh, she turned and headed for the door.
Once in her car, she sat there, staring through the windshield at the rundown neighborhood. A bright yellow school bus pulled up to the corner and stopped. Several children spilled down the steps and jumped out onto the street. They were young—probably first or second graders.
No moms waited for them on the corner, talking to one another, sipping expensive lattes in Starbucks cups.
She felt that old wrenching in her chest, the blossoming of her familiar ache. She swallowed hard, watching the children move together in a pack, kicking a can down the sidewalk and laughing.
It wasn’t until they were almost out of eyeshot that she realized what was missing.
Coats.
Not one of those kids was wearing a winter coat, even though it was cold outside. And by next month, it would be colder still.
The idea came to her right then: A coat drive at DeSaria’s. For every new or gently used coat donated, they’d offer a free dinner.
It was perfect.
She jammed her key in the ignition and started the car. She couldn’t wait to tell Mira.
Lauren hurried across campus. Cold air smacked her in the face. Her breath released in white plumes that faded fast as she walked.
David stood at the flagpole, waiting for her. At her appearance, he smiled brightly. She could tell he’d been waiting awhile; his cheeks were ruddy pink. “Damn, it’s cold out here,” he said, pulling her close for a long, lingering French kiss.
They walked across the commons, waving and smiling at friends, talking quietly to each other.
Outside her classroom, they stopped. David gave her another kiss, then headed to his own class. He hadn’t gone more than a few feet when he stopped, turned around.
“Hey, I forgot to ask. What color tux should I get for homecoming?”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Homecoming. The dance was ten days away.
Jeez. She’d organized all of the decorations and set up the DJ and the lights.
How could she have forgotten the most important thing: a dress?
“Lauren?”
“Uh. Black,” she answered, trying to smile. “Black is always safe.”
“You got it,” he said with an easy smile.
Things were always easy for David. He didn’t have to wonder how to finance a new dress—forget about shoes and a wrap.
All through her trigonometry class she was distracted. As soon as class was over, she bolted to a quiet corner in the library and burrowed through her wallet and backpack, looking for money.
$6.12. That was all she had to her name right now.
A frown settled into place on her forehead and stayed there for the rest of the day.
After school, she skipped her decorating meeting and raced home.
The bus let her off at the corner of Apple Way and Cascade Street. It was raining hard. No longer a silvery mist, this was an onslaught that turned the world cold and gray. Raindrops hit the pavement in such rapid succession it looked as if the streets were boiling. Her canvas hood was ineffective at best. Water dripped down the sides of her face and burrowed cold and sticky against her collar. Her backpack, stuffed full of books and notebooks and handouts, seemed to weigh a ton. On top of all that, her vinyl shoes had broken a heel three blocks ago, so now she was limping down the hill toward home.
At the corner she waved at Bubba, who waved back, then returned to his tattooing. The neon sign flickered tiredly above his head. The smaller sign, posted in the window—I Tattooed Your Parents—was streaked with rain. She limped forward, past the now closed Hair Apparent where her mother allegedly worked, past the mini-mart run by the Chu family and the Teriyaki Takeout that the Ramirez family owned and operated.
Outside her apartment building, she stopped, loath suddenly to go inside. She closed her eyes and imagined the home she would someday have. Buttery yellow walls, down-filled sofas, huge picture windows, a wraparound porch overgrown with flowers.
She tried to latch on to the familiar dream, but it floated past her, as insubstantial as smoke.
She forcibly changed her mind-set. Wishing and hoping had never put food on the table or brought Mom home one minute early. It certainly didn’t get a girl a homecoming gown.
She walked down the cracked concrete path, past the box of garden tools that Mrs. Mauk had set outside last week in a feeble attempt to encourage tenant pride. Soon they would begin to rust. Those tools would be ruined long before someone bothered to cut back the leggy roses and runaway blackberry bushes that covered the back half of the lot.
The dark hallway greeted her.
She went upstairs and found the door to their apartment standing open.