Detached by Christina Kilbourne

didn’t even know he’d killed someone, thought he’d hit some garbage on the road. It wasn’t until he got home and saw the blood that he called the police and they found my cousin’s body in the ditch. He probably didn’t even see it coming.”
    â€œOh God, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
    â€œI was only a baby when it happened. But at least he didn’t cause a huge pile up,” Kyle continued. “I mean, if the driver had seen him and swerved, it could have killed a whole bunch of people.”
    â€œThat would have been pretty awful.”
    When we got to school we said goodbye and headed in different directions. I walked to my locker and thought again about the busy highway. The idea that a desperate person could cause an accident and kill innocent people didn’t sit well with me. If there was a God and I had to meet him, explain to him why I took my own life, I sure didn’t want to have to be responsible for any other lives. I mean, just because I wanted to die didn’t mean I wanted anyone else to get hurt. I still had a conscience. I wasn’t a total sketch.
    I was just closing my locker when Aliya walked up.
    â€œDid you go out for volleyball?” I asked.
    â€œThey ended up cancelling intramurals today. The gym is set up for an assembly. What happened to you, anyway? You missed class.”
    â€œJust walked around and stuff. Lost track of time. I hope they don’t call Mom. She’ll freak.”
    â€œWas Kyle enjoying the nice weather too?” Aliya threw back her head and laughed, then leaned close to me and started singing, “Anna and Kyle, sitting in a tree. K-i - s - s - i-n -g.”
    â€œWhatever. I just ran into him.” I kept my cool, but my hands started to sweat. I was afraid my lies were about to collide.
    When I got home after school and saw Mom’s car was already in the driveway, I knew I was in for it. But when I walked in the house and saw my bridge painting leaning against the living-room wall, I wanted to turn and run. Of course I couldn’t because Mom was sitting right there on the stairs waiting for me. Sherlock left her side and came to me. I patted his head absently. I looked at the painting and cringed, then I dared to look at her. She had that expression on her face, the one that means I’m in for a long talk and she’s expecting a lot of good explanations, not excuses. I knew the smartest thing to do was wait for her to start the conversation. So I stood there with my head down, like a dog that’s been scolded.
    â€œYour principal called. She said you ditched period three.”
    Kaboom! Mom likes to get right to the point.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. It’s always good to start off with an apology, never a defence. “I didn’t mean to miss class but I was working on a sculpture at lunch and lost track of time.”
    â€œYou know your academic work is just as important as your art,” she said.
    â€œI know. I didn’t mean to miss class.”
    â€œI was worried about you. I tried to call but you didn’t pick up.”
    I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw there were three missed calls.
    â€œOooops. I had the ringer turned off. Mrs. Galloway hates phones in her classroom.”
    Mom sighed out loud with defeat and I sighed inside with relief. If she hadn’t been blocking the stairs, I would have fled to my room. But when she turned her attention to the painting, I braced myself.
    â€œI don’t think I need to tell you where I found this.” The sarcasm in her voice was as thick as ketchup and she didn’t wait for me to answer. “I thought you said you gave it to Mrs. Galloway?”
    I wondered if I could get away with back-to -back apologies and decided it was my only chance.
    â€œI’m sorry I lied. I just don’t like the painting. I find it depressing.” The last word caught in my