Free Escape Velocity by Robin Stevenson

well.”
    â€œLou.”
    I swallow. “Yeah.”
    â€œI don’t want to see her. I don’t want to talk about her.” She stands up. “She hasn’t been in my life for a long time, and I don’t want her in it now.”
    â€œWhat if she needs help though? You can’t let her live on the streets.”
    Zoe’s face is unreadable, closed off as tightly as a door slamming shut. “I’d like to drop this subject now,” she says. “And Lou?”
    I nod.
    â€œDo not bring it up again.” Her eyes are locked onto mine. “Ever.”
    I nod again and drop my gaze. But there’s no way I can leave this alone. I am going to find some answers. With or without Zoe’s help.

Ten
    T he school is big, noisy and anonymous. I could sit through my classes and move through these hallways for weeks or months and leave again without even making a ripple. I was pretty much invisible at my old school in Drumheller. I have this feeling that if I stay invisible for much longer, I might disappear altogether.
    The fact that I had no friends in Drumheller was my mother’s fault. Or mine, maybe, for eavesdropping on her phone conversation. Not a very likable girl. I decided that if my own mother didn’t like me, no one else would either. I walked into Drumheller High with a wall around me that you’d have needed a jackhammer to crack. Not that anyone bothered to try.
    I wonder if my mother still thinks I am not very likable. I feel a flicker of anger—at her for what she said, and at myself for caring.
    I turn to look at the girl at the desk beside mine. She has dark hair that hangs to her shoulders in a sleek bell-shape. It swings forward when she looks down at her books, so I can’t see her face. She’s a big girl, both tall and heavy, and even though it is warm today, she’s wearing layer upon layer of loose dark clothes.
    â€œHi,” I say.
    She doesn’t hear me at first, or maybe she assumes I’m talking to someone else. I lean toward her. “Hey. I’m Lou.”
    She looks up, and her hair swings back to reveal a doll-pretty face: huge eyes, round cheeks, button nose, skin as smooth and creamy as milk. “Justine,” she says.
    â€œI’m new here,” I tell her. “First day.”
    She shrugs. “Too bad. With ten being maximum suckage, I’d give this school an eight. Where are you from?”
    â€œAlberta. I lived in Vancouver before that though. A couple of years ago.” I wonder what it is like to be as big as Justine, to take up that much space, to have so much weight to carry. Sometimes I can’t stop staring at fat people, even though I know it’s rude and I know I’d hate being stared at all the time. “Um, my dad had a heart attack,” I tell her. “That’s why I had to come here. To stay with my mother.”
    She looks right at me for the first time. “That blows. About your dad, I mean.”
    â€œYeah. Well, he’s going to be okay.” I haven’t spoken to him since Saturday night, and every time I think about him, my own heart starts racing.
    â€œAt least you get to see your mom.”
    â€œMmm.”
    She wrinkles her button nose. “Oops. Not good?”
    â€œComplicated.”
    She drops her eyes. “Sorry.”
    â€œNo. No, it’s fine.” I find myself imitating her nose-wrinkling gesture. “It really is complicated. I’ve never lived with her before.”
    â€œOh.” Justine’s cheeks flush pink.
    â€œSo it’s a little tense. But, you know, fine.”
    The teacher shuffles her papers into a pile and stands up, clears her throat.
    â€œMaybe we can hang out later,” I say quickly.
    Justine looks surprised. “Maybe.”
    I don’t know why I said that. I wish I could snatch back the words. I’m not going to be here long enough to bother making friends, even if I wanted any. Plus I