Paper Things by Jennifer Richard Jacobson Page A

by which he means the bar. Nate turns to grab some plates, while Chloe shrugs and goes back to looking.
    “Here’s one in the East End,” Chloe says. “It’s a two-bedroom, and it has laundry in the building.”
    “What’s it look like?” Gage asks.
    “It looks OK,” Chloe says. “It says ‘prospective tenant must income qualify.’ ”
    “What does that mean?” I ask, getting as close to the pictures on the screen as I can. The kitchen has wooden cabinets and an orange countertop. There’s gray carpeting on the floor. The bathroom has a shower stall. It looks a little dated but much cleaner than the other place. And it has two bedrooms! I wonder if I can paint the walls of my bedroom turquoise. In the latest Pottery Barn catalog, a lot of the rooms were turquoise.
    “It probably means that you can’t make over a certain income. You should call,” Chloe says, grabbing his phone from the coffee table.
    Gage places two platters on the bar. The pork chops, with brown bits mixed into the applesauce, look amazing. So does the broccoli with cheese. He brings over a large bowlful of steaming baby potatoes and takes his place on a stool.
    “Call about the apartment,” says Chloe, holding out the phone.
    “I’ll call,” says Gage, scooping up pork chops and sliding them onto our plates.
    Chloe sings, “It’s in the East End. It could be gone tomorrow.” She is still holding his phone.
    I’ve cut my first piece, and my mouth is watering. I can already taste the juiciness of the pork chop. As much as I want Gage to call about the apartment, I want Chloe to put the phone down and pick up her fork even more.
    The Beatles sing “Let It Be.” I wonder if Nate chose the song or if it’s a coincidence.
    Gage stares at Chloe.
    She stares back.
    Nate gives me a grimace that says
awkward.
    Gage rests his forearms on the table and sighs. “I can’t call, Chloe,” he says. “Janna cut my phone service today.”
    She throws the phone down on the counter. “You’ve got to be kid —”
    Gage interrupts. “Please don’t, Chloe,” he says. “Tonight,
please,
let’s not let Janna ruin this celebration.”
    Chloe pauses. You can tell that she doesn’t want to change the subject. Maybe she wants to rail about Janna; maybe she wants to offer him her phone. But she stops herself, picks up her fork, and shrugs.
    Ever notice that a shrug hardly ever means what it’s meant to?

I wait by my locker for Sasha to finish her duties as patrol leader. Every morning since fifth grade started, we’ve met here. I’ve decided that today will be the day I tell her everything. I’ll tell her about leaving Janna’s, Gage’s new job, and the Jiffy Lube airplane. I’m looking forward to having things back to normal between us.
    But she doesn’t come. It isn’t until Mr. O. pops his head outside his door and tells anyone who is still standing in the hall to come on in that I go to get my social studies book and find the note from her inside my locker. It reads:
Thanks for calling me back last night. AGAIN!
Then there is someone else’s handwriting — Linnie’s, I’m pretty sure — right below Sasha’s:
Do you know you’re the only fifth-grader who still doesn’t own a cell phone?
    I grab my book and slam my locker closed. So Sasha has called Janna’s after all — and more than once. But obviously Janna hasn’t told her that I don’t live there. What does Janna say instead? That I’m eating dinner? Busy? Gone somewhere? Whatever the excuse, Sasha clearly thinks I’m ignoring her.
    As for Linnie’s remark, that isn’t even close to being true. Loads of kids at our school don’t have cell phones. Last I knew, Sasha didn’t have one either — though I wonder if she just got one and that’s why she was calling.
    That, or she still wants to talk about my appearance.
    I can’t find out which, because she and Linnie, who are already at their seats in homeroom, pretend they don’t see me when I walk in. I’m