Read Online Forgotten: Seventeen and Homeless by Melody Carlson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melody Carlson
Tags: Fiction, General, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Religious, Christian, School & Education, High School, Schools, High schools, Christian Life, Homelessness & Poverty, Homeless Persons, Christian Young Reader, Homeless Teenagers
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obvious.
"Oh ... right." Then I listen as she goes on about all the details and planning that come with the homecoming dance. Who knew there was so much involved? And then it hits me that this is going to cost money. Possibly a lot of money. Money I don't have.
"You're being awfully quiet," she finally says as she's pulling up to Westwood Heights. "Something bugging you?"
"No. Just tired."
"You're not coming down with the flu, are you?" She looks worried. "I hope you're not contagious."
I force a smile. "No, I'm not sick and I'm not contagious." Then I thank her for the ride and tell her to have fun scouting dresses.
"I'll keep you posted."
As she drives away, I realize I need to hurry since my threehour shift starts at four, giving me about fifteen minutes to get myself changed and to work. Yesterday I wore a nice outfit that ended up getting some food stains on it, so today I want to wear something washable and casual. But this might be a challenge, especially since jeans aren't allowed. And most of my wardrobe is too nice to wear there. Maybe my mom has something I can borrow. We're about the same size, but normally I wouldn't want to be caught dead in most of her clothes. However, I wouldn't want to be caught dead working at the nursing home either. So maybe that's a good combination.
Finally, dressed in a pair of my mom's old cords and a striped blouse that's so last decade, I put on my jacket and desperately hope no one I know sees me as I jog to River Woods for my shift.
"So you came back for more," Mary growls at me as I come into the kitchen. "And you're ten minutes late."
"I punched my time card at exactly four o'clock." I put on an apron. "Ms. Michaels had some paperwork for me to sign." Rule number one if you're working in the kitchen is you must wear an apron and a hairnet-unless your hair is long enough to be securely pulled back in a ponytail, which is how I plan to avoid looking like a cafeteria lady. Not that anyone here cares what I look like, but I still have a tiny bit of pride.
Mary puts me to work chopping onions and then grating cheese with the food processor, which I am slowly coming to terms with. I discovered yesterday that rather than asking her questions (which she hates), it's preferable to dig out an instruction manual (from where they are stored in a big drawer) and just figure things out for myself. I'm thinking it won't be long until I have the big food processor totally down. My goal is to be such a good assistant to Mary that she'll stop griping at me ... or at least tone it down some. But I suppose I could be dreaming.
Mary hates making small talk in the kitchen, but I can't stop thinking about the dance and how I'll need money, so I take a chance. "Uh, Mary, I forgot to ask Ms. Michaels when payday is."
She lets out a foul word, and I look over to see if she's cut herself. But there doesn't appear to be any blood. "Your second day and you're already whining about getting paid?"
"I just wondered."
"Payday is twice a month. The first and the fifteenth."
I want to ask her if that means I'll get a check in two days since that's the first of October, but I don't want to get yelled at again. Still, I'm hopeful. And unless my math is off, after deductions I should have a check for about a hundred dollars. While it's a relief to think I might have some money, it won't be nearly enough to cover my living expenses, which are meager, as well as what I need for the homecoming dance. Seriously, if I want to go to that dance, I'll need a fairy godmother.
I work quickly and quietly in the kitchen, and I can tell Mary is surprised at how I'm already catching on. Of course, she doesn't say as much, but I spy her glancing my way from time to time. I suspect she's hoping she'll get to scold me for something. But so far I've only given her two opportunities. Once for dropping a knife in the soapy sink water-a big no-no in Mary's kitchen because a person could lose a finger that way. The second
"Oh ... right." Then I listen as she goes on about all the details and planning that come with the homecoming dance. Who knew there was so much involved? And then it hits me that this is going to cost money. Possibly a lot of money. Money I don't have.
"You're being awfully quiet," she finally says as she's pulling up to Westwood Heights. "Something bugging you?"
"No. Just tired."
"You're not coming down with the flu, are you?" She looks worried. "I hope you're not contagious."
I force a smile. "No, I'm not sick and I'm not contagious." Then I thank her for the ride and tell her to have fun scouting dresses.
"I'll keep you posted."
As she drives away, I realize I need to hurry since my threehour shift starts at four, giving me about fifteen minutes to get myself changed and to work. Yesterday I wore a nice outfit that ended up getting some food stains on it, so today I want to wear something washable and casual. But this might be a challenge, especially since jeans aren't allowed. And most of my wardrobe is too nice to wear there. Maybe my mom has something I can borrow. We're about the same size, but normally I wouldn't want to be caught dead in most of her clothes. However, I wouldn't want to be caught dead working at the nursing home either. So maybe that's a good combination.
Finally, dressed in a pair of my mom's old cords and a striped blouse that's so last decade, I put on my jacket and desperately hope no one I know sees me as I jog to River Woods for my shift.
"So you came back for more," Mary growls at me as I come into the kitchen. "And you're ten minutes late."
"I punched my time card at exactly four o'clock." I put on an apron. "Ms. Michaels had some paperwork for me to sign." Rule number one if you're working in the kitchen is you must wear an apron and a hairnet-unless your hair is long enough to be securely pulled back in a ponytail, which is how I plan to avoid looking like a cafeteria lady. Not that anyone here cares what I look like, but I still have a tiny bit of pride.
Mary puts me to work chopping onions and then grating cheese with the food processor, which I am slowly coming to terms with. I discovered yesterday that rather than asking her questions (which she hates), it's preferable to dig out an instruction manual (from where they are stored in a big drawer) and just figure things out for myself. I'm thinking it won't be long until I have the big food processor totally down. My goal is to be such a good assistant to Mary that she'll stop griping at me ... or at least tone it down some. But I suppose I could be dreaming.
Mary hates making small talk in the kitchen, but I can't stop thinking about the dance and how I'll need money, so I take a chance. "Uh, Mary, I forgot to ask Ms. Michaels when payday is."
She lets out a foul word, and I look over to see if she's cut herself. But there doesn't appear to be any blood. "Your second day and you're already whining about getting paid?"
"I just wondered."
"Payday is twice a month. The first and the fifteenth."
I want to ask her if that means I'll get a check in two days since that's the first of October, but I don't want to get yelled at again. Still, I'm hopeful. And unless my math is off, after deductions I should have a check for about a hundred dollars. While it's a relief to think I might have some money, it won't be nearly enough to cover my living expenses, which are meager, as well as what I need for the homecoming dance. Seriously, if I want to go to that dance, I'll need a fairy godmother.
I work quickly and quietly in the kitchen, and I can tell Mary is surprised at how I'm already catching on. Of course, she doesn't say as much, but I spy her glancing my way from time to time. I suspect she's hoping she'll get to scold me for something. But so far I've only given her two opportunities. Once for dropping a knife in the soapy sink water-a big no-no in Mary's kitchen because a person could lose a finger that way. The second
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