Life Before by Michele Bacon Page B

at night. But then, if Gary were here, he would have made his move by now, probably.
    Okay, so what’s my next move?
    Bed. Or sleep, at least.
    For maybe an hour, I poke around the University of Vermont looking for a spot. My best bet for the night is a bench that butts right up to a brick building. It’s somewhat obscured by large trees, which cast enough shadow for me to stay hidden. Kick the duffel under the bench, tuck the backpack under my head, rub a little of Gretchen’s Labello on my lips— good night, Gretchen —and close my eyes.
    It’s almost comfortable. Almost. And I’m so on edge, I’ll hear anyone approaching.
    As it turns out, I don’t.
    “You can’t sleep here.”
    I startle to find a cop, wide awake and surly, standing right next to my bench. His uniform suggests he isn’t even a cop, but some second-rate security officer.
    “Sorry, I—I must have dozed off.”
    Holding a handle stuck into his utility belt, he’s threatening without threatening. “Well, move along, then.”
    “Sure.”
    It’s well after midnight. Oh my god, so tired.
    “Bags up,” he says. “I’ll walk you off campus.”
    “It’s okay, I can make it on my own.”
    “I wouldn’t want you to get lost, son.” He guides me to a sidewalk at the edge of campus. “Have a good night, then,”
    I have nothing to lose to the fake cop. “Any idea where I can sleep?”
    “Try the hostel on Main.”
    “They’re booked.”
    Heaving a huge sigh, he recites, “Spectrum Center for Homeless Youth if you’re under twenty-two. Emergency Shelter on North Street. COTS shelters a couple of places.”
    Shelters? “I’m not homeless.”
    “Then go sleep at home.”
    Touché. “Anything else?”
    “If you’re not homeless and not in need, go to a hotel. Bunk with a friend. Call someone. But you can’t sleep on campus. Anywhere on campus.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Any time.”
    How many times a night does he run that script?
    “Thanks,” I say again.
    “Any. Time.”
    “Bye, then.”
    I head down Main Street, in the opposite direction from the hostel. This morning’s high has vanished. The homeless shelter is not an option. I keep smelling that woman in the New York alley, and I am not her. My life has lots of gray areas, but I am not one of them.
    There’s that twenty-four-hour Price Chopper store I saw on my walk from the station, but what am I going to do, shop all night? I need a bed.
    I desperately, desperately need to turn on Jill’s Wi-Fi and find somewhere to go. How likely is it that Gary could track it?
    I already lied to Jill about New York. I can’t also break my promise about the Wi-Fi. Plus, I’m out of the commercial district now, so if I want to break my promise, I also have to steal the Wi-Fi from someone’s house.
    Lies? Sometimes okay. Broken promises, maybe. But stealing is one step further than I’m willing to go.
    The knife is borrowed, not stolen. I’m not going to steal Wi-Fi.
    Next to a brown fence—residential, for sure—I sit on my duffel, contemplating my options.
    I just need a break. Where do normal people sleep? Normal people without a house or a friend’s house? Or money for a hotel? People who need to sleep elsewhere, where do they sleep?
    I would do anything for a bed at this point. Well, not anything. A homeless shelter surely has beds, but that’s just … embarrassing. I’m only without a bed for a single night, not forever. This is temporary homelessness. Tomorrow I get the hostel for two nights.
    What if Gary isn’t caught? Then what? Then where? Am I homeless? No. Homeless people are dirty and sickly and old. There aren’t many in Laurel, but I saw a few in New York. I am not one of them. Am I?
    The inky sky holds no answers. Nor does the uneven sidewalk. A brown landmark sign points down the street directly opposite my perch. White letters read C OSLEY W OODS .
    Woods sound promising. My last foray into the woods was a huge success. And even without Gretchen, how bad can it