Rosie pleaded hard for her telephone privileges. How else would she know if her reputation was in the toilet? Her mother wouldn’t budge. “What was it you told me? Do the crime, pay the fine?” Mrs. Goldglitt said, raising an eyebrow. Serving detention at home reminded Rosie of last year’s blackout, except that she was the only one dealing with the misery of no electronics, and no one volunteered to play cards with her by candlelight. She did her homework, read a novel, and wrote a letter to her cousin in California, but she was itching to talk to Lauren and her friends. Jimmy loped into the living room and tossed his jacket over the easy chair, despite his mother’s call from the kitchen to hang it up. “Hey, slugger, how’s it goin’?” he said, landing a few light punches on Rosie’s arm. “I heard it on the grapevine that my sister’s a thug.” “Very funny,” said Rosie dejectedly. “Hey, we all hit rock bottom sometime. I beat up Stanley Siddow in the eighth grade, remember?”
