Authors: Jennifer Richard Jacobson
Paper Things
I sit up taller in my wobbly desk chair and try to tune back in to Mr. O. talking about supply and demand. At least, that’s what he was talking about five minutes ago, before my mind drifted back, once again, to the night we left Janna’s.
Janna, our guardian, had been on the phone with someone, tidying up the living room as she talked. “My daughter has always excelled,” she’d said.
Gage had been passing through the kitchen, searching for his phone charger. I’d looked up from the breakfast bar, where I was studying the Pottery Barn catalog, to see if he’d heard Janna. Sure enough, I saw him give a little shake of his head.
He’d turned to me, but I’d quickly looked down, as if the decorative pillows needed my full attention. I didn’t know if he was mad that Janna was bragging on me, that she had called me her daughter, or that she was pretending that nothing was wrong (probably all three), but my feelings were too much of a mishmash to give him the conspiratorial smile he was expecting.
When Janna hung up, Gage asked, loudly enough for her to hear, “Are you packed?”
I’d nodded, this time not daring to look at Janna. I hadn’t packed much: my school uniforms, socks and underwear, a couple of weekend outfits, pajamas, a picture of our mother when she was a girl, and my Paper Things. The shoe box I kept my Paper Things in wouldn’t fit in my duffel, so I’d carefully placed them in a double-pocket folder that I found in Janna’s desk. Gage said I should pack only the essentials — that we’d come back for the rest later. But I’d overheard Janna tell Gage that “the rest” were things that she had purchased and therefore belonged to her.
“Is there laundry in your apartment building?” Janna asked Gage. “Are you going to make sure that Ari has clean clothes for school?”
I kept my head down but sat perfectly still. I’d asked lots of my own questions about our new apartment, but so far my brother had been vague with his answers. Mostly he’d said, “Wait till you see, Ari! You’ll be able to decorate
real
rooms in our place.”
“Who do you think did her laundry before we came here?” he said, and then bolted upstairs to his room before Janna could say anything more.
“I should call Legal Services,” she said, more to the air than to me. “I don’t care that he’s your brother. I don’t care that he’s nineteen. I’m sure they would agree that you should stay put.” She paced, but she didn’t call. Gage said that she couldn’t call, because if the truth came out about how she’d treated him and how she was trying to keep us apart, she’d lose any chance she had of ever getting me back. Not that he planned on giving me back, he’d been quick to reassure me.
By the time Gage had returned downstairs — with my duffel bag and his backpack in tow — I’d finished with the Pottery Barn catalog and stood by the sink, as if waiting for a bus. As soon as Gage was within earshot, Janna turned to me and said, “Who do
you
want to live with, Ari?”
I’d been dreading that moment. For days the two of them had been battling, fighting to claim me, like I was a goldfish and not an eleven-year-old person who has her very own feelings.
But I was ready for it. I’d been practicing my answer: “I wish —”
“Don’t do that to her!” Gage shouted, getting up in Janna’s face. “Don’t put her on the spot like that. You know she doesn’t want to hurt you. But I’m her
family
! Not you. Me!”
“Your mother wouldn’t want —” Janna started.
“Our mother said to stay together,” Gage shouted. “Always! ‘Stay together always!’ Those were her exact words.”
Janna had folded her arms and pursed her lips. It was a look that Gage often imitated to make fun of her — though I could tell that he was way beyond being amused at this point.
“Be reasonable, Gage. You’re young. You’ve got things you want to do. Dreams for yourself. Do you really think you can do all of that while taking care of Ari?”
Once again, they were back to discussing me like I wasn’t even there.
“What do you know about my dreams?” Gage yelled. “All you’ve ever cared about is Ari. And trying to make her love you. But guess what? She doesn’t love you. She loves me. Her
family.
”
Janna flinched as if he’d hit her.
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words escaped.
“Come on, Ari,” Gage had said. “Time to go.”
I begged Janna without saying a word:
Please, Janna, tell Gage you’re sorry. Ask him to stay.
Janna just stared at me, long and hard, like she was waiting for me to say my thoughts aloud. But I didn’t — I couldn’t — and eventually she went back to tidying the living room. “I’ll see you soon, Ari,” she said in her friendly voice. Like I was that runaway badger, Frances, who was going no farther than beneath the dining-room table.
I wanted to press a rewind button, but I wasn’t sure how far I’d have to go back.
“Bye, Janna,” I said as we walked out the door. I wanted to add “Thanks for being our guardian” or even “Love you,” but I knew both of those things would upset Gage.
I’m pretty sure Janna didn’t answer me.
Two blocks away from Janna’s house, Gage cleared his throat. “Listen, Ari, there’s something I need to tell you.”
That’s when I learned that Gage had lied.
We didn’t have an apartment. Not yet.
We didn’t have a home of any kind.
That was the beginning of February. This is almost the end of March. We still don’t.
I look over at Sasha’s desk — something I do about fifty times a day — but she’s not in her seat. My best friend is, at this very moment, down on Walnut Street, acting as one of the safety patrol leaders. She’s shy, but I know she’s doing a good job. She’ll smile at the kindergarteners who got overly attached to the previous group of patrollers, and she won’t try to boss the second-graders who mouth back if you tell them to walk quietly. I know because we’ve been planning forever to be safety patrol leaders. It’s one of the fifth-grade leadership roles. You have to demonstrate leadership to get into Carter Middle School. Now Sasha has a chance, lucky girl.
Two months of school to go and I still haven’t been chosen to do any of the leadership jobs. Not safety patrol, not tutoring, not shelving books in the media center. And I
have to
get into Carter.
Have to.
Only problem is, it’s a school for the starry gifted, and I seem to have lost all my shine.
So I shake off thoughts of Gage and Janna and try again to make sense of the supply-and-demand diagram Mr. O. has projected onto the whiteboard. I give myself hooks so I can remember what it means. Supply is how much of something is available, and the more demand there is for something, the greater the supply will be. Like always, I think of the products in catalogs. You can always find watches, luggage, and sheets in the Macy’s catalog, so there must be a steady demand for those. On the other hand, blue fuzzy slippers (like the ones Mama used to wear) and air popcorn poppers have disappeared — probably because the demand for those stopped.
“Can you think of something that has a big supply but no demand?” Mr. O. asks.
I know from the way Mr. O. has asked the question that the correct answer is no, but I can’t help searching for an exception.
Cockroaches. Big supply, no demand. I start to laugh, but manage to stop myself by pinching my lips together. Still, a tiny choking sound escapes.
“Ms. Hazard?”
Now half the class laughs, as they always do when a teacher uses my last name. I’ve been in the same class with these kids since kindergarten; you’d think the novelty would have worn off by now. Holy moly.
“Perhaps you can tell us what’s so funny?” Mr. O. says.
But rather than turning to me to see how I respond, the class turns toward the door.
Mr. Chandler, our new principal, has walked into the room. Unlike our old principal, who was friendly and knew me by name and was forever congratulating me on my school successes, this principal slinks from room to room like he’s trying to catch someone in the act of wrongdoing. And sure enough, he has.
We are all frozen in position, staring at Mr. Chandler.
Daniel, a kid in my gifted class, gives my chair a subtle kick.
I turn back to Mr. O., who, despite the interruption, has kept his eyes glued on me.
“Sorry, Mr. O’Neil,” I say.
I look down at the graffiti carved into my desk (not by me), hoping Mr. O. won’t force me to explain what made me laugh.
He doesn’t. Instead, he gives Mr. Chandler a little collaborative nod, which seems to satisfy the principal. The principal leaves, and Mr. O. continues.
“It seems to me, Arianna, that you don’t have much room for fooling around.”
I nod vigorously.
It’s true; my social studies grade is the pits. I did lousy on both quizzes, and I haven’t been able to finish the outline of my biography (along with a bibliography) on a famous nineteenth-century American. I’d promised it to Mr. O. today, but we had to meet up with West last night, so it was impossible for me to stop by the library to do my research. Without West, one of the social workers at Lighthouse, we can’t sneak in, and Lighthouse is the only shelter Gage will stay at. I think we’re at Chloe’s tonight. That will make Gage
très,
très
happy. (See, Mademoiselle Barbary, I am using my French!) It will make me happy, too. And maybe I’ll even be able to get caught up on my homework.