Room 555 Read online

  Copyright © 2019 Cristy Watson

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Watson, Cristy, 1964–, author

  Room 555 / Cristy Watson.

  (Orca currents)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4598-2058-6 (softcover).—ISBN 978-1-4598-2059-3 (pdf).—ISBN 978-1-4598-2060-9 (epub)

  I. Title. II. Title: Room five hundred fifty-five.

  III. Series: Orca currents

  PS8645.A8625R66 2019 jC813'.6 C2018-904871-9

  C2018-904872-7

  First published in the United States, 2019

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018952761

  Summary: In this high-interest novel for middle readers, Roonie struggles to deal with her grandmother’s declining health.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Edited by Tanya Trafford

  Cover artwork by iStock.com/FatCamera

  Author photo by Lynne Woodley

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  22 21 20 19 • 4 3 2 1

  Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is

  licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions that feature multi user, simultaneous access to our books that are easy for your students to read. For more information,

  please contact [email protected].

  http://ivaluecanadianstories.ca/

  For the real Jasmine, who inspires me every day. Thank you for your friendship. And for the young people I work with, who are brave enough to share their fears and worries as they navigate the world.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from “On Cue”

  Chapter One

  Chapter One

  “Roonie, are you ready yet?” I can hear Jordan breathing outside my bedroom door. He is wheezing, and he only walked up the stairs. That boy needs to exercise!

  “I’m not going!” I yell through the door. “Tell Mom I have too much homework.”

  “Like you do homework?”

  “Just tell her I’m not going.”

  “Tell her yourself.”

  I tiptoe to the door and crack it open slightly. Even though my younger brother gets on my nerves, he usually follows through. He is a pro at sucking up to my parents. I hear him tell Dad I am staying home. He leaves off the homework part.

  My dad is probably wearing his blue shirt and pink tie. He knows Gram loves it when he dresses up. Or at least she used to love seeing him in fancy clothes. Now I’m not sure what she sees—or remembers. She has been living at the Cedars Care Home for Seniors since I was ten. Three years she’s been stuck in that place. I would die!

  The stairs creak, and I know someone is coming up. As I close the door, I catch a whiff of my mom’s perfume—lavender and rose. She smells nice, and I can tell she’s doused herself with extra. Sometimes it smells bad in that place where they keep my grandma. Who am I kidding? It always smells bad in that place.

  That is why I am not going. It smells like old, stale, forgotten people. And it is full of stale, old, forgotten people. We only have two days off from school, and I need to spend them practicing my hip-hop moves for the dance challenge. I am in my first year at high school, and they have a competition where I can even compete against twelfth graders. I would love to win.

  But to do that, I have to practice. So it’s not really like I am bailing on Gram. It’s important that I do this competition. Then I will go visit her. Then I will have something to show her—a big trophy.

  Since I closed my door when I first heard the creaky stairs, I don’t know where Mom went. Maybe she had to grab something from her room, like her purse. She is always forgetting things or losing her stuff. But then I hear her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She is standing outside my door.

  “Roonie, may I come in?”

  Before I can say no, she is turning my door handle. I fly across the room and land on my bed. It creaks too. It is probably as old as Gram.

  “Do you mind, Mom? I could have been getting dressed. That’s why I asked Dad to put a lock on the door.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary, but we need to talk.”

  I hate it when Mom uses my real name.

  “It’s too plain,” I remember Gram saying one time when I was little. She was making my favorite spaghetti and meatballs. “You are meant for great things. Mary isn’t a name that will make you soar.” She had paused while she looked me over. “Macaroon! Now there’s a name.” It made us all laugh because Gram loves macaroons and made them for dessert every time we came to dinner.

  Well, the name stuck and then got shortened to Roonie. I prefer that to Mary. Plus, Macaroon is a better name for a hip-hop dancer anyway.

  Mom plops down on the bed beside me. That is lecture mode, and I am not interested. I jump up and cross my room to my desk. I pull open a binder and sit down on my blue exercise ball. Immediately my stomach muscles engage to keep me balanced on the ball.

  “Look, Mom, I have tons of homework.” That part is true. “I need to work on this for school on Monday or I may not pass the class.” That part is true too. “I am going to work on it all afternoon.” That part is not true. I plan to spend the afternoon on my hip-hop routine for the dance contest. But Mom does not need to know that!

  “It’s just that you haven’t been to visit Gram in months. She asks about you all the time. You used to love going. I know it’s harder now because sometimes she doesn’t remember us. But she loves you, and I know she misses you.”

  I get a lump in my throat. I love Gram too. But that place gives me the creeps. And I get way too emotional if Gram is having a bad day. I just want to remember her the way she was—painting, smiling and making macaroons.

  “We are leaving in twenty minutes. We won’t stay for long. Maybe you could work on your project when we get back?”

  I shake my head. I feel guilty about not going with the family to see my grandmother. But it is so hard to see her like that. She used to be so beautiful, with her long dark hair. I can see her slender fingers holding the paintbrush as she made deep strokes along the canvas. Gram mostly did portraits. I tried painting with her one day, but I am definitely not an artist. Well, not that kind of artist. I am a hip-hop artist.

  Mom sighs and leaves my
room. I watch from my bedroom window as they pile into the car. As soon as it turns the corner, I grab my headphones. I push Play, and my favorite song blasts into my ears.

  I have already changed into my sweatpants and tank top. I flex my arms in the mirror. Then, after shuffling my feet for a few moments to get my rhythm going, I bust a few moves. I do some side steps while criss-crossing my arms. Then I add some step-touches before I step-slide and drop to the floor. I love the stop-and-drop moves because then I can really get my groove on.

  As I try a few pops and locks, Gram is no longer on my mind. I’m not thinking of her withering away in that place. I am not feeling guilty for bailing on her. I just feel the adrenaline flow through my body as I move to the music.

  Chapter Two

  At school on Tuesday, Ms. Burns, our school counselor, tells us we can begin our community volunteer hours. By twelfth grade we have to have some astronomical number of hours logged to get enough credits to graduate. I decide I should start now. Otherwise, I can see myself being Gram’s age and still in high school!

  I look over the list of places taking volunteers. At the bottom of the second page I see a dance studio. That would be perfect! Sure, it would mostly be answering phones and filing papers. But I would be around dancers. Maybe I’d get some ideas for my routine. I decide to sign up right after school. The forms are due back tomorrow.

  On the way home my best friend, Kira, asks me if I want to do a routine with her for the dance competition. I usually prefer a solo act, but I have been watching So You Think You Can Dance and saw some cool routines for a duo. I figure why not? I stay at Kira’s until suppertime, and we start planning our routine. After dinner I head home to work on my Social Studies project. I only take a few breaks to practice some new moves in front of the mirror.

  The rest of the week is packed. On Wednesday I babysit for the McKenzies down the street. Their mom volunteers at Gram’s care home sometimes and pays me twenty bucks for two hours of watching TV or playing video games with her two kids. Charlotte and Ben are pretty cool. Charlotte likes to dance. She is not into hip hop but takes tap-dancing lessons. She has taught me a few things that I was able to incorporate into my moves, like jumping up and landing on the toes of her taps. That move is a keeper!

  On Thursday Mom picks us up from school. We’re all getting haircuts. Jordan usually takes the longest at the salon. He likes his hair dyed blond on top, with dark roots underneath. I wish I could wear dreadlocks, but Mom won’t hear of it.

  The lady doing my hair smells like perm solution, and my nostrils burn. She talks about cutting my hair super short, says I have great bone structure. Mom smiles and says, “Might be fun to try something different!” They don’t get that my hair is part of my image.

  “No, thanks. Just a trim.”

  Before I know it, it is Friday. The counselor comes into homeroom. Today is the day we get our volunteer placements. Oh no! I forgot to hand in the form!

  “I will be passing around a sheet with the contact names for each of your placements. If you did not hand in your form, we chose a placement for you,” says Ms. Burns.

  Great. I’ll probably get garbage pickup or something.

  “You do not have to accept the placement we assigned to you, but there will not be another opportunity for volunteering again until next year,” she continues.

  If I leave it to next year, I will be super stressed about completing everything before graduation.

  I bite my lip as the sheet comes to my desk. I look over at Kira. Her hair is streaked with pink today, matching her pink sneakers. She gives me a thumbs-up. I scan the sheet and stop at her name. OMG! She got the dance studio! Why didn’t I get organized on time? Why did I leave it so late?

  I scroll down and find my name. My contact person is Beth Adams. I am working at the hospital. “Oh no!” Everyone in homeroom turns to look at me. Oops, I meant to say that in my head. I shrug it off and laugh nervously. I look down at the sheet again. Sean, the guy sitting next to me, asks me to hurry up, because the bell will be going soon. He wants to know if he got his first pick.

  First pick? I didn’t know there would be several options. Now I am stuck with whatever they gave me. As I am scribbling down the contact information, I realize this might be okay. Maybe I will get a placement in the physio department. Somewhere like that would be okay. I could get ideas on how to limber up my body and take care of simple injuries. Phew!

  My shoulders relax as I think about volunteering in a room full of exercise balls like the one I sit on at home. There might even be weights I could use and other equipment that will help strengthen my core.

  As the bell goes, I look over to Kira and give her a thumbs-up.

  Chapter Three

  “Hi. I’m the new volunteer, and I’m here to see Ms. Adams.” I am standing at the information desk at the hospital. The air smells like bleach. The receptionist points to the chairs behind me.

  “Please take a seat. Ms. Adams will be with you shortly. You can fill out this form while you wait.”

  She hands me a clipboard with two pieces of paper attached to it and a pen dangling from a string. I grab a seat far away from the toddler sitting on her grandma’s lap. Or maybe it is her great-grandma. The lady looks like she is ninety years old. The kid laughs every time her grandma wiggles her nose at her.

  I look down at the sheet. I had hoped to volunteer somewhere cool, like the physio department. But I have been assigned to something called the geriatric wing. I don’t even know what that means. I hope it has something to do with muscles or bones. Something that will fit with my passion for dance.

  I finish filling in the form as quickly as I can. I am eager to find out what a geriatric room looks like and what I will be doing there. I am sure it will be great. When Ms. Adams walks into the waiting room and calls my name, I jump up to meet her. I hold out my hand, trying to be professional. This is my first time in the work force—even if it is just to volunteer.

  “How are you doing today, Mary?”

  “Roonie,” I answer.

  “I’m sorry?” says Ms. Adams as she reaches for the clipboard.

  “Oh, I mean, I prefer to be called Roonie. And I’m fine, thanks.” I feel heat rush into my cheeks.

  “Excellent,” says Ms. Adams as she quickly scans my paperwork. “We are so happy to have you here, Roonie. I think you will enjoy your time at the hospital. We will set up a volunteer orientation session, but for today you can just familiarize yourself with your area. When you come for your volunteer sessions, always check in at this desk first. Then head up to the fifth floor. The person on duty at the nursing station will give you your duties for the day. Nothing too difficult, don’t worry. In fact, your main job is to cheer up the patients while they are staying in the hospital. It’s an important role.” She hands the clipboard to the receptionist. “Oh, and when you leave, remember to check in at the desk again so they can log your hours. We will provide a summary for your school at the end of the semester. Does that all sound okay?”

  “Sure,” I answer. But I didn’t hear much after she mentioned the nursing station! I hope I don’t have to do anything like draw blood! I am pretty laid back, except when it comes to three things—blood, puke and brussels sprouts!

  “Here’s your badge. You will need to wear it at all times, every time you volunteer.”

  The badge is plain and simple. It says Hospital Volunteer. I pin it to my sweatshirt. I am wearing the orange-and black-sweatshirt that has a picture of Jay-Z on the front. Along with Drake, he’s one of my favorite hip-hop artists. Ms. Adams looks me up and down. I can tell she does not approve of my shirt. I guess I should remember to wear something dressier next time.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Of course, my main question is, What the heck is the geriatric wing? But I don’t want to look foolish. So I just shake my head.

  “Okay then. Just take the elevator up to the fifth floor. When you step out, turn left. The nursing station
is right there. I believe Patricia is on today. She’ll get you set up with your duties. Nice to have you with us, Roonie.”

  I pull my water bottle out of my pack and swig several deep gulps. The hospital is dry, and still not knowing what I’m going to be doing has definitely raised my stress level.

  I climb into the elevator car when it arrives. A man in light blue pants and a matching blue shirt gets in with me. He pushes the button for the third floor. Right. I need to push the button for the fifth floor. I lean across in front of him to hit the number five. As he steps back to give me room, I manage a small smile.

  When he gets off the elevator, I let out a deep breath. In moments I will know what my volunteer assignment will look like. I think of Kira. She is probably checking out the cute dudes dancing at the studio. How did she get so lucky? She promised me she will check out as many new moves as she can so that we can add them to our dance. I can’t wait to get out of here and back to practicing our hip-hop routine. I look at my watch—three thirty. I have to stay for at least an hour. As the elevator doors open, all I can think about is that sixty minutes is a long time.

  Chapter Four

  I slowly step out of the elevator. A man in the same blue outfit as the guy in the elevator nearly bumps into me. He’s pushing an old lady on a bed with wheels. She reaches out to me as they pass, her dry, wrinkled hand grasping at my arm. The man nudges me out of the way so he can get into the elevator before the door closes. The woman moans. I feel like I just walked into a zombie movie. I tug at my sweatshirt.

  As I head to the desk, I see a woman in a white nursing outfit behind the counter. I can see by her name tag that she is Patricia. She’s the person I need to connect with. But my feet won’t move closer to the counter, and my mouth doesn’t seem to want to spit out any words. I stand there for a few minutes. Finally, Patricia looks up and sees me. Her brown eyes are warm. She smiles.