Disconnected by Lisa M. Cronkhite Page B

at least that’s how he presents himself—a little dark, a little edgy. But a lot of what I like. Amelia must be ticked right now, since I disobeyed her orders not to get into Blake’s car. But she was wrong again, for the umpteenth time.
    I pull out my book bag. It seems to be caught on something, so I tug even harder and finally jerk it off of whatever it was snagged on.
    â€œSo you got plans for the weekend?” Blake asks as we both walk up the driveway.
    â€œUmm…kinda, there’s this party. I don’t really want to go but Am…I mean my friend Beth wants to. The guy’s having like the whole senior class there. You wanna go? I mean, no one will even notice you’re from another school. It’s Friday night. He lives on Lawler and 105th Street. Know where that is?” Again I am rambling way too much, yet he doesn’t stop me.
    â€œYeah, my company works around there, too.” He gives me another smile, looking confident that he knows the area.
    â€œSo you’ll go?” It just comes out of nowhere. I have so surprised myself by being so direct that I can actually see the goose bumps rising on my arms.
    â€œNah, I wouldn’t know anyone.”
    Instantly I feel stupid for asking. Even though he does have a point, I keep nudging anyway.
    â€œWell, you’d know me.” I still can’t believe I am being so forward with him. It feels incredibly good and natural, though, so I run with it. He’s not interested in you, Milly. Get over yourself. It’s the second time I’ve heard Amelia since I’ve been with Blake. And as I do, I start to feel uncomfortable again. “Well, I gotta go, see ya later.” I start to walk up the steps of the porch.
    â€œOh, wait! Can I call you then?” Blake asks, standing there at the bottom.
    â€œOh, umm…I don’t have my phone. I lost it actually.”
    â€œWait here,” he says, running to his car and coming back with a paper and pen. And as he writes it down, he asks, “Call me, okay?”
    â€œSure.” I’m so excited at this point, I can’t think straight. It’s the first time I’ve gotten this close to a boy. Here I’m going to be eighteen in a few days and I haven’t even dated. Not even close.
    I wave to him as he goes into the garden across the way, and he waves back. My heart is foaming with joy and happiness (which I haven’t felt in a very long time) and I am glad to hear Amelia isn’t saying anything either.
    I unlock the door and head inside.
    ***
    I get in my room, I close the door and lock it. I then open my book bag and search inside for my journal, but as I’m fishing around for it I don’t see it there. I start to panic, dumping all the contents onto the floor. Out fly some loose sheets of paper, my English book, a few pens, but no journal. I examine the book bag further and realize there is a big rip in it, probably from when I caught it on something in Blake’s car.
    Milly, you are such a dope. Now Blake’s got your journal. Now he’s gonna know you’re all screwed up in the head. And now he isn’t gonna like you anymore. I told you not to take that ride. See now?
    As Amelia rants on and on about what a mistake I made by taking that ride, I start to feel totally regretful. Maybe she was right. Maybe I did leave it in Blake’s car. Great! I can forget him ever liking me now.
    Feverishly, I look around my room to see if I might have left it at home. I run to the nightstand where I usually keep it, opening one drawer, then the next, but no damn journal. I decide to look in every other drawer after that, first my desk, and then my dresser, pulling out all the clothes and books and papers. When my tirade ends, I look around the room with disgust that I made such a mess.
    Now, you’ve done it, Milly , Amelia says.
    â€œJust shut up! Shut up!” I spit out to her. “You are no help