Free Still Point by Katie Kacvinsky Page B

back upstairs, I walked into our storage room, the only unfurnished space in the house. The cement floors made the entire room feel cold. The light snapped on and I walked past a few boxes until I came to the computer monitor in the corner that controlled the electricity running through our house. It ran on a separate network than our home computers ran on, so I assumed my father wouldn’t track it. I scanned my finger along the keypad and sat down. The computer only offered access to the energy networks that our house used, so I couldn’t do any website searches for tracking software, but it was still worth a try.
    It was the only reason I’d agreed to my dad’s latest spyware tactics. If the tracker really ran on a twin signal, then I could watch him just as easily as he could watch me. I hoped that one of these energy grids could detect it.
    Our house had constant access to a weather radar in order for the solar cells in the outdoor house paint to predict weekly energy amounts. I found the weather page and searched for GPS scanning software. When the page opened, I scanned my wrist against a panel on the keypad and the network picked up the signal. A radar map appeared on the screen and illuminated longitudinal directions. I tapped the directions, and sure enough, it located my house in Corvallis. I reversed the output and the machine came back with a new coordinate. I smiled and tapped the location.
    â€œHi, Dad,” I said out loud.
    I looked around for streets I knew in Portland, but nothing looked familiar. I scanned the area and looked for the Willamette or Columbia River, or one of the bridges downtown, but nothing familiar appeared. I zoomed in and started to recognize some of the landmarks, but the computer claimed I was looking at the Hollywood River. I zoomed in closer and recognized streets in Los Angeles. I found my dad’s location right on the coast, a few blocks from the LADC, the detention center I’d been sentenced to for six months.
    I narrowed my eyes at the yellow, blinking dot, like a tiny, betraying heartbeat. I could feel my pulse in my wrist, as if all of my blood was flowing to that tracker. What was my dad doing in Los Angeles? And why would he lie about it? He’d always been secretive, but now he was even lying to my mom.
    My heart felt like it had slipped down my stair of ribs and collided with my stomach.
    What if he really was the enemy?
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    The doorbell rang while my mom and I were watching TV on the loveseat. She jumped with surprise while I calmly pulled a throw blanket off my lap and sat up.
    â€œIt’s a bell, Mom, not an alarm,” I said.
    â€œWhy does that always happen when you’re home?” she asked. She scanned the wall screen for security, and it showed a video of our front door, where Becky stood, nervously turning a ring on her finger.
    â€œHi, Becky,” my mom said into the wall speaker. Becky looked up at the video camera.
    â€œHi, Mrs. Freeman. Is Maddie home?”
    I stood up, wondering why my mom didn’t just answer the door. “Let’s be old-fashioned and invite her in.”
    â€œBut your father—” My mom cut herself off and nodded. We walked into the foyer and I held Baley back while my mom opened the door for Becky. She walked in, her teeth prying at her bottom lip.
Try to play it cool, Captain Obvious,
I wanted to tell her.
    My mom looked at the digital clock over the door. It was past dinnertime. “What are you doing out?” she asked.
    â€œI stopped by. T-to a-apologize,” Becky stammered. “For what happened at the benefit.” My mom glanced at me, and I just shrugged.
    â€œYou didn’t do anything wrong,” my mom said.
    Becky picked at the ends of her long, brown hair. “Yeah, well, I feel bad about the way my mom reacted. She didn’t have to blame Maddie.”
    My mom looked at her skeptically, but she nodded. “Your mother and I have grown