Detached by Christina Kilbourne Page A

throat.
    â€œI’m beginning to worry about you, Anna.”
    I tried not to flinch. It was a bad sign when she said my name that way. It meant a lecture was coming. The dread made me feel dizzy.
    â€œYou’ve been distant lately, not your regular self. Now you’re ditching classes and lying. Is there something going on at school?”
    â€œIt was one class and nothing’s going on at school. I’m fine.”
    â€œYou’re not having problems with your friends? I know how mean teenage girls can be. I was in high school once too, you know.”
    â€œI’m fine,” I repeated quickly, praying to any higher being who might be paying attention that she wouldn’t launch into one of her high school stories.
    â€œBoy trouble?”
    â€œMom! There’s nothing going on. I’m fine. I just missed class because I have a sculpture due next week and it’s taking longer than I expected.”
    She stood up finally and I felt a rush of relief. At least there was a clear path to my bedroom. But then she stepped over and wrapped her arms around me.
    â€œJust promise you’ll talk to me if you do have a problem.”
    â€œI promise,” I said and waited for her to finish hugging me.
    Â 

Aliya
    Kyle moped around all summer and beat himself up about not asking Anna out for a cup of coffee the night of the art exhibit. He found me on Facebook at least once a week to ask how she was and what she was doing.
    â€œWhy don’t you friend her so you can see for yourself what she’s doing?” I wrote. It was a reasonable suggestion.
    â€œI am her friend, but she’s never online anymore.”
    â€œOMG!” I wrote back that blistering August day when I was feeling impatient from the heat. “Stop torturing us both and call her then. Ask her to a movie or something.”
    â€œI don’t know what she’d like to see.”
    For once I was actually relieved we lived on opposite sides of the city. He was like a curly headed Eeyore — down about everything.
    â€œThen ask her what she’d like to see.”
    â€œIt’d seem too weird. Maybe it’d be better if we went out all together. Something more random.”
    â€œYou want me to be the third wheel and chaperone your date? No thanks!”
    â€œSome friend you are. Won’t even help a guy out. L ”
    â€œSome friend YOU are, torturing a nice girl like me!” I logged off without saying goodbye. I didn’t feel bad either. I figured it would serve him right to suffer alone for the night.
    Kyle’s perfect random event finally happened near the end of September in grade eleven. His older brother, Sam, and a bunch of grade-twelve guys organized a party down at the forks, which is just below the West River Viaduct where the river splits in two. Organizing a party at the forks isn’t really all that difficult. You just have to put out the word about when you’re having a party and show up. The hardest part is being popular enough to interest a crowd. Sometimes three hundred kids will show up and make such a commotion the cops have to come and bust things up. That happened to Anna’s brother when we were in grade nine. He got charged with drinking under age. Anna’s parents were furious. I remember being over for dinner later that week and nobody spoke a word at the table. It was the most uncomfortable meal of my life. At least Mom and I watch TV so we don’t have to listen to ourselves chew.
    Anyhow, even by grade eleven I’d never been to a party at the forks or to any party where drinking was involved. My mom was not big on teenage drinking or partying or generally letting me have any fun. So when Kyle invited me and hinted that I should bring Anna, I laughed out loud in his face.
    â€œDo you listen to anything I say?” I asked. “Do you remember I have the most overprotective mother in the en- tire world? She makes the Queen of