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exclaimed Cleo. “What happened?”
    Suddenly I felt very tired. “Let’s get our drinks first.”
    When we were settled at a table, I told Cleo about finding Caden unconscious and the long wait for the ambulance. About the scene at the hospital when the kids’ mother told Mom she didn’t want me left alone with Emerson.
    Cleo rested her chin on her hand. Her eyes hardly left my face as talked. I told her everything, even about the blood. Caden so still and pale. Everything.
    The whole time we talked, my hand kept drifting toward my pocket, then back to the table. I shook a sugar packet until the sugar settled at one end, then the other. Was this how smokers feel, I wondered, when they try to quit? Twitchy. Nervous. Spaced out.
    â€œI’m only allowed to use the computer at home for homework,” I told her. “And I’ve probably lost my job too. Now I’ll never get back to Calgary.” I tore the sugar packet into tiny pieces and piled them into a little heap. “Everything is the pits.” A tear splashed on the table.
    â€œThat’s a bummer,” Cleo agreed. “But I’m sure Caden will be fine. He’s a tough little guy. And hey!” She grinned at me. “We can hang out more. Now you don’t have to babysit. And without your phone or email, you’ll need someone to talk to.” She poked herself in the chest. “And here I am!” She sat back, looking pleased with herself.
    â€œI feel so…kind of…” I groped for the word. “Not abandoned. Adrift,” I said. “Like I’m stuck out here, out of touch with everything that’s going on.”
    I could tell by her face that she couldn’t connect with what I was saying.
    Suddenly I was aware of how hot the restaurant was. It was noisy with clattering dishes and loud voices, ringing phones and the crash of the cash register.
    I felt trapped. Penned in. “I’m out of here.” I drained my drink and crumpled the cup. “I’m heading home.”
    Cleo glanced at the wall clock. “What about social studies? Stryker’s setting the big assignment today.”
    â€œForget socials.” I dropped my cup into the garbage. “Who cares about a dumb assignment.”
    I was running as soon as I was through the door.

Chapter Eleven
    As soon as I got home, I realized I should have gone to the kids’ house first to get my stuff.
    I went downstairs to the den. I shed my jacket as I waited for Dad’s old pc to power up. I found nine emails from Selena. Four from Josie. And they’d posted frantic messages on Facebook too, using caps. WHERE ARE YOU? EARTH TO D!
    I was still mad. With Selena especially. But I was so used to telling them everything. I started an email to explain what was going on. But it sounded lame. Then melodramatic and whiny. I rewrote it, deleted that, then started again.
    I checked the clock on the corner of the screen. They would be at one of their houses. Or at the Little Chef Café.
    I deleted the last message without sending it, grabbed the phone from the kitchen and headed upstairs.
    I dropped onto my bed and adjusted the pillows with one hand as I dialed with the other. I might as well be comfortable if this was to be the last time I ever got to talk to them.
    As soon as Josie answered, I told her about having my phone confiscated.
    I kept my voice low, even though I knew it would be ages before Mom got home.
    Josie and Selena passed the phone back and forth between them. “Are you kidding?” “That can’t be right.” “That’s child cruelty.” “They can’t do that!”
    At last they left enough breathing space for me to tell them why Mom and Dad had confiscated my phone. And why I wasn’t allowed to email. “It’s because one of the kids I was babysitting had an accident while I was on the phone. That’s why I couldn’t call Josie back