Free Disconnect by Lois Peterson Page A

Cleo.
    â€œWe got here last month.”
    â€œMaybe we should check out town together,” she said.
    â€œI don’t think so.” I picked up my phone and clicked through my messages.
    â€œThat’s a cool phone,” said Cleo.
    Cool? It was at least a year old.
    I was reading another panicked text from Selena when the classroom noise died down. Bags thudded to the floor, chairs scraped and the talking subsided.
    Mr. Jenks swung around from scribbling on the board. “I have your attention. Good.” He scanned the room. “Class. We have a new student joining us. This is Cleo Bennis.”
    â€œHello, all.” Cleo grinned and waved. You’d have thought she was the Queen.
    Snickers came from behind her. A few kids muttered “Hi” as if they couldn’t care less. But no one waved back.
    Keep your head down and mind your own business, I thought. Works for me.
    Cleo was right behind me as everyone swarmed out of the room after class. “So how about it?” she asked.
    Going for gold!!! Wish u were here.
    I looked up from Selena’s message. “How about what?”
    â€œChecking out the neighborhood?” Cleo’s hat strings bobbed as she jostled her way through the door.
    â€œI have to go straight home,” I told her. I sounded like a kindergarten kid, so I added, “I’m babysitting tonight.” As if.
    Cleo’s smile faded. “That’s fine. Okay.”
    I almost felt bad.
    â€œWhat class have you got next?” Cheerful again. “I’ve got honors math.” She tapped her schedule against her cheek. “Where is room nineteen?”
    â€œSecond floor. Next to the girls’ washroom. I’m headed the other way.” I pushed through the crowd, head down, my eyes on my phone screen.
    I could feel Cleo watching me. But I didn’t turn back.
    At the Kave, a guy with green hair sneered, “We don’t hire babies.” At Bookends, they asked for id. I told the McDonald’s manager, whose name tag said his name was Cliff, that I was fifteen. He gave me an application form and told me to return it with my birth certificate.
    It was the same in every store. Even to stock shelves, you had to be fifteen. I had seven months to go. I shoved the McDonald’s paperwork into the nearest garbage can.
    Back home, Josie and Selena and I hung out at the Chinook Center after school most days. We would share an iced cappuccino while we scoured the sales racks at The Gap and checked out the movies and CD s at HMV. Sometimes we did our homework at the food fair. We weren’t total slackers.
    When we started high school together, we came up with a Cool Code of Conduct. One: Keep your head down. If you’re invisible, you can get away with almost anything. Two: Don’t fail. It was like being a fish, Selena said. Slow down, and an eagle swoops down and grabs you. She’s into nature big-time. Three: Stick together. High school—and life—are hard enough. The only way to survive is to stay connected.
    Since my parents dragged me to Delta, the old rules worked. Especially number three. Even with a thousand kilometers between us, Selena, Josie and I were never out of touch.
    When I checked my phone, I had three messages. One panicked one from Selena. Another from her. And one from Mom.
    I checked that first. Selena’s performance nerves were getting boring. It was always the same.
    Home by 5. Pls.
    Wots up? I texted Mom back. Then started one to Selena. Good luck. #? do I have to say it? Break a leg etc.
    I didn’t notice the old lady until she barged into me. I grabbed her shopping cart to regain my balance. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s my fault.” Two harsh dark lines were drawn above the woman’s eyes where her eyebrows should have been. “My daughter said I wasn’t ready,” she said. “But a short walk around the mall, I told her. How could that hurt?” One of her