Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! (13 page)

Phil thought for another minute. “The point is that you're here talking to us about this face-to-face,” he said. “Ordinarily you would be texting us these insults. This is a big improvement. I'm glad you are enough of a man to talk honestly.”

Pete elbowed Timmy, “Hey, you're a man!”

“Cool,” Timmy answered.

“Congratulations,” said Becca.

It seemed like everyone was going to be friends with each other again, but then Charlie Joe got out his phone and punched a few keys.

“Hey, look!” he exclaimed. “Plain Jane just announced their new contest!”

Timmy and Pete immediately checked their own phones.

“Huh?” Timmy said.

Charlie Joe showed them his phone. “Free tickets to their next concert for anyone named Katie Friedman! Text I LOVE CELL PHONES to claim your prize!”

They all starting convulsing with laughter.

“Ha-ha-ha,” I said, scowling at him.

“Charlie Joe, stop being so annoying,” Eliza said. “Please take your phony phone-using self back to your phony phone-using table.”

That cracked Ricky up. “Yeah, phonies!” he said. “Go phone somewhere else!”

Everyone laughed and repeated the word
phonies
. All of a sudden we had a new nickname for the phone-users of the world.

“If we're phonies,” Charlie Joe said, “then you're cavemen. You're living in prehistoric times.”

“Yeah, you're cavemen,” Pete said. “You should probably leave now so you can start hunting for dinner.” Then he laughed way too loudly at his own joke.

“Okay, enough you guys,” I said. “Charlie Joe, let's not turn this into a big thing. You're obviously entitled to your phones and your texting and whatever, just like we're entitled to sit at lunch and have interesting conversations.”

Charlie Joe raised an eyebrow. “So you're saying people with phones don't have interesting conversations?”

I sighed. “I'm saying when everyone is staring down at the little device in their hands, there's not a lot of connecting going on. Like right now. We're disagreeing, we're getting on each other's nerves, but at least we're connecting. Right? That's what this week is all about.” I paused, because I wasn't sure I should say what I was about to say. But then I said it anyway. “If it's too intense for you, that's fine. You can go back to your cat videos and Instagrams and Snapchats. What we're doing isn't for everyone. I get it.”

Charlie Joe stopped smiling at that moment, and looked at me for a minute like he didn't know who I was. “Wow, Katie. I never thought I'd see the day when you would actually say out loud that you thought you were better than me.”

“I'm not saying I'm better than you,” I said. “Different, that's all.”

Charlie Joe shook his head slowly. The fun and games were over.

“Let's go, you guys,” he said. “The cavemen are too good for us. Let's go back to the twenty-first century where we belong.”

“Yeah,” Timmy said.

“Let's,” Pete said.

As we watched them walk away, Ricky muttered, “See ya later, phonies.”

“Phonies!” Tiffany squealed, laughing. “What a hilarious nickname.”

As everyone got busy congratulating one another for being so clever, I kept watching Charlie Joe. He was staring down at his phone, but I'm not sure he was reading anything. I felt bad. I felt good. I felt guilty. I felt proud. I felt happy. I felt sad. And I felt right.

Communicating is complicated.

 

32

IT'S FOR YOU

So it was official:
There was an “us versus them” thing going on.

The war escalated in language arts, when Ms. Kransky asked me and Jake to talk in front of the class about our decision to give up our phones.

“I would like everyone to hear from these impressive young students, who have recognized a problem and are trying to do something about it,” she said. “We can all learn something from them.”

Talk about a foolproof way to get everyone to hate you.

Two minutes after we started talking about how great it was to sit at lunch and actually look at each other, among other wonderful things about a phone-free existence, an actual phone started ringing.

Charlie Joe held his hand up.

“I think I'm getting a call,” he said. He got out his phone. “Hello?” Charlie Joe listened for a second. Then he held the phone out toward me. “It's for Katie.”

“Charlie Joe, put that away,” Ms. Kransky ordered.

Charlie Joe looked concerned. “What if it's an emergency?”

For a second I got scared. Could he possibly not be making a joke for once?

“CHARLIE JOE!” commanded Ms. Kransky.

“Okay, fine,” Charlie Joe said, putting away his phone. “But you get my point. If someone really did have something important to tell Katie, or Jake, or any one of the Cavemen who gave up their phones, how would they do it? What if it was an emergency? Cell phones are not horrible. They're incredibly useful. They can even help save lives.”

“You're making a good point,” Ms. Kransky said. “You're just making it the wrong way. One more stunt like that and you'll be in detention.”

“Yes, Ms. Kransky,” Charlie Joe said sweetly.

Then, incredibly, another phone beeped.

Nareem's, of all people.

He turned red and fumbled for his phone.

Ms. Kranksy had had enough. “TURN ALL PHONES OFF!”

“Sorry,” Nareem mumbled. “My mother sometimes texts to ask me what I'd like for dinner.

“And THAT sums up the problem,” Ms. Kransky said. “Charlie Joe is right, phones and texting can be wonderful tools. But that's lost under all the unnecessary noise and distractions and time wasting they also cause.”

Jake and I nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Thank you, kids,” Ms. Kransky said to us. “You may return to your seats.”

We sat down.

“And I'm sure Charlie Joe apologizes for calling you ‘Cavemen,'” Ms. Kransky added, shaking her head.

“Oh, we don't mind,” Jake said. “We kind of like it, actually.”

I smiled, adding, “It's better than being called ‘Phonies.'”

 

33

SHOW ME YOUR MOVES

I've always loved
recess—who doesn't?—so I'm really happy we still have it in middle school. The adults say it “helps the students exercise their bodies and exercise their social skills.”

I don't know about that, but it's definitely nice to get outside in the middle of the day.

You can do whatever you want at recess. Some kids play sports, other kids gossip, a few kids read quietly. It's usually pretty much a free-for-all, with the boys going one way and the girls going another.

But that doesn't mean the boys don't text the girls the entire time. And vice versa.

But that week, things were different.

After a few days, us Cavemen had our recess routine down: head to the far end of the blacktop to hang out. Monday, Celia and Jackie had discovered that they each liked knitting, so they started bringing their stuff to school and knitting matching sweaters for their two favorite teachers to give as end-of-year presents. And on Tuesday, Eliza and I realized that her birthday was the same as my mom's, and they both loved roller coasters, so we decided to have a big double-birthday bash at Six Flags. (It won't ever happen—trust me—but it sounded awesome at the time.)

By Wednesday's recess, one thing was clear: the Phonies were pretty tired of watching the Cavemen become one big happy family, and they were ready to do something about it.

I first noticed something was different when I got outside and Pete was hanging out on our side of the blacktop with his obnoxious friend Eric, who I hadn't liked ever since fourth grade, when I saw him pick his nose and wipe it on the shirt of the girl in front of him (she never noticed, luckily).

The rest of the Cavemen were hanging back, not sure what to do.

I went up to Pete. “What are you guys up to?”

Pete shrugged. “What do you mean, what are we up to?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I just thought, you know, like this is usually where
we
hang out.”

He smirked. “It's a free country, last I checked.”

Then Eric got out his cell phone and punched in a number. “We're ready,” he said into the phone.

Suddenly it seemed like the whole grade was running over to the blacktop. They were all holding something over their heads. As they got closer, I could tell what they were.

Cell phones.

Timmy and Charlie Joe were in front of everyone else, as they came running up to me and the rest of the Cavemen.

“Everybody ready?” Timmy yelled.

“Yeah!” everybody answered.

Charlie Joe cupped his hands to his mouth. “1 … 2 … 3!”

On “3,” everyone pushed a button, and a song began to play. On everyone's phones. At the exact same time. Loudly.

“Show Me Your Moves,” by Plain Jane.

Definitely her dance-iest song.

Show me your moves

And I'll show you mine

We can decide

Whose moves are more fine

Show me some style

Show me finesse

And I'll show you how good

I can look in this dress.

Show me the right stuff

And leave out the wrong

And I'll show you I love you

'Til the end of the song.

Suddenly, the blacktop was covered with people. And they were all dancing. People who think dancing is the dorkiest thing in the world were dancing. People who think dancing at recess is even dorkier were dancing. Even Charlie Joe Jackson was dancing.

Everyone was dancing.

And it turns out fifty cell phones playing the same song can make a pretty loud racket.

Charlie Joe came over to me and smiled. I tried to smile back.

“I thought you were way too cool to ever dance!” I shouted. “Especially at recess!”

“It's a special occasion!” he shouted back. “This is my favorite Plain Jane song! It doesn't have one of her preachy messages. It's just plain fun!” And he danced away.

Meanwhile, the only people not dancing were the Cavemen. We watched, not sure what to do. We all looked at each other.

I walked over to Becca. “Can you believe this?”

She shook her head. At least, I thought she shook her head. But then it kept shaking, and I realized that she was actually moving to the beat.

“Becca!” I said.

She looked at me. “What? I love this song!” And in the next instant, she ran out to the blacktop and joined the dance party.

The rest of the Cavemen followed in two seconds.

I was the last one standing on the sidelines. Even Eliza, my cofounder of the Cavemen, was out there, dancing up a storm. “Sorry,” she mouthed to me, while slithering up to Charlie Joe.

I watched, wanting desperately to join in, but I couldn't. I was either too proud or too annoyed. Probably both. After a few seconds, I felt someone come up beside me. It was Ms. Ferrell, my guidance counselor.

“You guys should play this at the talent show,” she said.

 

34

WHAT THE HEART WANTS

That night we hit the halfway
point—which meant the Halfway Point Barbecue.

I was getting ready to go to Tiffany's house when my mom knocked on my door.

“You have a phone call.”

I could tell who it was by the amazed smile on her face.

I raced to the kitchen to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Well, hey there,” came that familiar, rock 'n' roll voice. “Just checkin' in. Glad to hear you're holding up your end of the bargain.”