Free Winging It by Deborah Cooke

program and study in Chicago. I’m pretty sure she did this to be close to Nick and I had to wonder how well that was working.
    I got on the bus, reminding myself that my mom never minded if I went downtown to meet Isabelle before dinner. (Well, if I wasn’t grounded. Details.) I felt as if I was (sort of) following house rules, even in the absence of parents and home.
    For whatever that was worth.
    In fact, the likelihood of having either again, or having things return to any kind of normalcy, seemed pretty low. I was afraid my dad had decided to compromise too late for it to matter.
    Which made me wonder why I even cared about house rules.
    And helped me to rationalize what I intended to do.
    Sure, I’d never asked my mom about the concert and my dad had said I couldn’t go, but they’d both left town. I was the only one in Chicago who knew I wasn’t supposed to go. Even if Meagan’s mom knew I was supposed to be grounded, it didn’t seem as if she was too hot about enforcing it. Maybe she thought it unimportant compared to my parents’ splitting up. Maybe she was giving me a break.
    I’d run with it, either way.
    If I could get to Jared’s concert, prove that I was right about him, and maybe get a peek at the book or even learn the Mages’ revised plan, that would justify defying my dad. Right? It might also score me at least one item from my birthday wish list.
    I wasn’t going to be irresponsible, though, or get myself into an unsafe situation. I’m not stupid. The co-op where Jared’s band was going to play was in a crummy neighborhood and not the place to be alone at night. I needed someone to go with me – a partner in crime, as it were.
    Which brought me to Isabelle.
     
     
    Isabelle was already sipping a big foamy coffee when I arrived. She was perched at a table for two by the window and if I didn’t like her so much, I could have been green with envy that she could look so good and make it seem so easy.
    Make no mistake – Isabelle is g orgeous. Even though I know it, I’m astounded every time I see her again.
    The weather had turned crummy. It was windy and starting to snow, the kind of snow that falls in big flakes and then melts on contact with anything. I was wet and chilled after my walk from the L. I shivered and kept my fave shawl wrapped around my neck like a big cowl when I sat down.
    They were playing hokey Halloween music, those novelty tunes which just about made me barf. There were jack-o’-lantern posters on the walls and everything in the place was black and orange. They had posters up for a pumpkin spice coffee special and the staff were dressed up – one wore a witch hat and a green wig, while the other wore a zombie costume.
    Isabelle was wearing a thick burgundy sweater with a wide cowl neck that showed her throat. She has that flawless skin that British girls tend to have, all creamy silk. I doubt she’s ever had a zit. She’s feminine and mysterious, and confident too. Like I said, Isabelle’s everything I want to be. Her chestnut hair is loose and wavy over her shoulders – no bad-hair days for her. With her jeans tucked into her high boots and her pale pink lip gloss, she looked like a lingerie model.
    Or every guy’s winter fantasy.
    That she has a scrumptious British accent would have sealed the deal for pretty much anyone. Most of the guys in the coffee shop were checking her out, probably imagining that I was her baby sister.
    The plain one.
    Isabelle had also bought a big foamy drink for me, which she pushed toward me. I’m not much for coffee, but was cold enough to drink it. I thanked her and wrapped my hands around the warm cup, realizing as I raised it to my lips that it was actually hot chocolate.
    Yummy. I smiled at her in appreciation.
    ‘Heard from Jared?’ she asked, right when I was taking a sip.
    I choked.
    Figuratively and literally.

Chapter Four
     
     
    Trust Isabelle to cut right to the chase. Here was my opening, if sooner than expected.