Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! (4 page)

“You sound like Jane,” Nareem said, smiling. “Don't control—connect!”

“Well, she's right, don't you think?”

Nareem shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Right at that moment, of course, I got a text. I ignored it, which wasn't easy. Anybody knows that ignoring an unread text, when it's just sitting there on your phone, is one of the hardest things to do in the entire world.

“You got a text,” Ru announced, unnecessarily.

“You're not going to read it?” Nareem asked.

“No.”

He started to laugh. “Come on. Get it. You know you want to.”

“I don't! Seriously, I don't.”

We rode in silence for a minute until finally I said, “Fine,” and pulled out my phone.

It was from Charlie Joe.

How was the concert with your not-ex-boyfriend?

I put my phone away.

“Who was it?” Nareem asked.

I shook my head. “My mom, just wanting to know when I'd be home.”

Second lie.

I'd never lied to Nareem before, and now I had told him two lies in two minutes.

Not a good sign.

 

8

MEET THE PARENTS

The first thing
I did when I got home was obsess over the pictures and videos I took at the concert.

Then I posted them online and sat back, waiting for all the comments and likes to start pouring in.

Which is when my mom poked her head in.

“Are you going to tell us about the concert?”

“In a minute.”

She sighed as she walked away.

Listening to her sigh, I sighed.

I should probably mention that my mom and dad are both therapists. They're big into communication and connection. Kind of like Plain Jane, but without the power chords.

Which is great, usually, and I love them and we get along really well, but sometimes they're a little bit more into communication than I want them to be, and sometimes they ask too many questions.

And sometimes, a single question is too many.

A few minutes later, my mom knocked again.

“Hold on,” I called.

The third time, a couple of minutes after that, my dad was with her. This time they wouldn't take no for an answer.

“Tell us about how tonight went,” they said, marching into my room.

“It was awesome,” I answered, not taking my eyes off my computer. Responses were starting to come in to my concert report—mostly saying various versions of
“OMG I am so jealous!!!”
—and I wanted to be able to read every one of them.

My dad walked up and peered over my shoulder at my computer screen.

“Are you on Facebook?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“I thought we agreed no Facebook until high school.”

“We did, but then I told you that tons of other kids have it, and if I didn't get it I would become socially isolated.” Sometimes you have to talk to a therapist in their own language—especially if it's your dad.

“How much time a day do you spend on this thing?”

“Almost none,” I said, which wasn't technically totally true.

“Between the phone and the computer,” said my mom, “we barely see you anymore.”

“And you're not even in high school yet,” my dad added, piling on.

“Listen, this is how kids communicate these days,” I said. “It's crazy to fight it. You would have actually been proud of me at lunch yesterday, I got mad at the other kids because they were texting when I was trying to tell them something. But everybody basically laughed at me.”

Right on cue, I got a text, which I glanced at quickly. It was from Charlie Joe: 46 LIKES ALREADY!

“Oooh, nice going,” said my mom.

I rolled my eyes. “People just think it's cool that I went to the concert and met Jane.”

“Well, don't be too braggy,” she said. “People don't like braggarts.”

I KNOW! I typed back to Charlie Joe, with my two thumbs. I was the fastest two-thumb typer in the country, by the way. I don't know that for a fact, but it's hard to believe anyone was faster than me.

Charlie Joe and I exchanged about five more texts in the next minute. My parents watched me the whole time, shaking their heads.

“Unbelievable,” my dad said. “Does it ever stop?”

“I think unlimited texting was a mistake,” my mom said.

“I need to check your computer,” my dad said.

“What?!” I put my phone away and shut my laptop. “Don't you guys trust me? I get good grades, I'm normal, I'm nice, I empty the dishwasher—what else do you want from me?”

My mom sat down on the bed next to me and kissed my cheek.

“A short description of the concert would be nice,” she said.

 

9

DIFFERENT DREAMS

There were four
of us in CHICKMATE: myself on guitar and lead vocals; Becca Clausen, who started the band with me, on guitar and background vocals; Jackie Bender on keyboards; and Sammie Corcoran on drums. We were still looking for a bass player. Turns out there aren't a lot of bass players in middle school—especially girl bass players.

Wednesday night, the night after the Plain Jane concert, we had rehearsal. We usually rehearsed in Becca's basement, because it was soundproof—which was very important to parents—and because it was big enough to hold instruments, amps, drums, and five-foot-ten-inch Becca Clausen.

I got there early, and Becca waved me into the kitchen, where she was eating cereal. “Want some?”

I shook my head. “No thanks, I'm good.”

I watched her eat for another minute.

“Okay, I guess I'll have a little.”

Becca laughed. “No one can resist the power of Froot Loops.” She was right about that.

I helped myself and started chomping away. After a minute Becca said, “I still can't believe you met Plain Jane.”

“I didn't actually meet the whole band,” I said between bites. “Just Jane.”

Becca laughed. “Katie, she
is
the band. She's the lead singer and she writes the songs. It's all her.”

“I guess.” After a few more bites, I decided to bring up the topic of conversation that I'd been thinking about all day, and the reason I decided to get there early. “So, speaking of writing songs, I was … I think we should write one for the talent show.”

Becca stopped eating and looked at me. “Write a song? Us?”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. “I don't know. I'm not a songwriter. I'm not even a real musician, the way you are. I'm a basketball player who plays a little bit of guitar.”

“That's not true.”

“Besides, at talent shows people want to hear songs they know,” Becca said. “What if we write something terrible and everyone laughs at us?”

I was afraid of that, too, but I remembered what Jane said about taking chances and tried to put any doubts out of my head. “That won't happen,” I said.

She put the milk away just as the doorbell rang. “Let's ask Jackie and Sammie.”

I felt myself getting frustrated. “I don't care about Jackie and Sammie, Becca. I want to know what
you
think. You and I started this band, and we can decide what we want to play. Doing an original song would be so fun and cool. I know it's risky. But let's do it.” I saved the best for last. “And guess what? If it's good, Jane said she would listen to it!”

Becca laughed. “Oh, right,” she said. “Jane Plantero is going to listen to some song written by a couple of kids. Why would she do that? Just because she went to the same school as us?”

“Because she said she would,” I insisted.

“Whatever,” Becca said. “Let's just go rehearse.”

The front door opened, and Jackie and Sammie came into the room. “Froot Loops!” Sammie yelled excitedly.

“Help yourself,” said Becca, getting the milk out again. But her smile was a little forced, and I could tell she was kind of mad at me.

As the other girls chomped away, I pulled Becca aside. “I saw Jane up there, and as I watched her, singing her own songs, it was like I was watching a dream,” I whispered. “And it made me realize dreams come true. We can do this. I know we can.”

Becca started putting the bowls in the dishwasher. “Well, maybe that's the thing.”

“What's the thing?”

She stopped and looked at me.

“Your dream might not be my dream,” she said.

We rehearsed for an hour and a half, and neither of us said another word about writing songs.

 

10

THE LAST TEXT

“Katie? Everything okay in there?”

I was at home in the bathroom, and I had the shower running.

“What? I can't hear you!”

“You've been in the shower a long time!”

“Okay, I'm getting out!”

The truth was, I hadn't been in the shower at all. I'd been texting my friends. It was an hour after rehearsal, and there was a lot to discuss. But if I'd been in my room, my parents would have done what they did the other night, knocking every five seconds and looking over my shoulder.

So I decided to “take” a shower. And my mom wanted to know why it was taking so long to get clean.

“You're wasting water!”

“In a minute!”

My phone beeped—incoming. I was mainly texting three people: Becca, Nareem, and Charlie Joe. I was talking to Becca about the talent show, avoiding the topic of writing songs; I was complaining to Nareem that Becca didn't want to write songs; and I was telling Charlie Joe that Nareem was a great boyfriend because he listened without judging.

Are you saying I judge?
asked Charlie Joe.

Stop jumping to conclusions,
I answered.
Nareem is just nicer than you, that's all.

He wrote back immediately:
Hey!

“Katie!” It was my dad. “Turn that thing off!”

You can't pressure her.
From Nareem.

I'm not! I just thought writing songs would be cool.

Becca:
Sorry about today. Don't be mad.

So, she wanted to talk about the songwriting thing after all.

I immediately wrote her back.
i'm totally not mad!

Phew,
she wrote back.
I don't want to hold you back. If you want to start another band with more serious musicians i would totally understand.

Cut it out,
I wrote.
i'm a CHICKMATER for life.

HA-HA,
Becca wrote.

Another knock on the door. I turned the shower off. “I'm drying my hair!”

“For crying out loud,” muttered my dad.

I needed to wrap this up.

TTYL XX,
I texted Becca.

Becca and I just made up!
I texted Nareem.

A text from Charlie Joe:
Well i'm glad you still like Nareem. It actually makes life a lot less complicated. I mean it.

A text from Nareem.
Yay!

“What exactly are you doing in there?” my mom asked.

“I think we need to talk about possibly limiting your phone time,” said my dad. “Enough is enough. This is absurd.”

“Coming!” I yelled. “I swear!”

“Now!” my dad yelled back.

“I can't believe this!” I screamed. “I'm not doing anything wrong!”

“Hurry up!”

I stared down at the phone, my heart pounding. My parents were really getting on my nerves, but if I didn't get out of there, I was going to lose my phone privileges. I quickly typed out one last text.

I didn't say I still liked Nareem. I said he was a great boyfriend. LOL! G2G

I hit send.

Then I unlocked the bathroom door, walked by my parents with a smile, went into my room, and lay down on my bed.