Free Entangled by Ginger Voight

responded well to the small lessons I attempted to teach him. By the middle of May, he would finish the sentences in the familiar stories as I read his favorite books to him, with a clap of his hands and a happy, accomplished giggle.
    There were times when, after he had fallen asleep in my arms, I’d stare into his face and marvel at the miracle of him. I had fallen hook, line and sinker for Maximus DeJong Fullerton, and it made my weekends at Alex’s country home a true joy.
    Sometimes Alex was a part of those weekends and sometimes he wasn’t. Most days it didn’t matter either way. I certainly didn’t want to jeopardize that in any way with misguided fantasies and misfiring hormones. I liked to consider myself a person who learned from her experiences , who never made the same mistake twice. Even though I was pretty sure that Alex had no agenda to romance me, I wasn’t about to take any chances. I kept things right and proper between us.
    Every now and then, however, such as the moment with the innocent pinky swear, I worried that I stood just a little too close to the fire.
    I would disengage, he wouldn’t push the issue and we’d be over it within a day. Apparently he wasn’t ready to make any more mistakes on his end either, given how everything had imploded after his dalliance with Elise.
    By Monday, when Jonathan returned bright and early that morning, we both had put the unsettling episode behind us.
    Even though he still wore his hurt feelings on proud display for everyone to see, Jonathan stayed compliant for the rest of the week. He had turned in his folder of completed homework, which he had aced. He also turned in an essay covering EAL and Senator De Havilland for “extra credit.” My stomach sunk as I read the essay, which was slanted toward Alex’s point of view, as well as – no doubt – Justin’s, given that all of his cited sources were noted conspiracy theorists. I sat him down to talk about it.
    “While I appreciate your initiative, I’m concerned how biased your paper is, and how biased the sources you cite for the research are. Most of all, I’m concerned that you plan to ignore our agreement not to make a spectacle at your father’s fundraiser.”
    He shrugged. “So what if I do? It’s not like Alex won’t.”
    “Is that why you insisted we go?” I asked.
    “No,” he answered far too quickly for it to have been the truth.
    I held up the paper. “Then why write this?”
    “Because it’s true,” he countered.
    “ It’s speculation,” I corrected. “None of these allegations have been proven in a court of law, specifically regarding Elizabeth Schonhorn.”
    “Alex thinks it’s true. He’s convinced my mom to keep me away from Dad because he thinks Senator De Havilland and EAL are dangerous people to cross.”
    I sighed. It hurt my heart that he was privy to such information. These were no concerns for a child. “Maybe it’s best that none of us go,” I muttered.
    “Sure,” Jonathan sneered. “Break another promise. I’m used to it.”
    “I’m not breaking any promises,” I said. “Are you planning to break yours?”
    He shook his head. We stared at each other long and hard before I finally scribbled a giant, red “C” on top of his paper and handed it back to him. “Next time use unbiased sources in your research,” I advised.
    “Do those exist?” he wanted to know.
    I didn’t know what to tell him. We lived in a world built upon perception. What was gospel truth for one was nothing but nonsensical gobbledygook to another. Each was predisposed to lean towards those “reliable” sources that validated what one already believed. Even with the wealth of information to be found on the Internet, one really didn’t need to consider another point of view if one didn’t want to. All I could do was teach him to think critically as he formed these opinions for himself.
    The next day he turned in another essay, only this time arguing the opposite point of