Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! Page 11

  Then I did something pretty hilarious.

  I reached into my pocket to call my mom.

  Oh, right. NO CELL PHONE.

  Which is when I got a little scared.

  It’s not like I’m a baby: I actually even like horror movies. But I’d never been far from home at nighttime with no way to get in touch with anyone before. It wasn’t a good feeling.

  I remembered what Charlie Joe said earlier in the week, when he held up his phone and said there was a call for me.

  What if something bad actually happened?

  I tried to put that out of my head.

  I was on a busy road, with a very thin sidewalk. Cars whizzed by me, the fumes from their exhaust pipes blasting stinky heat up my nose.

  Oh, and did I mention it started to rain?

  I walked for a few minutes, then jogged for a few minutes, and realized I still had about two miles to go. And there wasn’t even a gas station or anything between here and there.

  I was trying to decide if maybe I should just go up to a random house and ask to use the phone when a car pulled up beside me. The window went down, and I heard a male voice.

  “Do you need a ride?”

  I didn’t turn and look, because people say never make eye contact with a stranger. I just shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  “It’s getting dark out here, young lady,” the voice said. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” For a minute I was tempted to ask this person for their cellphone, but I resisted.

  “Okay,” the man said, and off he went.

  I started to cry a little bit, and started getting mad at myself. How could I ever have thought giving up my cell phone was a good idea? What was wrong with me?!

  Another car pulled up. I started to run. The car was right behind me. I tried to run faster, but I couldn’t. I was wet, and tired, and defeated. I stopped and turned. I would accept their ride, whoever it was. I would just have to hope that the person driving wasn’t an escaped criminal.

  The car window rolled down.

  “Katie? Oh my God, there you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

  It was Becca and her father.

  I started to cry for real.

  I’d never been so happy to see someone in my whole life.

  With the possible exception of Jane Plantero.

  44

  PRETTY TYPICAL MIDDLE SCHOOL STUFF

  I was drier and calmer by the time Becca’s dad dropped me home.

  My mom gave me a huge hug. “Oh my goodness. What were you thinking?!?!”

  Before I could answer, Becca did.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” she told my mom. “Katie overheard me and the other girls saying mean things about her behind her back.”

  “You weren’t saying mean things,” I said. “You were just trying to figure out how to tell me you didn’t want to be in the band anymore. I overreacted.”

  We both tried to smile. “It’s been a long week,” I added.

  “Well, listen,” my mom said. “This all sounds like pretty typical middle school stuff to me. And regardless of what happens with the band, you guys have a big gig tomorrow night, and you need to get some rest.”

  “Nice use of the word gig, Mom,” I said.

  “I try,” she said.

  I walked Becca to the door. We looked at each other.

  “Are we still playing tomorrow night?” I asked her.

  She looked unsure. “Do you want to?”

  There were so many ways to answer that question. One of which was, “Not in a million years.” Another of which was, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  The truth lay somewhere in the middle.

  “I think so,” I said. “I think we should.”

  “People would think it was weird if we didn’t show up,” Becca agreed.

  “And Ms. Ferrell would be mad,” I added, and we both tried to laugh.

  We stood there for another minute. There seemed to be so much to say, but we decided not to say any of it. Sometimes, part of communicating is keeping quiet.

  So all we ended up saying was, “See you tomorrow.”

  45

  PRESHOW

  The next day went by so slowly, it felt like it took three weeks.

  Finally, at six o’clock, it was time to go. I got my guitar and amp and headed out to the car. My mom was halfway down our road when I yelled, “Stop!” and told her to go back.

  She drove back to the house, and I ran inside to get the bag of phones.

  * * *

  When I got to the school, I was nervous to go inside. Part of me was wondering if Jackie and Sammie would actually show up. But there they were, hanging out in the orchestra room with Becca, warming up with everyone else.

  When they saw me coming, they looked a little nervous, too.

  “Are you okay?” Sammie said.

  “We were worried about you,” Jackie said.

  “I’m fine,” I told them. “I’m great.”

  Awkward minute-long silence.

  “We didn’t know how to tell you,” Jackie said. “Becca said you would be so upset, and none of us wanted to make you upset.”

  Sammie nodded. “It’s just that we’re not as good musicians as you are.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t blame you guys,” I said. “Becca called me ‘bossy’ the other day, and she was right. I wanted to turn CHICKMATE into my band, instead of our band. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Jackie whispered.

  Becca touched my shoulder. “We’re really proud of you for writing a song.”

  “When you become a famous musician some day,” Jackie said, “I want front-row seats.”

  “Wow, I’m glad that’s over with,” I said. “Now we can get back to the business of being incredibly nervous about the show.”

  We laughed, and felt better, and started to relax.

  Meanwhile, Sammie was nodding her head. “Okay, now I get it.”

  We looked at her. “Get what?” I said.

  “Now I get what life is like without a cell phone.”

  The rest of us looked at each other, confused.

  “This conversation!” Sammie went on. “If you guys had your phones, we would have had this conversation last night on text, and it would have been so different. This is so much cooler! This is real connection!” She took out her phone and handed it to me. “I want to give up my phone, too!”

  I laughed. “Well, you’re a little too late,” I said. Then I held out the bag of phones to Becca and Jackie. “Congratulations. You made it.”

  They hesitated, then peered wide-eyed into the bag, almost as though they were looking at buried treasure.

  “Wow,” Becca said. “There they are.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight,” Jackie said.

  Then they laughed, grabbed their phones, and stared at them like they were long-lost friends.

  “This may be the greatest day of my life,” Becca said.

  Frowning, Sammie watched them excitedly turn on their phones. “I don’t get it, you guys,” she said. “Didn’t you love not having your phones? Weren’t you incredibly proud of being Cavemen?”

  “I did love being a Caveman,” Becca said, turning on her phone. “But I love being a Phonie more.”

  Then she quickly took a picture of Sammie’s shocked face.

  46

  HAPPY REUNIONS

  I spent the rest of the preshow finding the other Cavemen and giving them all their phones back. Everyone pretty much had the same reaction as Becca and Jackie: pure joy. Probably the best reaction was Eliza’s, who squealed, jumped for joy, turned on her phone, took a selfie, and posted it online, all in about three seconds.

  “I’ve missed you so much!” she cooed to her phone, petting it like a puppy.

  The last people I returned phones to were Jake and Hannah. I found them sitting in the auditorium, talking to each ot
her and holding hands, waiting for the show to start.

  I watched them let go of each other’s hands, take their phones and turn them on—Jake had a bunch of texts come in, probably all from his mom. Then I watched them each stare at their phones for a few minutes. Finally I sat down next to them.

  “Can I ask you guys something?”

  They looked up from their phones and waited.

  “Three minutes ago, you were talking and holding hands. Then the minute I gave you your phones back, you started ignoring each other and kind of went into your own worlds.” I stopped for a second, trying to figure out how to put it. “Isn’t that the whole reason we gave up our phones in the first place?”

  Hannah put her phone in her backpack.

  “We gave up our phones for a week because it seemed like an interesting thing to try, and we wanted to see if we could do it,” she said. “And we did. But I would never give it up, like, forever.” She looked at Jake. “And you don’t have to worry about us. We communicate just fine.”

  Jake was answering a text, though, and didn’t even hear her.

  47

  SHOWTIME

  We were scheduled to perform right after Louie Capistrano, who recited the National Anthem backward.

  Brave the of home the and

  Free the of land the O’er

  It was pretty amazing. He knew the whole thing by heart. By the time he got to See You Can Say O, the place was going nuts.

  “How are we going to top that?” Becca whispered to me, backstage.

  “Good question,” I answered.

  Mr. Radonski, our very intense gym teacher, was the host of the show. “How about another hand for Louie and his ‘Star-Spangled Backward’!” he yelled, and the place went crazy again. Oh, great.

  He made the calm-down motion with his hands. “And now, let’s welcome to the stage, the rock and roll sounds of CHICKMATE!”

  Everyone clapped as we ran onto the stage and grabbed our instruments. I adjusted the mike. “Hey, everyone, what’s up? We’re CHICKMATE,” I said, trying to be as cool as Jane Plantero but obviously not even coming close. “We’re going to start with some Joan Jett.” I nodded to Sammie behind the drums, and she counted off: “1-2-3-4!”

  As we launched into the song, people started cheering. Becca and I sang in unison. The people in the audience who knew the song sang along with every word. We sounded really good, I think. Everyone in the band smiled at one another as we played. It felt great.

  Music is so powerful. Whether you’re listening to it or playing it yourself, it is amazing how it can take you to a better place. I think that’s why I really want to be a musician, to write the songs that help other people get to that place.

  We finished “I Love Rock and Roll” and went right into “California Gurls.” By the time we finished that one, the crowd was just as loud as when Louie Capistrano did his crazy backward trick.

  Sammie came out from behind her drums to the front of the stage, and we all did a group hug.

  “We did it!” Jackie yelled.

  “That was amazing!” Sammie yelled.

  “I can’t believe it!” Becca yelled.

  Then they all waited for me to say something.

  “You guys are awesome,” I said finally.

  We hugged again, then went down to the front of the stage. We held hands and took a bow. The crowd cheered even louder.

  I soaked it all in, even though a voice inside my head kept repeating one thing:

  CHICKMATE is over.

  48

  ENCORE

  While the audience was still clapping, Mr. Radonski came out with a microphone in his hand. I waved one last time and started to leave the stage, but Becca stopped me.

  “Wait just a second,” she said. Then she nodded to Mr. Radonski.

  “As a special treat,” he said into the mike, “we would like Katie Friedman to play her new original song that she’s just written.”

  I heard him speaking, but I wasn’t sure I understood the words. My heart started to race, and electric currents started jolting my skin. I turned to Becca.

  “What did he just say?”

  She was smiling. “I told you I wanted to hear the song, didn’t I? Well, let’s hear it.”

  The crowd started cheering again. Some kids were chanting “Katie! Katie! Katie!” I stood there, in shock.

  After a minute, I was finally able to pull myself together and pick up my guitar. The crowd got quiet, and I stepped up to the mike.

  “Wow,” I said. Then, “Um.” After a few more seconds, “Okay.”

  Pretty rock star of me, huh?

  But gradually, my heartbeat started to return to a human level, and my nervous system was no longer on fire, and I started to calm down.

  Okay. You can do this.

  “I’ve never played this song for anyone before,” I said, and the crowd roared. “I just finished writing it actually.”

  For some reason my eyes searched out Nareem in the audience. I found him, staring back at me with a weird half-smile on his face. I didn’t have time to try and figure out what it meant, though.

  “I hope you like it.”

  I strummed a few chords on my guitar to make sure it was in tune, then played the first chord of the song.

  I closed my eyes and sang.

  How do you

  Speak the words

  That you never thought would be spoken?

  How do you

  Break the heart

  That never has been broken?

  How do you

  Find the strength

  To finally walk out the door?

  How do you

  Tell the one you loved

  You don’t love them anymore?

  I want to know.

  I need to know.

  I have to know right now.

  I’m on my knees

  So someone please

  Please come show me how.

  My eyes were still closed. I think I was afraid to look out into the audience. But I could hear just fine. And when the crowd let out a deafening roar, my eyes jolted open. What was going on?

  A voice behind me started singing.

  How do you

  Look someone in the eye

  When you’re not sure what you want to see

  I knew the voice. It kept singing.

  How do you

  Say the words

  There is no more you and me.

  I turned around and saw her.

  Jane Plantero.

  She was right there, on the stage of my middle school auditorium, walking toward me. She was wearing a white T-shirt and torn jeans. In one hand she held a microphone, and in the other, she was holding the crumpled-up lyric sheet that I’d sent her a week before. She was smiling. And she was singing.

  How do you

  Resist the urge

  To hide behind a screen?

  How do you

  Know it’s time

  To give up the machine?

  Even though she didn’t exactly know the melody, she still sounded AMAZING. I guess that’s why she’s a rock star.

  I stared, disbelieving, as Jane reached me. She put her arm around me. “Join me for this last chorus,” she said.

  So I did.

  I want to know.

  I need to know.

  I have to know right now.

  I’m on my knees

  So someone please

  Please come show me how.

  Then Jane gestured to the wings of the stage and the rest of the band came out. We sang the last part of the song again.

  How do you

  Resist the urge

  To hide behind a screen?

  How do you

  Know it’s time

  To give up the machine?

  I want to know.

  I need to know.

  I have to know right now.

  I’m on my knees

  So someone please

  Please come show me how.


  This time I kept my eyes wide open.

  49

  JANE’S PLEA

  After the song ended, the crowd kept cheering and hollering for about six minutes straight. I just kept staring at Jane, still not able to believe she was standing next to me, having just sung my song.

  Finally, she hushed the crowd.

  “I need to tell you guys something,” she said into the microphone. “First of all, it’s great to be back here at Eastport Middle. This auditorium is where I got my start as a singer.”

  The crowd went crazy.

  (From now on, I’m not going to tell you every time the crowd went crazy. Just assume they did, pretty much after every sentence.)

  “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I made a deal with this girl right here. Katie.” As she put her arm around me, I noticed that three-quarters of the audience already had their cell phones out, recording everything. I wondered if Jane would say anything about that.

  “I’m not a big fan of cell phones, and texting, and all that stuff,” she went on. “I know technology is amazing. I know it’s real useful and stuff. But it’s no good if it helps you hide from one another. It’s no good if it isolates you from one another. It’s no good if it makes you mean and insensitive to one another.” She smiled at all the people holding up their cell phones. “And it’s no good if it turns you from a doer to a watcher.”

  She turned to me. “So when I met this girl, and she told me she wanted to write and sing songs, I told her, if she and ten friends gave up their cell phones for a week, I would play her song at my next concert.” She raised her arms to the crowd. “It just turned out that this was my next concert!”

  At that point, the crowd did their best imitation of an insane asylum.

  “Here’s the last thing I’ll say,” Jane said, talking into the mike but looking at me. “You’ve got two good friends in Eliza and Nareem. They sent me that letter you wrote, saying you didn’t live up to your end of the bargain. But they also wrote me a note of their own, telling me about how upset you were, and what a good person you are, and asking if maybe I wouldn’t mind coming here and singing with you.” Jane turned around and looked at the rest of the band. “And when these guys told me backstage that you’d actually finished your song, I knew that we were in business.”