Living Rough Read Online Free Page A

times before I could find my voice.
    â€œ Jack, as he likes to be called ,” I began, the paper rattling in my hands, “ once held a prominent position in a bank, but now likes to keep his numbers simple. ”
    I looked at the group. No one was really paying attention. Other groups were only half listening to the person reading their article too.
    Why couldn’t I have been at the table with the stats?
    I continued, “ One blanket, one pair of shoes, one picture .”
    â€œWhat’s the picture of?” asked Janie.
    â€œDunno,” I replied. I scanned the column for an answer, glad for a distraction. “Oh, here it is. It says the picture is of his daughter. According to this article, he hasn’t been in contact with her for several years.”
    Janie shook her head. “Why would anyone do that? Why would they leave their family behind?”
    Shane still looked bored. Paul was doodling on his notebook.
    â€œI like the tone of the conversation here,” said Mr. Brock as he approached our table. “Are you wondering what causes people to live on the street?”
    â€œYeah. Laziness. That’s all. People like them don’t like to work.” Paul flipped his book over so Mr. Brock couldn’t see the picture.
    â€œDo you all agree with Paul?” Mr. Brock was eyeing me as he waited for someone to answer.
    No one was biting.
    When would the bell go? Why couldn’t he have stuck to the regular curriculum?
    â€œEdgar. Any ideas?”
    My days of low profile were over. I couldn’t blend into the woodwork anymore. “Well,” I started tentatively, “I guess lots of things cause a person to become homeless.”
    There. I said it.
    Homeless .
    At least the article wasn’t about my dad and me.

Chapter Eight
    I could hear Casey saying something about how over 200,000 people could be homeless in Canada on any given night. Mr. Brock and the rest of my group were still looking at me, waiting for me to continue. But I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know why other people lived on the streets. I only knew what happened to my dad and me.
    â€œMaybe something bad happens in their life?” I looked at Mr. Brock. He nodded, encouraging me to go on. “Maybe people can’t keep a job because they lose someone special to them.”
    â€œThen they should see a shrink. They’re supposed to help you deal with that crap,” snickered Paul.
    â€œ Language ,” cautioned Mr. Brock, as he moved toward Kelsey’s table.
    â€œWhat could happen that would be so bad you’d rather live in a dirty alley than sleep in a real bed?” asked Janie.
    â€œI think it’s ’cause they’re lazy ,” said Shane. “They like living off the government. Then when the government gets wise to their tricks and cuts them off, they become even bigger bums. That’s what my dad says.”
    I pulled at my shirt collar. I tried to count the number of nouns in the article.
    â€œYeah, but there are kids who are homeless,” added Janie. “Who would do that? Why wouldn’t the parents get a job at McDonald’s or something? Then at least they could bring food home.”
    â€œYou all make it sound so easy. You don’t know anything!” My voice was tight and louder than I expected.
    â€œWell, you don’t have to go all psycho on us.” Paul looked at me like I was an alien.
    I closed my eyes, hoping to block them out, but someone laughed. Hot blood raced through my veins. My breath was at the back of my throat, not coming from my chest. A burning energy pulsed into my hands.
    â€œBottom line is, those kind of people don’t count,” said Paul. “Besides, half of them are crackheads anyway.”
    Before I knew what I was doing, I shoved my textbook across the desk into Paul’s chest. “Shut up!” I yelled. My hand squeezed into a fist. All I could see was my