Free Breaking Point by Alex Flinn Page A

himself couldn’t have come up with a word for Amanda Colbert.
    â€œEvery year, Dad promised we were somewhere to stay. But every September, there I was, staring at the linoleum. Different schools, same sinking feeling.”
    Amanda sat three seats behind me. Impossible angle. Still, I strained to watch. She’d never read in class before. I couldn’t remember hearing her voice. Now, her eyes didn’t leave the paper. Her reddish hair fluttered across her forehead, obscuring her face. She didn’t fix it. She was scared. Suddenly, the feelings I’d been having for girls in general since coming to Gate all concentrated themselves on one girl. This girl. This girl was different. This girl was real.
    This girl was Gray St. John’s ex-girlfriend. He still liked her, Meat had said. She might as well have a sign hanging around her neck: LOOK, DON’T TOUCH.
    Still, I watched. She kept reading, about sitting alone at lunch, crying in her pillow every night. “I thought I’d never make friends,” she said.
    I know what Binky would have said. Poor baby. Such a deprived childhood . But me, I longed to reach back through the years and comfort her. I’d been there too.
    She looked up and met my eyes. A second, no more. It meant nothing. But she smiled.
    I forced my eyes down to my paper.
    I was still recovering from the Great Bagel Caper when Charlie sent another shock wave. Friday morning, I fumbled through my books, mentally preparing for the exhilarating change from religion to Algebra II. Down the hall, Mr. Motter talked to Miss Bundy. A jock named Pierre, one of the guys who’d mooned me the first week, grabbed Emily’s lacrosse stick, making like he’d hook Motter’s toupee. The assembled clones cheered. Motter walked on, oblivious. Charlie emerged from the mob.
    He leaned against my locker. “You free after school?”
    He wanted more homework help. Still, I said, “The usual.” Not mentioning that the usual was going over to Binky’s house.
    â€œBlow it off,” Charlie said. “We should hook up after school. You could come over my house.” Charlie was already looking elsewhere.
    â€œSure.” I glanced around. Did anyone else see us talking? Yes. Down the hall, Binky frowned. I met her eyes, then looked back at Charlie. “Are St. John and Meat—?”
    â€œNo, just you. I’m not a pack animal.” He shifted his book bag. “If you can.”
    He walked away. Binky was still standing, watching us. When Charlie left, she came over.
    â€œWhat were you talking to him about?”
    â€œNothing. I mean, he had a question about the assignment—he’s in my Algebra II class.” Did she know I was lying? That Charlie was in none of my classes?
    She did. I was sure. But she said, “Oh.”
    â€œI need to get to class.”
    Binky smiled. “Algebra, right? The one Charlie Good’s in with you.”
    I shifted foot to foot. “Yeah, well, he transferred in.”
    â€œWhatever.” She shrugged. “See you after school, then?”
    â€œCan’t.” Shifting faster, desperate to get away. “I’ve got stuff, family stuff.”
    â€œNext week, then.”
    She started toward Motter’s room, then turned and waved. I waved back and went in the opposite direction. But somehow I knew I wouldn’t be visiting Binky’s house next week or ever again.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Later, we pulled into Charlie’s driveway in his Mercedes. My first ride, and I was shotgun.
    I crossed the threshold, eyes open, looking for something but not sure what. Something to explain what made Charlie—well, Charlie. Yet, the house, though rich and beautiful, was ordinary. Beige. The right number of books on the correct number of shelves. Even the pool, surrounded by palms through the French doors, was typical around there. The tennis court occupied the prized spot beside it. Nothing