Keeping Up with the Stuff

by Heather Klassen

“I’m going hiking in the wildlife sanctuary after school today,” Nick says. “Do you want to come, Jason?”

“That sounds great,” I reply. “But I can’t. I have to work.”

“That’s too bad.” Nick slurps milk up through his straw. “Do you have to work every day after school?”

I nod. “And Saturdays,” I add, taking another bite of my sub.

“Why do you work so much?” Nick asks.

My mouth full of sandwich, I can’t answer him. But my friends jump in for me.

“Haven’t you seen Jason’s car yet?” Andrew asks Nick. “He has the greatest sound system ever in it, not to mention every awesome car accessory imaginable.”

“Not to mention his incredible wardrobe,” Christine adds. “And Jason has the hugest CD and DVD collection in the whole school.”

I nod again, this time after swallowing. “It takes a lot of money to keep up with this stuff,” I explain. “So I work a lot.”

Nick scoops up his tray as he stands. “Maybe you could call me after work and we could meet up then.”

“Sure,” I reply as Nick heads for the trash can.

With Nick gone, I know my friends are going to start in on me. Nick showed up at our school just a couple weeks ago. He sits next to me in English Lit, and one day we started talking about books. It turns out that we both like to read, and mostly the same kind of books, too. That’s an interest my other friends don’t share with me. So I like the guy. But my friends don’t like Nick, and I know they didn’t appreciate him sitting with us at lunch today.

“Hiking?” Andrew says. “That’s stupid. Doesn’t the guy ever hang out at the mall or buy CDs or do anything fun?”

I shrug. Before I can reply, Christine starts up.

“I just don’t get what you see in Nick, Jason,” she says. “It seems like he owns three shirts, which he wears in rotation. He obviously doesn’t own an iPod or a cell phone or even care about getting them, and I seriously think he walks to school. He definitely does not fit in with our group.”

The bell rings, scattering us in different directions. After slogging through History and Chemistry, I head out to the parking lot.

On the way to the grocery store where I work, a red light on my dash keeps flashing at me. Great, I think, another repair, more money. I sigh as I pull into the lot at the store.

All afternoon I stand at the end of a checkout lane and bag groceries, smile at customers, and collect carts. But I can’t concentrate on the job. I keep thinking about Nick and his hike.

I think one reason I like Nick is because he does different stuff than my friends. And he doesn’t work, so it seems like he has endless time to do stuff. So far he’s mentioned hiking, pickup basketball games at the park, losing himself in a book at the library for an afternoon, even spending one afternoon volunteering at the food bank. Sure, Nick doesn’t seem to have many things, or care about getting things, but he does so many interesting things. Things I can’t do because I always have to work.

After work, I sit in my car and study my paycheck, all of which I have already allocated to car insurance, car maintenance, and my balance at the music store. I will have nothing left over, again.

I pick up my cell phone and call Nick’s home number. “Maybe we could get together now,” I say when he answers. “I’m off work.”

Nick suggests that I come over to his house. I agree, so he gives me directions.

I pull up in front of a modest little house in a modest little neighborhood. Nick meets me at the door.

“My parents are out,” Nick explains as I glance around the living room. I can count the furnishings on one hand. Couch, chair, lamp, small TV, wall hanging.

I follow Nick to his room. I had expected to find it barely furnished, but I didn’t expect to find the walls covered in paintings, many of them outdoor scenes.

I must have been staring.

“I do watercolors,” Nick explains. “Of places I hike to, mostly.”

“Nick, your house is so empty,” I blurt out, not caring whether I’m being rude. ‘Where’s all your stuff?”

Nick laughs. “Dad and Papa have never been really big on owning stuff, so I guess it just rubbed off on me. I’ve never cared about owning stuff either. I like doing things a lot more.”

“But where are all your books?” I ask. “I know you read a lot.”

“Ever hear of a library card, Jason?” Nick replies.

I remember Nick mentioning hanging out at the library reading, and envying him that free time. I have a stack of unread books on my desk at home, books I own, but only have the time to read by staying up later than I should. So I never have enough time to read as much as I’d like to.

I sit down on Nick’s bed. “Lately, I’ve been hating my job,” I admit. “And I’ve been envying you ever since we met, Nick. I wish I were free to do stuff like you do.”

Nick shrugs. “You could be. You don’t have to own an incredible wardrobe and a huge CD collection,” he says, mimicking Christine’s high-pitched voice.

We both laugh at his imitation. Then I say, “I know I should be glad that I have a lot of stuff, but lately I’ve been starting to feel like all that stuff isn’t what’s really important. You know what I mean?”

Nick nods.

“I can’t just quit my job right now,” I say. “But I could take some Saturdays off, and I can think about quitting or at least cutting back a lot.”

“That sounds great. Maybe we could hang out more then,” Nick replies. “Hey, it’s not dark yet. We could still head over to the park to shoot some hoops.”

“Okay,” I agree. I follow Nick to his garage, where he grabs a basketball from a plastic bin.

“You actually own a basketball?” I ask as the garage door opens, pretending to be amazed.

“Yeah, I actually own a basketball,” Nick replies. “And you’d better think fast,” he adds, whipping the ball right at me.

I react quickly enough to catch the ball. Then we both laugh as we sprint down the driveway and onto the sidewalk, passing the ball back and forth between us.

As our sneakers pound the pavement on the way to the park, I think about how great it is that Nick and I are becoming friends. And how maybe it’s even better that my new friend’s attitude toward all that stuff might be rubbing off on me.

    

Heather Klassen lives with her family in Edmonds, Washington. She has been writing fiction for children and teenagers for the past twenty years and has had several books and hundreds of stories published in numerous magazines and anthologies. In addition to writing, she works part-time with children. Besides her favorite hobbies of reading and spending time with her family, she is an avid swimmer, having just learned how to swim four years ago.