Undergrounders (14 page)

But I didn’t stop. Because I knew when I stopped running, I would remember everything.

Later that afternoon I was hawking at a park in the west end. I didn’t do so hot — only got $2.50. I probably didn’t look too clean and scared people off. Lewis had always told me Reggies were afraid of Streeters that were real dirty.

It was getting a bit dark, and I still hadn’t eaten. Around now usually W5 and his crew would be at the TV station, so I figured I could safely get a couple of Chinese buns for dinner. I had to get my sleeping bag at the Theatre anyway. As I walked, I cheered up when I remembered I didn’t have to save money for rent and could get an extra bun; at least that was one good thing about getting jacked.

Even though it wasn’t that cold, I was shivering from being outside all day. The wind had picked up, which didn’t help. To make me more miserable my head wasn’t feeling too good, and I was having trouble looking out of my eye where W5 punched me. My pants had bloodstains, and my knees hurt because my pants rubbed against them with each step.

I was too hungry to care about what I looked like anyway, and I put a dollar down on the counter.

“Two coconut buns, please.”

Winston leaned over the counter. “What happened
to eye?” he demanded.

Was it that bad?

“I fell. Can I have two buns, please?”

“You be careful. That bad bruise around eye. Very dangerous.”

The smell of the shop was torture for my stomach. I pointed at the buns. Winston grunted and put four buns in a bag.

“Two extra for today — no charge.”

He dropped the dollar into the cash register — and then he laughed. I looked at him with my mouth wide open. He actually laughed.

I’d won the bet, for whatever that’s worth.

The moment was ruined when the door opened and Will, Rose and J.J. came in.

Rose’s eyes bugged out. “You run into a truck, Mouse?”

This was their fault. If they’d given me the five bucks I’d still be safe in the Underground. If J.J. hadn’t made me go to the TV station, W5 never would have pounded me in the first place. I wouldn’t be a Streeter now.

“That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, like I actually ran into a truck. You’re as dumb as a truck.” Then I thought of a great diss. “So what happened to
your
face? Oh yeah. I forgot. You were born that way.”

Rose looked like she’d been slapped in the face. “I’m just asking if you’re hurt … is all.”

“You watch your mouth,” Will threatened. “You ain’t got Lewis as backup no more.”

I lost it. My fist thundered into his nose and he dropped to his knees, blood pouring onto the floor.

“Get out now!” Winston yelled. “Get out and don’t come back.”

I pushed J.J. aside, glared at Rose, and left. By the time I got to the Theatre, I’d already inhaled all four buns, either because I was so hungry or so angry. All my junk was safe, at least, and I calmed down. Hitting Will sure felt good at the time, but now my right hand began to throb. Was there a part of my body that didn’t hurt?

I grabbed my sleeping bag. I didn’t much fancy sleeping in a doorway again, and the wind still hadn’t let up and it wasn’t that warm. At the corner I crouched down and looked for any sign of W5 or Scrunchy Face or Will. Lewis had taught me that trick. People don’t notice you down low.

Lewis! What did he know anyway — the stupid traitor? I was glad that I wouldn’t have to hang with him anymore.

My knees were really bugging me, and it was hard to see out of my eye it was so swollen. I’d have killed to lie down and sleep, but it’s not that easy to find a safe spot in the middle of a big city. There were people everywhere, and cars and noise. I crossed onto Macdonald Avenue and headed toward the lake. I’d heard about a park where Streeters went to sleep. I was nervous about it, though. No one knew me, and maybe it was dangerous, but it couldn’t be worse than walking around all night.

Suddenly, I heard the roar of the subway under my
feet and the ground shook a bit, warm wind blowing up in my face. Without realizing it, I had walked over the vents, the perfect sleeping spot. A few people walked by, but I didn’t care. The drunks weren’t around — it was probably too early for them. I could sleep for an hour here and then check the park out. I squeezed into my sleeping bag and pulled the top over my head.

• • •

The side of my face hit the ground first, but my knees slamming into the steel grate hurt the most. I screamed without understanding what was going on.

“It’s a little kid,” someone said, his words slurred.

“What’s a little kid doin’ here?” his friend asked.

“I’d like to teach this little kid to have some respect for his elders,” he slurred again.

I blinked a few times. I could make out two men staring down at me. One was holding my sleeping bag. They’d lifted me right into the air and poured me out like a pile of garbage. I leapt to my feet.

The guy with my sleeping bag stepped toward me. Because he was so drunk, he wasn’t that quick, so I got out of the way fairly easy. I reached for my sleeping bag and pulled on it. “Give me that; it’s mine,” I said.

“No it’s not,” he mumbled, and he pulled back.

The slurring guy charged toward me and knocked me down. I landed on my hip.

“This is our grate!” he shouted. “Go rot yourself, you …” He hiccuped and blinked at me a bunch of times. “Got rot yourself,” he repeated.

I got back up. Neither one seemed too steady on his feet, so I made my move and tried to yank the sleeping bag back. I almost got it but the guy did a 360 spin and the sleeping bag wrapped around his body, and then he fell like a log to the ground. I pulled on it, but I may as well have tried to push over a giant tree.

The slurring guy growled, and he swung his foot at me. But the doofus missed completely, whirled around on one foot and fell on his friend, so now the two of them were lying on my sleeping bag.

“Get off me, you fat slob,” the first guy moaned.

The slurring guy started laughing, which set the other guy off and soon they were laughing like hyenas, and then they seemed to forget I was there and fell asleep. They both just feel asleep, all bundled up with my freakin’ sleeping bag. I laughed too, even though this was a total disaster — my sleeping bag kidnapped by two drunks. I tried pulling it free but it was useless.

All of a sudden it didn’t seem so funny. Those drunks could fall asleep as if they didn’t have any worries. I had plenty. I had so many worries I had that sick feeling in my stomach. That feeling was becoming my best friend because it never left me.

This was real bad. I had to get some sleep, somewhere safe, and out of this wind, or … well, I really wasn’t sure if I’d make it. This was worse than when I first hit the streets after mom died and Ron took off on me, because now it was winter and now I really understood what it meant to be on the streets, alone,
without a sleeping bag or anywhere to go.

You can’t survive like that; you just can’t.

I was feeling dizzy and sick at the same time, maybe because I’d been walking around for hours. There was no point waiting for those moron drunks to let my sleeping bag go, so I finally went to check out that park. A few Streeters were huddled under an open building. All of them had sleeping bags. I couldn’t see myself joining them, so I left.

My next plan was to find an open door and sneak into a garage. I couldn’t think of anything better. I figured that once I got out of the wind it wouldn’t be that cold, and I might get lucky and find a blanket or something. I went to the alley near the outdoor rink. There was a whole row of garages there and one of them had to be open.

I knew it was risky, but I didn’t care. I’d worry about tomorrow … well, tomorrow.

I started pulling on the handles one by one — nothing. I even twisted one so hard I think I broke it. One after the other: locked, locked, locked. I got to the last garage — locked again! I dropped to my knees. I was so tired. It was like someone was trying to kill me.

Now what? I could try some more garages, but I didn’t know of any other alleyways like this where I could get into a garage without having to sneak into
someone’s backyard. Think, Jonathon, think … but for some reason my brain wasn’t turned on, or it was dead, or frozen. Now what? The question kept repeating itself, and I had no answer. This was nuts. Houses everywhere and all of them locked — to keep me out. How unfair was that? Why did Rigger run the Underground anyway? No one should own it. I should own it. Why not?

Rigger’s an idiot, and so’s Lewis,

and Will,

and Rose,

and J.J.,

and Creeper, Happy D, Fitzy, Skidder, W5, Scrunchy Face, and the drunks,

and Lou and Malcolm,

and Peter, Derrick, Andrew, Collin, Rasheed …

Rasheed! He lived around here, and he had a huge garage in his backyard. I’d seen it when I went to help Rasheed get his equipment, and best of all it wasn’t even attached to the house. No one would know I was there. I could sneak in and be gone before anyone woke up.

I cheered up and I swear it felt like only a minute before I spotted his house up ahead. Funny how a great idea can give you energy. The lights in the house were all off — not surprising because it must have been pretty late, and also lucky because that meant they were all asleep. When I got close I ducked down behind a large hedge between Rasheed’s place and his next-door neighbour’s, and made my way along the driveway, all hunched over and pushing my back real tight against
the hedge. A final check — nothing seemed to be doing in the house — and I got past the front steps and high-tailed it to the garage.

I twisted the garage handle, praying it wouldn’t be locked. Bingo! It was open. It squeaked a bit but not too bad. I pulled it up only enough to slide underneath on my belly, and closed it back up. Once inside I turned the light on. There were no windows, but I was nervous all the same, and I quickly scanned the shelves for anything to sleep on.

To the right was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen: camping equipment, all organized on shelves. They had coolers, tents, and chairs — and a bunch of sleeping bags. I pulled a grey and a red one down, and then spotted a few mats. I grabbed one of those and spread it out on the floor. Maybe my luck wasn’t so bad after all. I hadn’t had such a comfortable bed in ages. It was almost as good as Lewis’s couch, and the sleeping bag was the same kind I’d stolen from Rasheed before.

Stupid drunks! I hope they choked on that sleeping bag.

The garage creaked with the howling wind. It felt so good not to be outside. My face felt weird now that the wind wasn’t blowing on it all the time. I was so tired that I had become light-headed, and my legs and arms were tingly. As I closed my eyes, my mom’s face popped into my head. It does that sometimes; I never know when. It could be in the morning, or just walking along, but usually it’s when I’m falling asleep. This time she was smiling, and her hair was all done up like when she
was getting fancy to go out to dinner. I wondered if she was looking down on me now.

I hope not. I think she’d have been sad to see me like this.

• • •

I was dreaming about being in a park or in a forest with big trees and there were voices, kids’ voices, all around, and they were talking like kids do at a playground, and then there were storm clouds and huge thunder, and a big flash of light appeared, not exactly lightning, but as if God had suddenly turned on the sun and made the world light, although it was all foggy and I couldn’t see too much. Then I heard a scream, which set my heart pounding through my chest. I sat up and looked around in a daze because the dream was so real and it took me a while to see that I wasn’t really in a forest.

The fog cleared. Rasheed and Alisha were staring at me, and then I knew what had happened. The voices I’d heard were Rasheed and Alisha, the thunder was them opening the garage door, and the sunlight meant I’d slept in. It was morning. I was trapped, and wrapped up in a sleeping bag so I couldn’t even make a run for it.

Alisha spoke first, and her voice really freaked me out because she sounded so scared and her voice cracked. “What happened to you, Jonathon? Are you hurt?”

That was a bizarre question. I’m sleeping in their garage and the first thing she asks is if I’m hurt?

Rasheed spoke next. “Why aren’t you at home?”

I spotted the red sleeping bag, which was still in its nylon bag. I needed it. Without answering, I wiggled out of the grey sleeping bag and grabbed the red one, and got to my knees.

“Talk to us, Jonathon. What’s going on?” Alisha pleaded.

I did something dumb and looked at her. She looked beyond shocked, as if she’d seen a Martian or something, and her eyes were watering, not crying but wet. I figured I had to say something. Besides, I still felt awful about how I’d yelled at her after I quit the team.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, more calmly than I thought possible. “Pretend I wasn’t here. I won’t bug you anymore. Sorry. But I gotta take this or I’m gonna die,” and I held up the red sleeping bag. “I’ll bring it back when it gets warmer or I find another, I promise.”

“I gotta go — now,” I said, in what I hoped was a tough-guy voice. “Don’t try to stop me, I’m warning you. I mean it.”

Rasheed held out his hand. “Calm down, Jonathon. Tell us what happened, and maybe we can help.”

That made me laugh. Like they could get me back into the Underground or take care of W5, or give me money for food every day.

“Why did you run away from home?” Alisha asked.

I answered before I could stop myself. “What home are you talking about? I ain’t got no home.”

There it was. Now they knew I was a Streeter.

“What about your house, down by the station … did … did … something happen to it?” Rasheed
stammered.

These two were so dumb. “I don’t live there,” I said with disgust. “I only pretended.” I stared right into Alisha’s eyes. “I don’t have a home. I live on the streets. I always have, even when you met me.”

Alisha gasped and put a hand across her mouth. Rasheed stood still like a statue.