Chapter 2

Thanksgiving break was coming. For everyone else, it meant turkey, family, no school. For me, it meant a confrontation. My mom had been clear. “This is your last chance, Sarah. You drop out, get a job at the diner, or you don’t come back after this break. I’m done paying for your fantasy.” Her fantasy was me graduating high school. My fantasy was college. I still went home that Wednesday afternoon. A small, hopeful part of me thought she might have softened. The house was cold. Smaller than I remembered. She met me at the door, arms crossed. “Well?” “Mom, I can’t quit school. I’m doing well. I can get scholarships…” “Scholarships don’t pay the rent now, do they?” Her voice was hard. “I told you. School or a roof. Your choice.” My little brother peeked around her legs, his eyes wide. “I choose school,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Then you chose no roof here.” She stepped aside, gesturing to the door. “Get your things. What little you have.” I didn’t have much. A backpack with some clothes, my schoolbooks. The smell of something baking, maybe a pie, drifted from the kitchen. It was a smell I hadn’t associated with our house in years. She didn’t watch me leave. The door clicked shut behind me. Night fell fast. The November air was biting. I ended up at the community center. They sometimes left a side door unlocked for the homeless to find shelter on cold nights. It was warmer than the street, at least. I found a spot in a dark corner of the gymnasium, curled up on the floor, using my backpack as a pillow. Footsteps. Laughter. The main lights flickered on. My heart leaped. Had I been caught? “Okay, team, let’s get these tables set up for tomorrow’s dinner!” A man’s cheerful voice. Volunteers. I tried to make myself smaller, invisible. Then I saw him. Jake. He was with a woman who looked like him – his mom, probably – and an older man. They were carrying boxes of decorations. He was laughing about something, then he turned. His eyes scanned the gym. And stopped. On me. His laughter died. His face went pale. “Sarah?” He walked towards me, his steps quick. His parents looked curious, then concerned. “What are you doing here?” he whispered, crouching down. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “My mom… she, uh… she kicked me out.” The words sounded so stark, so pitiful. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, “Come on.” He stood up, held out a hand. “Where?” “My place. You’re not staying here.” His mom approached. “Jake? Who’s this?” Her voice was kind, but questioning. “It’s Sarah, Mom. From school. She needs a place to stay.” “Oh, honey.” Her eyes, so like Jake’s, softened with pity. That was almost worse. “Just for the holiday, Mom,” Jake said, a firm edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before. “Please.” She looked from me to Jake, then sighed. “Alright. Of course.” The drive to their house was a blur. Their home wasn’t a house; it was a mansion, set back from the road, surrounded by trees. Inside, it was warm. It smelled like cinnamon and pine. A huge Christmas tree, already decorated, stood in the living room, even though it was only Thanksgiving. Jake showed me to a guest room. It was bigger than my entire old apartment. It had its own bathroom. “Get some sleep,” he said gently. “We’ll figure things out tomorrow.” I sat on the edge of the softest bed I’d ever felt. And cried. The next morning, at school, Jake found me before first period. He handed me a brown paper bag. “My mom made extra,” he said, avoiding my eyes. Inside was a sandwich, an apple, and a granola bar. It was enough for breakfast and lunch. He did that every day for the rest of the break, and when school started again, he always had an extra lunch. He never mentioned my mom. He never asked questions. He just fed me.