Disconnect (7 page)

“We'll present our report, like we planned. And then I'll tell everyone what gave us the idea for the project.”

“That's already part of the introduction.” “Not just about having my phone confiscated. But why.”

She took a step back and stared at me. “Like, about Caden? I thought you didn't want to go into specifics.”

“We were going to use case studies anyway. The one about the guy who stepped into traffic because he was so busy on his phone. And the girl who didn't hear the truck backing up when she was plugged into her iPod.”

“That's different. No one knows those people,” said Cleo. “But they know you.”

“If we put a face to the risks, it will have more impact, won't it? Like having a real live homeless person is sure to get everyone's attention.”

“I guess that's one way to make friends and influence people!” Cleo looked doubtful. “I can't figure out if you are brave, stupid or suicidal.”

Chapter Fifteen

The class yawned through much of Sara and Shauna's PowerPoint statistics on homelessness. But they sat up and took notice when Dennis shuffled into the room.

It was probably the first time most of us had seen a homeless person up close. His coat was worn, his jeans were rolled up a couple of times and one of his runners had holes in it. I could smell him from where I sat. He told us about the accountant's job he lost after he got sick, about the family he lost when he turned to drink and drugs. Even though his eyes were bloodshot, his face sallow and his hair greasy, he spoke like a professor or a doctor. He sounded educated and had a big vocabulary.

“That's a hard act to follow,” said Cleo as Sara and Shauna showed him out. She pushed the thumb drive with our presentation into the laptop.

“All set?” asked Stryker. “We still have three more presentations to get through today.”

“We're good.” Cleo hit a key. The screen went blank. “Hang on,” she said. “This should work.” She hit another key.

Nothing.

“I'll get it.” I leaned across to help.

She elbowed me aside. “No. Hang on. It can't be that hard.” She slapped random keys, twiddled with the focus on the projector. “It worked a minute ago. Shauna must have done something to mess things up.” Cleo bit her lip so hard, I expected the ring to pop out. She yanked her hat on tighter and rubbed her bright red face with her hand. “How hard can it be?”

“It's fine,” I told her. “Let me get it going.”

“Go ahead, then. You're the technology whiz.” She stomped back to her seat.

But by now, the laptop had frozen and the projection screen was blank.

“Can I help?” Ms. Stryker fiddled with all the knobs. But she could not bring the setup back to life.

“You could try rebooting the laptop,” said Drew.

“I'll reboot you,” Cleo muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Stryker checked her watch. “Time's a-wasting here,” she said. “Perhaps you would prefer to present with tomorrow's group.”

“It's fine. I have copies of the slides here,” I told the class. “We can work from these.”

“Cleo, are you going to come up and present with Daria?” asked Ms. Stryker.

“I'm fine,” she muttered. “Daria's fine. Go ahead, why don't you?”

I got through our presentation without too much stumbling. Most people listened. Some threw out a remark or two.

“Cleo, how about you join Daria for a quick Q and A?” Ms. Stryker said as I slid the prompt sheets into their folder when I was done. “I can give you two minutes.”

“As long as I don't have to touch that projector thingy again,” said Cleo as she sidled up to stand next to me.

A few friendly laughs went around the room.

“There's a bit more background I need to share,” I said. Having Cleo standing there encouraged me to go on. “We've given you the facts.” It had been
me
, not
we
actually. But I wasn't about to quibble. “About some of the effects of dependence on technology. But I want to tell you why my phone was confiscated for a whole month. Why I am disconnected for another two and a half weeks. Eighteen days to be exact, but who's counting?” I cleared my throat and glanced at Cleo.

She smiled and nodded.

“I had a babysitting job. So I could earn the fare to visit my old friends in Calgary. One day, when I was on the phone—” My voice trembled. I took a deep breath. “The little boy I was babysitting, Caden, he fell off the bed and bashed his head. He knocked himself out. There was blood everywhere.” My voice sounded very loud. “He could have died,” I said. “Because I was not paying attention. My parents confiscated my phone, and I got fired. A little boy nearly died. Because of me.”

As I was wondering how I could get out of there, Harrison asked from the back row, “So what happened to the kid?”

Everyone turned to look at him, then back at me.

“He'll be all right.” I touched the back of my hair. “But he had to have twenty-one stitches in his head.”

Some students gasped. Others muttered.

“But he's fine now,” Cleo added quickly.

Harrison clapped. Other students joined in.

I dropped the handouts on the desk.

“Our presentation is about the effects of dependence on technology,” I said. “But you probably know all about it already. In fact, I bet right now most of you can't wait for class to be over so you can check your messages. That's how dependent you all are.”

There was lots of shuffling and nervous laughter.

“Some schools in the States did something called Project Disconnect,” I went on quickly. “The school banned all devices. For a whole month. Not even teachers could use them on school time. Can you imagine! We don't have to go that far, maybe. But perhaps my story—and our project—is enough to make everyone think about their preoccupation with technology.”

“That's it, folks,” said Cleo. “Send your questions by carrier pigeon, if you have any!”

“Thank you, girls.” Ms. Stryker tapped my arm as I went back to my desk. “I'd be interested in knowing more about Project Disconnect.”

A couple of students groaned as I handed her the printout.

“I wonder if this might be worth considering as a class project,” said Ms. Stryker. “What do you all think?”

The room erupted in jeers and cross talk.

“I'm in.” Cleo's voice cut through the noise. “Who's with me?”

There was laughter. Some from the back called out, “You're kidding, right?”

“You don't even have a phone,” Drew said.

“You can't even make a PowerPoint work!” jeered someone else.

“Maybe I can't,” said Cleo. “Maybe I don't,” she told Drew. “But what about you, Mr. Chess Champion? Are you up for it?”

“I've got a chess app on my phone,” he said. “There's an important tournament coming up.”

“Fine. What about you, Harrison?” Cleo asked.

Now,
he
had a nice face, I noticed.

“Okay, okay,” Drew interrupted. “But just for one week. One week and no more.”

“I'm in too.” Harrison pulled his phone from his pocket. He made a big deal of turning it off and dropping it into his bag.

Ms. Stryker watched without speaking as one student after another signed on.

Some of them volunteered on their own, others were bullied into it. Peer pressure at work, I thought as Cleo picked out the kids trying to pretend they were not in the room.

I confronted a girl who was texting under her desk. “You in, Madison?” I asked. “Or are you going to be one of the holdouts?”

When Madison saw everyone staring at her, she slammed down her phone. “Okay. Okay. Now get out of my face.”

“That was interesting. And enlightening,” said Ms. Stryker. “I'll spend a bit of time with this, do some of my own research. I'll figure out how this might work. But for now, we have a few more projects to get through.”

Cleo turned toward me and raised her hand.

We high-fived.

“That has to get us an A,” she said.

Chapter Sixteen

Cleo was wrong.

“
An impressive piece of work.
” Dad read Stryker's comment below the A-minus on the report.

“We deserved an A,” Cleo said for the hundredth time.

“And we might have got one if we hadn't screwed up on the PowerPoint presentation,” I said, being careful not to look at her.

“That's right. Blame it on me.” When she shook her head, the strings on her hat flailed around her head.

“Didn't your teacher tell you that you lost points because you depended on technology for a project on technology dependence? Not because you couldn't make it work?” asked Mom.

“Isn't that the same thing?” I asked.

“No. It's not,” said Cleo. “Besides, we would have aced the project with a better speaker. I'm not saying you didn't do a great job,” she said when she saw the look on my face. “But Dennis DeVos stood out. You, you're just one of the crowd.”

I was, I realized. It had taken a few weeks—and hanging out with Cleo—to feel like I actually belonged here.

“A-minus is a good grade,” said Dad. “Technology aside, it sounds like you both did a great job.”

“To recognize your hard work on this, perhaps we could help with the fare to Calgary for spring break,” said Mom.

Dad nodded.

“Dee and I have plans,” said Cleo. “With a couple of other kids from school.”

Who knew that hanging out with Drew Galling could be a blast? Especially with Harrison making up the fourth. It turned out he was more than just a nice face.

“Dee?” asked Dad. “Daria is Dee now?”

“Cleo thinks it suits me.”

“I guess I'll get used to it.” He left the room muttering, “Whatever is next? Piercings?”

He came back right away with my phone. “I think you've earned this back. I'm sure you've learned from all your recent research. Don't you think?” he asked Mom.

I reached for the phone. Four weeks had sounded like such a long time.

Cleo grabbed it first. “It's nicer than mine.”

“You don't have a phone!” I said.

“Do too! I finally convinced Mom and Dad that they can't live in the dark ages forever.” She passed me my phone and rooted in her bag. “See?” The phone she held out was an old one, as big as a brick. It probably dated back to pioneer times. “Recycled,” she said. “As you might expect.” She grinned at me. “Now we can connect anytime, unless Stryker has her way.”

Dad smiled slyly at me. “Oh. I'm sure clever girls like you can work something out.”

Did he know I had cheated? If so, there was no sign from Mom that he had told her.

While Cleo pressed buttons on her phone, I picked up mine from the table. It fitted my hand, as if it belonged there. I couldn't help it. I turned it on.

Nineteen calls. Texts galore. My fingers itched to scroll through them.

Then I looked at Mom and Dad. They were frowning as they watched Cleo punch the keys of her phone, shake it, hold it up to her ear, glare at it.

I put my phone on the counter.

First call I would make would be to Cynthia. Maybe she would let me speak to Caden and Emerson to see if Caden's hair was growing back and find out how Emmy did with her science project.

I could connect with Josie and Selena later.

I headed to the fridge for the tiramisu Cleo and I had made earlier. While we had mixed and poured, I had told her about the Cool Code of Conduct. She'd asked, “And how has that worked out for you lately?” All I could do was laugh.

She was still fiddling with her phone as I put dessert on the table and passed out forks. “Put that down,” I told Cleo. “I'll help you figure it out later. But first, let's eat.”

Lois Peterson wrote short stories and articles for adults for twenty years before turning to writing for kids. She was born in England and has lived in Iraq, France and the United States. She works at a plublic library and lives in Surrey, British Columbia, where she writes, reads and teaches creative writing to adults, teens and children. Lois is the author of several books for children and youth, including
Beyond
Repair
in the Orca Currents series.

Titles in the Series

o
rca
currents

121 Express
Monique Polak

Agent Angus
K.L. Denman

Bear Market
Michele Martin Bossley

Benched
Cristy Watson

Beyond Repair
Lois Peterson

The Big Dip
Melanie Jackson

Bio-pirate
Michele Martin Bossley

Blob
Frieda Wishinsky

Branded
Eric Walters

Camp Wild
Pam Withers