I was shifting the car into drive when I saw him. He wore a gray mechanics jumpsuit and tapped his fingers on his leg like he was playing along to a secret song in his head. He was just about to go inside the apartment building, so I turned off the ignition and lugged my backpack out of the car before I could lose my nerve.
"Daniel," I shouted as I crossed the street.
He turned back, looked at me, and went inside.
I stumbled up the stoop. "Daniel? It's me, Grace."
Daniel started up a dimly lit staircase. "Didn't expect to see you again." He made a slight "follow me" motion with his hand.
I crept up the steps behind him. The stairwell reeked like stale coffee made in a dirty bathroom, and the walls had been spray painted over and over again with so many jumbled obscenities it looked like they had been wallpapered by a very disgruntled Jackson Pollock.
Daniel stopped on the third landing and pulled a key out of his pocket. "You just can't resist my good looks, can you?"
"Get over yourself. I just came to tell you something."
Daniel pushed open the door. "Ladies first," he said tersely.
"Whatever," I said, and brushed past him. I realized about one second later that maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Mom didn't let me have boys over when she wasn't home, and going into a guy's apartment alone was definitely not something she would have approved of. I wanted to stay close to the door, but Daniel walked inside and kept going. I followed him into a dingy room populated only by a TV set on a cardboard box and a short brown couch. Faint, thumping music wafted in from a room down the hall, and a lanky guy with a shaved head was draped over the couch. He stared up at the peeling ceiling with rapt, unblinking attention.
"Zed this is Grace, Grace this is Zed." Daniel motioned to the guy. Zed didn't move. Daniel kept walking.
I tilted my head toward the ceiling to see what was so fascinating.
"Grace," Daniel barked.
I jumped and went to him. Before I knew it, I was in what I presumed was his bedroom. It was about the size of my parents' closet, with a mattress, covered by a crumpled gray blanket, pushed into the corner next to a small dresser piled with stacks of Masonite boards. Daniel kicked the door shut behind us. Little tingling pricks ran up my spine.
It looked like someone had been keeping a large dog in this closet/room. The door was marred by several claw like gashes--like the way Daisy would leave scratches on my bedroom door when I left her home alone, only these scratches were much larger and deeper. The door frame was splintered and cracked. Whatever animal had been kept in here had apparently gotten out. I was about to ask about it when Daniel flopped down on the mattress. He pulled off his shoes and went for the zipper of his jumpsuit. A flash of panic went through my body. I turned my head and lowered my gaze.
'"Don't worry, precious," Daniel said. "I'm not going to violate your virgin eyes." His wadded-up uniform landed in a heap at my feet. I glanced, ever so slightly, and saw that he was fully clothed in torn jeans and a whitish T-shirt.
"So what could Her Graciousness possibly need to talk to me about"--he stretched out across the mattress and cradled his hands behind his head--"that would bring her all the way down here on a school night?"
"Forget it." I wanted to throw my bulging backpack at his head. Instead, I unzipped it and dumped the con-tents on the floor--protein bars, soup cans, beef jerky, trail mix, a half dozen shirts, and three pairs of pants that I'd weeded out from the donations that had come into the parish over the weekend. "Eat something. You look like a starved dog."
Daniel reached down and sifted through the pile, and I started to leave.
"Chicken and stars," he said, holding one of the cans. "That was always my favorite. Your mom used to fix it."
"I know. I remembered."
Daniel ripped opened one of the protein bars and wolfed the thing down in two bites. He moved on to a piece of beef jerky. He looked so eager I decided to tell him my good news after all.
"I talked to Mr. Barlow today. He says if you meet him tomorrow morning, he might give you a second chance. But you have to be there before seven twenty a.m.," I said, padding the time a bit.
"And you should wear something respectable." I pointed at the pile. "There's a pair of khakis and a button-up shirt. Try not to be jerk, and he'll probably let you back in his class." I hitched my empty backpack onto my shoulder and waited for his response.
"Huh." Daniel grabbed another protein bar and leaned against the wall. "Maybe I'll show." I don't know what else I expected--maybe he'd jump up and hug me and call me a miracle worker? Or actually say thank you. But I could see the gratitude in his dark, familiar eyes--even if it would kill him to actually say so.
I wrapped my fingers around the straps of my hack-pack. "Um ... I guess I should go."
"Don't want to be late to your Divine family dinner." Daniel chucked a wrapper onto the floor.
"Meat loaf tonight?"
"Leftovers. But I've got other plans." "Library," he said, like he was summing me up with one word.
I huffed out of his room and back into the living area. Zed still lay on the couch, but two other guys slouched in the room, smoking something that didn't smell like cigarettes. They stopped talking when they saw me. I suddenly felt like a marshmallow in my white puffer coat. One of the guys looked at me and then at Daniel, who came out of the bedroom behind me. "Well, 'ello there," he said, and took a drag. "Didn't know you liked 'em wholesome." The other guy said something vile that I will not repeat, and then he made an even more disgusting gesture.
Daniel told him to go do something to himself and then took my arm and led me to the door.
"Get out of here," he said. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." I didn't peg Daniel as the type who would walk a girl to the car, but he followed me down the stairwell and, as I glanced over my shoulder while I unlocked the van, I saw him watching from the shadows of the door less entryway.
LATER THAT EVENING
April Thomas had the attention span of an ADHD five-year-old when it came to computers and English books--reality television, on the other hand, could keep her occupied all day. Her latest favorite show was on Monday night, so I wasn't too surprised that she wasn't at the library when I got there. Which was totally understandable, considering I was almost an hour and a half late. I got stuck in rush-hour traffic from the city, and it was pitch-dark when I pulled up to the library. I wasn't much in the mood for tackling Emily Dickinson on my own, so I decided to go back home for dinner.