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Shaking my head, I continue packing. My clothes and shoes and a few books I’ve held on to over the years go in my suitcase. My toiletries get tucked into the corner pockets of a duffel bag filled with the few personal items I’ve decided to keep: photos, a stuffed animal, and tchotchkes that mean something to me. My hand-me-down laptop gets slid into my backpack.
And that’s it, really. I’ll shove my sheets and blanket and pillow into the back seat of my car, and that will literally be everything I own.
Looking around the room, I nibble on the inside of my cheek, wondering how long it will be until I’ll be able to unpack and not worry about when I’ll need to repack again.
When will I get to unpack and just…stay?
***
This was probably a mistake, though I don’t really want to admit it to myself.
When Kirby told me he could help out with my ‘homelessness problem’, as he so rudely referred to it, I didn’t actually think through everything about what he was offering.
All I processed was ‘roof over my head’ and I was sold.
But in actuality, this is very, very different.
“So, we haven’t had any no vacancy nights in like, years or something,” he says, chuckling to himself as we stand outside the Surf and Sand Highway Motel about 15 minutes south of Sandalwood. “But we do have regular inspections by the California Hotel Inspection Board. They make sure everything is up to code, but for properties that are on probation, they check occupancy with the records to make sure everything is on the up and up.”
I blink. “So…that means they’re looking for situations like…what we’re doing.”
“Exactly!” he says, laughing again. “Which is why you’ll be able to stay every night, and probably in the same room, but you can’t go into the room until eight pm and have to be out by eight am.” He pauses. “And you have to wash your own laundry and keep the room looking like nobody is there to make sure we don’t get fined.”
Taking a deep breath, I scratch the back of my head, wishing I hadn’t ever agreed to this. But I already gave Kirby my hundred bucks for the week, so I at least need to give it a shot or that’s a huge waste.
“Alright, so…I can come back at eight, settle in. But I have to be out by eight, and I have to take all my stuff with me.”
“Yup! And I’ll put you in room 16 so you’re the farthest from reception and have easy access to your car.” Then he bumps my shoulder. “This’ll be fun, yeah? Like sneaking around at S3.”
I give him a thin smile.
S3 is Sandalwood Secondary School. Our town is too small to have a middle and high school, so they’re all together on one property. My sneaking around days at S3 with Kirby—when we’d cut class my freshman year and head to the Burger Bar—are not days I look back on fondly.
Technically, Kirby was friends with my sister anyway, which should have been my first indicator that this was a mistake. Would it really have been such a big deal to ask Leighton for a few more weeks? Or even to find a legitimate place to rent?
But then I think back to what I was able to find in the rushed search I did for an apartment in Sandalwood. The price to get a one-bedroom on my own, when taking into consideration first and last month’s rent and insurance and getting any furniture, almost made me faint. It wasn’t much better to be someone’s roommate, which would also require all of those things as well.
So my options were to continue annoying Leighton and Leo or take Kirby up on this very strange offer.
As much as I hate to admit it, this seems like my best shot.
***
The transition to living at Surf and Sand is not a breeze in any sense. All of my belongings stay in my bags so it’s easier to load up my car in the mornings, and I use my sheets and blanket to sleep on top of the comforter so I don’t have to do laundry.
Being out by eight in the morning isn’t an issue because I have to be at the Palmer house by eight thirty, but I’m done for the day at five thirty. So not getting into the room until eight at night means I have a few hours of lag time before I can go in and relax.
I consider going to the library, but it closes at six, and I don’t want to drive around too much and waste gas. So I end up just hanging out in my car near the beach, parking strategically so that once the nighttime lights kick on, they shine directly into my vehicle, making it easier to read.
The hardest part, though, is the food. I don’t have a kitchen, and even if the room had a fridge, I wouldn’t be able to leave anything in it.
I start strategically leaving things in the Palmer fridge behind the large cartons of OJ and in the cabinet behind the Tupperware. A small thing of milk. A little jar of peanut butter and a tiny loaf of bread. Thankfully, I’ve gotten to a point in my life when I can literally live on peanut butter sandwiches—or puhbuhs, according to Teddy.
“What’s with all the stuff in your car?”
The question comes out of left field as I’m washing dishes while Ted is down for a nap on Thursday afternoon, just a few days into my new residence at Surf and Sand.
“Huh?” I ask, trying to buy some time to come up with…something. Anything. A reason.
