Hip to Be Square by Hope Lyda

Author:Hope Lyda
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780736960434
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers, Inc.

The Why Behind Y

Casually I wave to the landlord as he rakes invisible leaves. I have always suspected that he watches for renters with cable to leave so he can watch ESPN or the cooking channel. He picks up his shears and moves to the side yard to trim the shrubs, and I make my move over to Yvette’s unit. I realize I have stumbled over her name because the initial sound is that of “E” not “Y.” How trick-e.

Her sole window is level with the sidewalk. From my crouched position I can see worn, ugly linoleum the color of sludge running beneath a thirdhand table. There are books beneath two of its legs to keep it level for the computer and the short stack of dishes that burden it. Yvette passes just below the window and I pull back. Flattened against the stucco exterior wall, I realize that my body is casting shadows into her one room. I step over the length of the window to the other side. Dozens and dozens of flowers fill vases, many of which are mine, and cups, buckets, and the rust-stained sink. Lots of them are past their prime, and Yvette is gathering the dead leaves and petals into a paper bag. These endless bouquets are proof of her involvement with my site, though I hadn’t expected the direct link to the bizarre phone calls.

Why would someone concoct such a scheme to get flowers from strange men?

I rap on the window and a startled Y looks up into the shaft of sunlight. I wave but she does not know who it is. I hear her release the chain lock and wait a moment for her to peek her head around the corner.

“Mari!” She swallows big and makes a Donald Duck sort of quack.

Watching her squirm is not as satisfactory as I had imagined.

“Yvette. Yvette. It’s so good to see you. I was just passing by and thought I would ask if I could get a couple vases back. Out of the blue I received a ton of flowers. And a big platter of sushi from some guys in Japan. It’s the weirdest thing.” I pause to see if she will understand that I am on to her.

She closes the front door behind her and spends a moment figuring out a plan, an excuse, a distraction. “I could bring you some later today. I…they’re kind of full right now. Would this afternoon be okay?”

Though it goes completely against my initial mood, I’m feeling nothing but compassion toward her. Here’s a girl who spends hours on end in a one-room closet with a chair, a lopsided table that holds her computer and a few plates, and a rickety cot. Her only decor and view are posters that promote skateboard parks and software.

“Do you work with computers for a living?”

I think back to when her father carried those large, heavy boxes that must have been filled with cables, monitors, hard drives, and other tools used to pry into another person’s life.

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