I stared at it for a moment, then went inside.
The enormous, open space was beautiful, with soaring ceilings and intricate molding and rows of gleaming wood tables. I hadn’t belonged to a church growing up—my father was Catholic and my mother disparaged his religion like she did everything else about him—but to me, this place felt like a sanctuary. It seemed like nothing bad could happen to a person here.
I found an empty seat at one of the wooden tables. Someone had left a few books there, so I reached for one and pretended to read. The subject was the Manhattan Project and the sentences were long and dense. I tried to focus on one, then reread it as the letters blurred and jumped around.
I woke up with a crick in my neck and a parched mouth. My face was pressed against the open book on the table. I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes. The library was more crowded now. A few other people were working at my table, but no one was paying me any attention.
I looked around for a clock, wincing as my tight neck muscles protested. It was a little after six.
I couldn’t believe I’d slept for so long.
Outside, the light was waning. The sun would go down soon, and the library would close.
If I didn’t find a place to stay tonight, I’d be in serious trouble.
I stood up and hurried out the door.
The streets were even more busy now. Car horns honked and brakes squealed and people wove around me on the sidewalk, bumping against my duffle bag. Everyone had somewhere to go.
I began walking, too, my fast pace eating up the blocks. At one point I passed someone in a sleeping bag curled up in front of a closed camera store. I averted my eyes and kept walking. A girl couldn’t stay alone on the street like that, but maybe there was somewhere else I could camp for the night. There had to be a park nearby. I could find an isolated spot, maybe beneath a shrub where I wouldn’t be noticed. I’d stay awake all night and sleep in the library again tomorrow.
I’d been walking for a long while and the sun was setting. I didn’t have time to figure out a better plan.
I looked up to try to get a sense of my surroundings and spotted a giant red bull’s-eye at the end of the block, marking the location of a Target store. I might find a cheap sleeping bag there, and I could buy a bottle of juice and a snack, too.
I walked to the entrance and stepped on the mat to trigger the sliding glass doors to open. I stepped into the brightly lit, clean space, featuring aisles stocked with everything from cereal to board games, and in the middle of the store, rack after rack of clothing.
I made my way to the camping supply aisle and stared at the two brands of sleeping bags that were for sale, one lightweight and one for cold weather. The lightweight one cost less. What else might I need?
I kept walking around the store, looking at all the things I’d buy if I had the money. Skippy peanut butter and saltine crackers. Clean socks. Hand lotion. Deodorant and a washcloth. A bottle of Snapple lemonade.
Then I stopped short. Beneath a glass display shelf by the camping section was a row of pocketknives.
Maybe I should get one, just in case.
But would I be able to use it to defend myself if I had to?
A vision of Coach’s bloody, broken body swam before me and my legs buckled. I grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from falling.
I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to keep moving. My arm was aching from lugging around my duffle bag. I glanced at the backpacks, but everything was too expensive.
I passed by the big plate-glass window at the front entrance. It was completely dark outside now and the streets were quieter. The city was winding down.
I knew I should leave and find a place to stay. But I couldn’t bring myself to walk out of this safe, tidy store.
I kept staring at things I’d taken for granted most of my life: paper towels and Pop-Tarts and emery boards and Tampax. How was I ever going to manage on my own?
A bell sounded, and a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing the store would close in fifteen minutes. A guy wearing a red vest and name tag passed me, heading toward the back. Maybe he was going to lock up. He’d probably loop back around this way again and tell me I needed to check out.
Tears filled my eyes as my chest constricted. I couldn’t do this. There was no way I could live on the street, even for one night. I wasn’t strong enough.
When the employee returned, I’d ask him to call my dad. My father would try to help me. He’d beg my mother’s family to hire a lawyer, a good one. He and Timmy would write me letters when I had to go to jail or to a juvenile detention facility.
I wiped my eyes and when my line of vision cleared, I was still looking at the row of blue Tampax boxes.
It hit me like a bolt of lightning.
I hadn’t thought to pack any Tampax in my duffle bag. I hadn’t needed any in quite a while.
Over a month.
As I stood there dumbly, my mind so shocked it felt blank, the bell sounded again. This time the voice on the loudspeaker said the store was closing in five minutes. Any remaining customers should check out immediately.
I looked around wildly. There was a circular rack of clothing nearby.
I saw Timmy again, hiding almost in plain sight beneath the round shrub as I called, Ollie-ollie-in-come-free.
Without another thought, I bent down and crawled into the center of the ring of clothes, pulling in my duffle bag behind me.
All I could hear was my own breathing, ragged and too loud. I couldn’t see anything but the pairs of pants hung together in front of me. I curled up as tightly as possible, hoping no part of me was sticking out.
Three simple words kept running through my head: I am pregnant.
They didn’t make sense yet. I didn’t know that they would mean you.
A final announcement sounded. The store was now closed.
It was quiet for a moment. Then, in the distance, laughter broke out. I heard a man and woman conversing, his tone deep and slow and hers higher and crisper. Their words were muffled. I squeezed my eyes shut.
A few minutes later, someone walked past my hiding spot, their shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. I held my breath until the footsteps receded. Then I couldn’t hear anything at all for a little while. The silence was almost unbearable. I kept expecting someone to reach in and grab me.
I finally heard voices again, but they seemed farther away now. I couldn’t tell how many people were talking. Two, maybe three?
The lights cut out, plunging me into complete darkness.
I felt a scream rise in my throat. I covered my mouth with my hand and rocked back and forth, like the woman on the Greyhound bus.
The store was utterly quiet.
After a few moments, though, something remarkable happened: My eyes adjusted. I couldn’t see well, but I could make out the outline of my duffle bag, and the stripes on my sneakers, and when I glanced up, I could spot the demarcation line between the top of the circular rack and the space beyond it.
My racing heartbeat began to slow.
I forced myself to count slowly to one hundred, two hundred, five hundred. Then to a thousand.
I strained to listen, but I couldn’t hear a thing to indicate a single employee remained in the store. If someone else were here, they would have kept on the lights, I told myself.
But it took a long time before I found the courage to unfold my aching limbs and crawl out of the clothing rack. I left my duffle bag behind in case I needed to jump back in quickly.
Target looked completely different at night. There were two red exit signs with glowing arrows overhead that provided a tiny bit of illumination, and a few dim safety lights near the front entrance of the store. I stood stock-still, my breath caught in my lungs, but I couldn’t detect another presence. I seemed to be all alone in the giant store.