Sun Don’t Shine by Crissa-Jean Chappell EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Crissa-Jean Chappell
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Fiction about Homelessness & Poverty
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
When somebody moves out, they always leave stuff behind. If I’m lucky, it was
there all along, waiting for me to find it.
Today I’m not so lucky.
Dad stands guard as I swing my leg over the dumpster.
“Hustle up, Reece,” he says, glancing across the parking lot. “You hear
me?”
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“I’m hustling,” I mutter.
Traffic pounds the highway. All those cars are going where I can’t go—
away from here. Right now “here” is the Surfside, which might be the dumbest
name ever. You won’t find much surf in Miami.
The motel’s neon sign says, SWIMMING POOL, AIR
CONDITIONING, ASK ABOUT OUR WEEKLY RATES. The so-called
pool is clogged with dead leaves. Most of the time it’s empty. Unless it rains.
“Thanks, dumpster gods,” I whisper, scooping a crumpled dollar out of a
jeans pocket. I’m real good at finding money. No joke. I keep my head down
everywhere I go, scanning the sidewalk for loose pennies. Money twitches like
a living thing. It moves a certain way. Catches my eye with its quiet breathing.
Dad gives the signal, whistling through his teeth. Somebody’s coming. I
hunch down a little lower. The dumpster smells so freaking gross. As I tug the
collar of my T-shirt over my nose, trying not to inhale the hot stink of rotten
bananas, I hear Booth screaming his head off.
“I better not catch you stealing out of the trash.”
Booth is the freak in charge of this motel. He always wears a leather
jacket bristling with patches, even if it’s a hundred degrees outside. “His light
don’t reach the top floor,” Dad likes to say, tapping his forehead.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Booth yells.
“Just out for a walk,” Dad tells him.
“Yeah? Then start walking. You’re behind rent,” he says. “I could have
you out tomorrow.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work a little harder.” Booth slams his fist against the dumpster and I
flinch. It really sucks that he’s going off on Dad. Still, I hold my breath. If he
catches me stealing junk, I’m in big trouble.
After what seems like forever, Dad whistles again.
Back to work.
My legs are zombie-numb, squashed under a mound of garbage bags.
Feels like clothes, judging by the lumpy shapes. I punch my fingers through the
sun-baked plastic, rip open a bag, and start digging.
It’s crazy, the stuff people throw away. I dig out a paperback and flip
through the wrinkled pages. It’s one of those cheesy romance books with a
half-naked dude on the cover. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. I’ll pretty much
read anything. Who throws a book in the trash? Brain-dead idiots. That’s who.
The bag is full of kiddie stuff. A friendship bracelet, the kind you wear
until it rots off. Pink sneakers and a denim jacket so small, I could probably
sew it into a skirt. Too bad I’m not a fan of sewing. Or skirts.
Dad could probably sell most of this crap online. I’ll let him sort through
this mess once we’re back in our motel room. I launch the Hefty bag over the
edge of the dumpster with a thunk. It’s weird that somebody tossed out all
those baby clothes. They must’ve been hauling ass
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