Free Impulse by Ellen Hopkins Page B

where she'd been taken to? She's got red hair, green eyes, no ties to the Middle
    East. But under the Patriot Act, everyone is fair game.
    I have no problem with increasing security to keep this country safe. But how do we decide who poses a threat? And--bigger question-- who decides? 236
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    Mr. Hidalgo Comes Over
    You haven ' t written anything,
    Vanessa. Having a hard time
    getting started?
    I could tell him everything I've just been thinking, but that would take us all the way to lunch. "Just organizing my thoughts. I tend to do most of my writing inside my head."
    He smiles. Okay. But don ' t let it get lost inside there. I ' d like a first draft today.
    I glance around the classroom. Conner is already finished. I can tell by the satisfied expression on his face. Tony is scribbling away. Guess he knows what he wants to say. 237
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    Others are chewing pencils, staring off into space. I don't want to look as scattered as they do, so I start:
    Once we believed ourselves safe from attack, here on our
    home turf hallowed ground.
    The events that occurred on September 11, 2001, altered our " pie in the sky " view. The sad fact is, no one is completely safe. I ' ve ' re all going to die someday. What ' s
    important is how we choose to live until the day of our judgment
    comes... 238
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    Six Weeks in Aspen Springs
    The doctors say I'm making progress, however they define that. I'm mostly over Emily, I guess, so something inside me has changed. I no longer feel mad with desire for her, deranged by my inability to see her, talk to her. I haven't heard what happened after she broke down, admitted guilt. Not a single word, though I've begged Dr. Boston to ignore the rules, confide details of Em's self-imposed destruction. Despite our rapport, she maintains, You know I can ' t
    do that, Conner It could adversely affect your therapy.
    Please don ' t pursue this further 239
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    Once I even went so far as to reach across her desk, rest my hand lightly on hers, and say, "Then teach me how
    not to care about someone who was everything to me. All I want is to know she's okay. Is that too much to ask?"
    She flinched but didn't move her hand. No. But it's more
    important that we talk about you. Understand? 240
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    The Only Way
    To find my answers, learn anything more, is to do what it takes to let Level Three take me out the front door.
    Even supervised outings should give me the chance to make a covert phone call. Until then, I'll play "good."
    I've swallowed most of my pride, dressed down in sweats, showered naked with creeps, some of them way too obsessed with checking out other guys.
    It's worse than any football locker room, because while jocks can be crude, perverse
    even, they all have girlfriends
    waiting outside. These losers
    have no one but each other, one reason I haven't tried 241
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    to buddy up too close. Still, I stay cordial. No need to make enemies. Besides, halfway going along with the Aspen Springs
    game plan has netted me Level Two. Unimpressive. Funny, I never regretted not
    learning Ping-Pong until now. Even Stanley can beat me, and I haven't a clue how--he's too fat to move fast, so it must have more to do with spin. Whatever. Losing
    every game to Stanley is beginning to wear thin. 242
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    So I'm Pushing Hard
    To graduate to Level Three. I've kept my nose to the grindstone in school, stroked my way past Dr. B.
    Now I've just got to convince Dr. Starr. The bulldog is waiting for me right now, sitting as far back from the patient's chair as the wall will allow, as if "suicidal" were contagious. Working the bulldog takes more than skill.
    It takes subtlety. "Good afternoon, Dr. Starr. You look lovely in that shade of maroon." Okay, not great.
    She grimaces. Let ' s get down to business, Mr. Sykes.
    When we last left off we were discussing your sister 243
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    I don't want to talk about Cara, but we're playing by Dr. Starr's rule book. I shut my eyes, see my twin's
    face, so like my own--soft, toffee brown