Excerpt from The Unsettled by Ayana Mathis, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Stay close," she said, picking up the suitcases. She got a grip on the trash bag even though it dug into her wrist and her shoulder strained in its socket. "Stay right by me." A woman by the door tried to say something, maybe hello or maybe she wasn't even talking to them. Ava couldn't call up any words in response. Just inside the door a tubby security guard stood behind his desk and said, "Who goes there?" with the kind of smile that could have been a leer.

"You want to go run around, champ?" he said to Toussaint while he checked Ava's paperwork. He told her they had a nice playground for the kids, with monkey bars and a slide. Ava hated him for standing there and for the kitchen and bedroom waiting for him when he got off work, and for all his talking and talking. His name was Melvin. Ava wanted to slap his face. "You can go out there for a little bit before they close it up for the night." If his stomach weren't cramping, Toussaint would have liked to climb on the jungle gym and hang off the bars and scream like he was scared of being upside down but really he'd just be screaming. He looked at his mother to see if maybe . . . but her face was clenched like a fist.

"Mondays," the guard was saying, shaking his head. "It's crazy here Mondays." He jerked his thumb in the air behind him. Probably was going to be a minute; everybody was gone for the day except Miss Simmons.

"She been backed up since morning," he said. "You can leave your stuff in there." He pointed to what looked like an empty office. Ava shook her head. She would not leave their things in an unlocked room. She would not let Toussaint run with these raggedy children. Wasn't there anything to eat, for her son, she wanted to know.

"Well, miss, this ain't Pizza Hut," he said. Then: "I'm playing. I'm just playing. Dinner's over, but you can ask Miss Simmons. They usually got something for people that get here late."

Ava and Toussaint sat on the chairs in the hallway and tried to keep their suitcases out of the way. A woman sitting across from them rolled her eyes. Like there was anything they could do about having stuff. Like that woman wasn't sitting there with her fat legs spread open like a man, cow chewing a wad of gum, Ava thought. The hallway was dim and too warm. The knobs of Ava's spine pressed into the hard back of the metal chair. Toussaint fidgeted.

"Don't scratch," she whispered. "We don't have . . . don't scratch." He had a raw-­looking spot just above his elbow.

Toussaint sat on his hands. "It's not so bad, Ma," he said. "They put up all these decorations. See?"

The corridor was plastered with construction-­paper cutouts, the kind kids make at school. And a big smiling apple with a slogan written across the middle. A food pyramid with pieces of bread that had legs and little hats. But there weren't any windows, and the cinder-­block walls that ran down to a dead end were taped over with official-­looking signs and notices.

"See?" he said again.

Snatches of conversation floated out to them from the pay phone near the guard's desk: "And what about Miss Jeanie? What she doing? She been over?" Ava hit at a mosquito on her leg. Down the hallway coins clattered, followed by a thunk when the soda machine dropped the can down the shoot. The pay phone rang every instant there wasn't somebody talking on it.

"Don't scratch, Toussaint."

"Don't you scratch. You're scratching," he said. Ava's thighs burned with mosquito bites. She itched so bad it felt like panic. She jumped up from the chair, then sat down again.

A lady with her ends curled into a pageboy led them into an office and introduced herself as Miss Simmons. She sat down and moved her mouth around while Ava's thighs burned. Miss Simmons had perfectly mauve nails, oval, and she tapped them against the desk while she talked. No drugs and no alcohol and no men. Tap. Counseling was available. Tap. Every resident must actively seek employment. Ava should sign up at the job center by the end of the week. Failure to follow the regulations—­strictly!—­would result in immediate termination of their stay. No questions asked. Tap tap. Ava rubbed her legs through her jeans. Was Miss Carson tired? Miss Simmons asked. Had she used any substances? She looked a little out of sorts. Drug-­treatment counseling was available. Mealtimes were strictly observed. No food in the rooms. No drugs and no alcohol and no men. Every resident must be out of the facility by nine a.m. on weekdays; residents can return for lunch. Curfew nine p.m. unless special permission was received. Section 8 vouchers were available if they found housing on their own. Residents should make every attempt to find housing.

Excerpted from The Unsettled by Ayana Mathis. Copyright © 2023 by Ayana Mathis. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.