Living Rough Read Online Free Page B

dad’s face as he sent out résumé after résumé. But instead of plowing Paul, I slammed my chair into the floor. “My dad lost his job because he spent every day at the hospital caring for my mom. Do you know what it’s like praying someone will offer your fifty-four-year-old dad a job?”
    â€œWe didn’t know,” said Janie. “We didn’t mean…”
    Janie and Shane exchanged glances. I could feel my cheeks burning with shame. I wondered what they were thinking. Then Mr. Brock returned to our table. If they suspected I was homeless, I hoped they wouldn’t say anything to our teacher. All I’d need is for him to call social services. They’d want to see where I live—how could I explain I live in a tent? I’d be put into foster care and never see my dad again.
    How would he manage by himself?
    â€œEverything all right here?” asked Mr. Brock.
    â€œEdgar was telling us—,” Janie started.
    I jumped in. “I was explaining how the man in this article might have ended up on the street. I got angry with Paul for saying that every homeless person is a drug addict. That’s just NOT TRUE.” Paul glared at me.
    â€œEdgar’s right,” said Mr. Brock. “People make assumptions about the homeless without knowing the whole story.”
    Paul shook his head, his mouth curved into a smirk.
    I couldn’t regulate my breathing. If I stayed another minute, I’d lose it. I wanted to hit Paul. I wanted to make him look the way I felt inside—bruised. “Mr. Brock, can I be excused to go to the washroom?” I asked. Then, without waiting for his answer, I stormed out of the class.
    Who was I kidding? Sooner or later someone would find out and report me. How could I ever think I’d get to university?
    As I sulked down the hall, I passed Inna’s room. She was looking out the window. Her teacher was talking fast, and I’m sure Inna couldn’t keep up. Worrying about her helped to take my mind off my problems.
    But I still wondered how I would face my classmates after freaking out.

Chapter Nine
    The afternoon dragged on. After the last bell, I hung around Inna’s class, hoping I’d see her.
    I wasn’t sure what to say to her when she stepped into the hall. I only knew I needed whatever it was she was giving me…her smile, her hand…I’d take any of it right now.
    â€œWant to see the beach?” I asked, surprised by my suggestion.
    She shrugged and tilted her head sideways, her caramel hair draping her arm.
    â€œWater. Sand.” I gestured, “Swim.”
    She laughed. “Too cold…”
    â€œNo, not to swim. I mean, yeah, it’s too cold to swim. We can just walk.” I tried mimicking the actions again, hoping she understood. I wished now I’d played charades more often when my mom was alive. She loved that game.
    â€œYah. We go for walk at bich.” I laughed at her accent. Then I felt badly because she didn’t know why I was laughing. I wanted her to feel comfortable trying to speak, so I apologized. She smiled and took my hand.
    Once at the bus stop, all I could think about was how I was going to pay for this “date” I’d decided to go on. I rifled through my pockets to see how much change I had while Inna texted her parents. Dad had given me a few bucks for lunch. Since I’d eaten with Inna, I had enough for bus fare and one coffee or ice cream.
    After a short ride, we got off on Marine Drive and strolled along the pier. Inna kept her hand in mine.
    Two eagles circled overhead before they flew off toward the trees. Sailboats rocked in their berths at the end of the pier. Inna used her cell phone to take a picture of a seagull with a starfish in its beak.
    I knew she didn’t understand much English, so maybe that’s what got me started. Or maybe it was the warmth of her soft fingers intertwined with mine? Whatever it was,