Disconnect by Lois Peterson Page B

legs was encased in a blue Aircast.
    â€œAre you okay?” I asked.
    â€œNo blood spilled.” The woman smiled. “Not bad news, I hope.”
    â€œPardon me?”
    â€œYou were so intent on your phone.” The woman eased herself down onto the bench.
    â€œI was checking on my friends.”
    â€œYou’re meeting up with them, I expect,” she said. “You better get on.”
    â€œNo. They’re back in Calgary. One has a dance recital tonight. I was texting to wish her good luck.”
    The woman nodded. “My grandsons do a lot of that. I hardly get a word out of them when they visit.”
    Another text alert beeped. “I better get going,” I said.
    â€œYou go ahead. Nice to meet you.” The woman pulled her shopping cart close. “I’ll just sit here for a bit.”
    I was heading out the door by Safeway when I saw Cleo coming my way, loaded down with grocery bags. Striped mittens swung from her sleeves. “I thought you were babysitting,” she said.
    I felt myself flush. “I’m headed there now.”
    â€œI could walk you.”
    â€œI’m in a bit of a rush.”
    As I stood on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, I realized that it wasn’t my sparkling personality that Cleo was interested in.
    She was new too. She didn’t have any friends here and thought I might do.
    I already had all the friends I needed. Even if they were miles away. And one was having another meltdown.

Chapter Three
    I finally gave in to Mom’s nagging and decided I would babysit for her friend. My real motive was knowing it would take more than my stingy allowance to get back to Calgary.
    On my first visit to meet the kids, they looked sweet, sitting at the table.
    â€œThis is Emmy,” said Ms. Clarkson. The girl’s hair was red and curly. “And this is Caden.” His mom ruffled his straight hair. “Sit down, please. Can I get you a snack?”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks, Ms. Clarkson.”
    â€œCall me Cynthia.”
    â€œDo you got LEGO?” Caden asked me.
    â€œThat’s all he thinks about,” Emmy said.
    â€œI still have mine from when I was little,” I told Caden.
    He grinned at me. “Do you want to see my space station?” He slid down from his chair and darted from the room.
    â€œHe will make you look at it, even if you don’t want to.” Emmy rolled her eyes. “It is his pride and joy, that’s what Mommy says. I don’t have a pride and joy.”
    â€œIs Emmy short for Emily?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s Emerson.” The little girl got down from the table. “Not all Emmys are called Emily, you know.” She stood with her hands on her hips. “We have a Ping-Pong table downstairs. Can you play?”
    â€œDaria is going to visit with me for a while,” said her mother.
    â€œAfter, then?” asked Emerson.
    â€œI don’t expect she can stay long this time.”
    My hand itched to wrap itself around the phone. At least five calls had come in since I got to the house. Mostly from Selena, who had only placed bronze in jazz dance and was having a major pity party.
    But I did want this job. “I can play for a little while,” I told Emmy. “But I’m not very good.”
    â€œI am,” said Emmy as she danced out of the room.
    â€œSo.” Ms. Clarkson drank the dregs of Caden’s milk. “I need you Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. From two forty-five until about six. Three hours a day, three days a week.”
    You didn’t have to be in honors math to figure out that was more than three hours a day. “That’s fine,” I answered. I could bring it up later. “Do I have to pick them up at school?”
    â€œThere’s a car pool,” said Cynthia. “But you must be here when they get dropped off.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œI am looking for someone reliable,” she continued.