Sketches by Eric Walters Page B

It’ll be a soft night’s sleep.”
    â€œGreat,” Brent said. He turned to me. “Let me give you a boost.”
    â€œInto there?” I moved back a half a step.
    â€œYou got a better idea? It’s warm and it’s dry.”
    â€œBut what if somebody comes? What if they drop something into the box on top of us?”
    â€œThe place is closed for the night and the gate is locked up. The only way in here is the way we came, and I can’t picture anybody coming in through the fence with a donation,” Brent said.
    â€œBut still . . . it’s a clothing drop box ,” I said, emphasizing each word. “We can’t sleep in there.”
    â€œI’m telling you we can . I’ve done it dozens of times.” Brent paused. “Look, Dana, my head is hurting really bad. I need to lie down. You coming or not?”
    Reluctantly I came forward and Brent bent down again, cupping his hands together. I stepped up and Ashley offered me a hand and I slid, head first, into the box. The slot slammed closed behind me and I wasengulfed in darkness. I felt a surge of panic. Then there was light as the slot opened back up. I looked up and saw Brent’s silhouette against the light. He climbed in, and now the slot stayed open.
    â€œI wedged a board in to keep it open,” Brent said.
    â€œThanks,” I mumbled.
    â€œOnce we’ve got everything sorted out in here we’ll close it up so we can sleep.”
    â€œAre you sure we won’t get in trouble for sleeping in here?” I asked, apprehensively.
    â€œWe won’t get in trouble . . . if nobody finds us,” Brent said. He began to chuckle, and it felt so good to hear. “We’ll be long gone before they open up in the morning.”
    â€œBesides,” Ashley said, “even if they did catch us they wouldn’t do anything.”
    â€œThey wouldn’t?”
    â€œNah,” Brent said, shaking his head. “This is the Salvation Army. The worst they’d do is force us to eat breakfast, read to us from the Bible, and try to convince us to stay in their shelter tonight.”
    â€œSleeping in a shelter wouldn’t be so bad,” I said.
    â€œYou ever sleep in a shelter?” Brent asked.
    â€œNo,” I admitted. “You know that.”
    â€œBelieve me, this is better.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œWell, better than most of them. It’s not that they don’t try to help,” Brent said.
    â€œThen what’s wrong with them?”
    â€œThey have lots of rules and they ask lots of questions,” Ashley said.
    â€œWhat sort of questions?”
    â€œLike, ‘Are you carrying any weapons?’ or ‘How old are you?’” Ashley answered.
    That would be a problem for me. Things would be easier once I was sixteen—if I lived to be sixteen.
    â€œHow about if we stop talking and go to sleep,” Brent said.
    â€œAre you sure you should do that?” I asked. “After a head injury you’re supposed to be woken up every couple of hours,” I explained.
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œYeah. I remember that from my first aid course at school. Do you want me to wake you up?”
    â€œYeah. In the morning. Let’s get to sleep.” He reached up and adjusted the board holding the slot. It closed almost all the way, with only a sliver of light still coming in. Brent lay down on the far side of the box.
    I settled into the bags, my head close to the little shaft of light. I needed to sleep too, but maybe I needed to stay up for a while even more. I’d listen for sounds coming from outside, and even more important, listen for the sounds of Brent sleeping.

CHAPTER NINE
    â€œ DANA , YOU ’ RE JUST IN TIME !” Nicki exclaimed as I walked through the front door.
    â€œIn time for what?” I asked anxiously.
    â€œIn time to go.”
    â€œGo . . . but I just got here! Are you closed for the