by Wendy Mass
“That’s all well and good,” she says, “but generations of kids survived just fine without cell phones. Why wouldn’t you?”
For this one, I have an answer all prepared. “Yes, but those generations didn’t have to worry about gangs and drugs and all the violence inspired by video games and television shows.”
Dad laughs. “Gangs? In Willow Falls?”
I redden. “Okay, maybe not gangs. But the other stuff.”
In a shaky voice my mother asks, “Are there drugs at your school? Because if that’s the case, maybe we need to move or —”
“No, Mom,” I say hurriedly. “Don’t worry. Forget the gangs and drugs. I didn’t mean it.” She sags back onto the couch.
I have to scramble to get back on track. In my most calm and professional voice, I say, “But studies have proven that having a cell phone is an excellent idea. What if I’m stranded somewhere or the school bus breaks down or —”
Dad holds up his hand. “Okay, honey, you’ve made your point. As long as you agree to use part of your allowance to insure the phone against its inevitable loss, then you can have that third one on the list. I’ll take you this afternoon.”
My heart soars. I’m not even insulted at Dad’s implying I will lose the phone. I’ll just have to prove I can hold on to it.
“Just a minute,” Mom says, and just as quickly, my heart sinks. “What about the GPS tracking feature of that one we offered you last night? If you’re going to be more independent, I want to know where you are.”
I sigh. I knew she wouldn’t give up on the two-button phone so easily. “This phone has a GPS on it,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice light. “All of them do now. So if I go missing, the police will be able to find me. Plus, the whole idea is that with a phone, you’ll be able to call me anytime you want, so you’ll always know where I am.”
Dad turns to Mom. “Come on, Robin, you’re scaring yourself. Rory can handle her own cell phone without us having to track her every move. We’ve got to trust her to make the right choices now that she’s twelve.”
He winks at me. I smile back gratefully.
“Fine,” Mom says, standing up. “You can get the third one on your chart. Well done on the chart, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I reply, pleased.
“But the first time I call and you don’t answer, you’re giving back the phone.”
I’m about to point out how unreasonable that is, when Dad says, “Robin, that’s a bit unreasonable.” I love my dad. Mom opens her mouth to argue, but Sawyer chooses this moment to run in and announce that his copy of Is Your Mama a Llama? has “fallen” into the toilet. Gotta hand it to that kid. He has a great sense of timing. I might even let him look at my new phone.
From, like, a hundred feet away.
Before Dad and I leave, I flip the chart over so the FINALLY side is on full display for whoever might happen to stroll by and read it. After all, Mom did say I’m good at charts, and this is the best one yet.
Chapter Four
“Why are you driving so fast?” I shout. My hands grip the sides of the seat for dear life as we careen down the street. “Dad, you’re right on top of that car!” I let go of the seat and my hands fly up over my face. I never thought I’d die on my birthday. Just when I’m finally going to get everything I ever wanted, I’ll never get the chance. It doesn’t seem fair.
Dad laughs. “I’m nowhere near him. Things just look different from the front seat.”
When a few more seconds pass without a crash, I allow myself to peek through my fingers. He’s right. Things do look different up here. Without the back of Mom’s or Dad’s seat to obstruct my view, I can see everything. I feel like I’m sitting right on the hood of the car. I lean forward and tentatively touch the dashboard, and then the front window. Probably thick enough to stop me from flying through it if he stops short. Maybe I’ll survive long enough to get my phone, after all. Still, I double (then triple) check that my seat belt is securely fastened.
After we learn that the store down on Main Street doesn’t sell our model, I try to convince Dad to go for one of the other two on my chart, both of which are in stock.
“Have you met your mother?” he asks, heading toward the door. “We can’t come home with anything other than the one we agreed on.”
I sigh. “You’re right. Let’s keep looking.”
At the next store, a young clerk wearing a tie covered with Snoopy in various poses greets us eagerly at the door. I want to ask him where he got the tie so I can get it for Dad for Christmas, but there’s a time and a place for everything and right now time is of the essence. We have to meet Mom and Sawyer across town for my birthday dinner in a little over an hour. If I don’t find the phone before then, I’ll have to wait till next weekend. And that’s WAY too long to wait.
The clerk backs away in make-believe horror when my dad tells him the name and model of the phone we’re looking for. “You don’t want that one,” he booms. “There are much cooler phones out there, for sure.”
I can feel my cheeks beginning to burn.
“I’m sure there are,” Dad says firmly, “but we need this one.”
The guy lets out a long whistle and shakes his head. “No can do, I’m afraid. We haven’t got any. Well, just the open-box one, but you wouldn’t want that one.”
“What does ‘open-box’ mean?” I ask.
The clerk glances around as though looking for where the sound of my voice came from. He seems surprised when he sees me in front of him. I’m used to this.
He recovers and explains, “An open-box item is used for display. We can sell it if it’s the last one in stock.”
I jump up. “I’ll take it!”
“You sure?” he asks. “Those things get pretty banged up. Kids playing with them all day.” He shudders. “I sure wouldn’t want it.”
“Let’s just take a look at it,” Dad says wearily.
“You’re the boss, man,” he says, returning a minute later with the phone. It looks just like the one in the brochure. Not the prettiest of phones, and texting will be a royal pain since there’s no qwerty keyboard, but once I have it, no one will leave me out of important conversations anymore, and that’s the most important thing.
“We’ll take it!” I repeat.
“I think you should try it first, honey,” Dad says. “Call me on my phone; see how it works.”
He whips out his own cell phone, which he claims to use only for business. But I’ve seen him checking football scores when he’s not home to watch the games.
I start dialing Dad’s number. When I hit the three button, the three doesn’t appear on the little screen. I press harder. Nothing. I hold it up to the guy. “Um, the three doesn’t seem to work.”
“Guess you could always find friends without a three in their number,” the guy jokes, holding out his hand.
For a second my grip tightens on the phone. Maybe I could convince everyone I know with a three to change their number to one without one. Dad nudges my arm and I have to concede that it’s not the best plan. “Fine.” I drop the phone into the guy’s palm. “Thanks anyway.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Hey, if you were gonna take that one, maybe you’d be interested in this.” He heads off to the desk and grabs something from a bottom drawer. When he returns, what does he hold up? The phone with the two buttons!
“What do you think?” the guy asks, grinning. “This way you’d never have to worry about the three breaking. Get it? Because there aren’t any numbers!”
Before Dad can decide that maybe this phone isn’t such a bad idea after all, I grab his arm. “Let’s go, Dad.”
“Guess we should have called around first,” he says as we step out onto the sidewalk. Then he chuckles. “Ah, the irony of having to call to find a phone.”
I’m pretty sure he’s trying to make a joke. He gets a smile in response because I’m trying very hard to remain calm and be a team player. It’s getting harder by the minute.
Once we’re inside, I practically have to run to keep up with Dad’s long strides. We quickly pass the pet store where I’ll be getting my pet one day soon, the earrings store where I’ll be getting my ears pierced, and all the other stores I can finally go into now without Dad tapping his foot impatiently or Mom steering me away because she doesn’t have a coupon for it.
Dad scurries along, eyes down, with his hands held up to the right side of his face like he’s shielding it from the sun. “Dad, seriously,” I plead. “People are going to think you stole something.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he says without looking up.
“You know, just because you see something in a store window doesn’t mean you have to buy it.”
“These places are tricky,” he warns. “They lure you in with their shiny wares and lifetime guarantees. The only way to win is not to look.” To prove it, he closes his eyes and flings himself past the CD store and the hot-pretzel stand in a single bound. It’s a good thing no one from school is here to see this.
When we reach the phone store, he straightens up and adjusts his jacket and looks as normal as possible for a guy in his thirties with a blue stripe in his hair. Twenty-three minutes later, the saleswoman hands me my phone. Truly. My own phone. With a working three. And the other nine numbers, too! And a free pink case thanks to a coupon Mom slipped me earlier! As we walk back through the mall, I keep putting it in different pockets to see which is the most comfortable. Then I try the pockets in my backpack, which I carry everywhere.
Dad stops suddenly as we near the exit. This is surprising. Usually he sprints the last twenty yards to the door. “Are you going to be all right if I duck into the men’s room?”
“Hey, if anything happens to me, I’ll just call for help!”
“Just stay right there,” he says, pointing to a bench. He hands me the bag from the phone store, before looking around to make sure no one’s lurking nearby to grab me.
I had promised Annabelle she’d be my first call. I reach into my back pocket for the phone. Then the other back pocket. Then my front pockets. I empty my backpack onto the bench. A dollar bill, a copy of The Secret Garden, two ponytail holders, and half a stick of Juicy Fruit tumble out. But no phone. I look through the bag from the store: empty box, phone charger, manual, receipt. I take everything out one at a time. Then I start to panic. I flip my hair over and shake it out as though the phone would actually fall from it. I yank at the bottom of my shirt. Nothing. I drop to my knees and search under the bench.
“Whatcha doing?” Dad asks, his head suddenly appearing next to mine. I hurry to stand up.
“Um, you didn’t happen to, ah … um …” I stop, unable to form the words.
“Did I what?” he asks, eyes already focused on the exit doors.
I take a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. “I can’t find my phone.”
I have his full attention now. His eyes widen, and then he bursts out laughing. Big guffaws. So big that shoppers are turning to stare. Wiping tears from his eyes, he says, “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head miserably. This sends him into another fit of hysterics. Now a small crowd has formed.
“I’ve got to sit down,” he says, sitting on the bench. His shoulders continue to shake with silent laughter. Still annoying, but at least it’s quieter.
“Is your father all right?” a woman loaded down with shopping bags asks. “Do you want to use my cell phone to call for help?”
“No, no,” my dad chokes out. “My daughter has her own phone. No, wait, she doesn’t!” This sends him off into another gale of laughter.
I puff out my cheeks grimly and turn to the woman. “Thanks anyway.”
She gives us a strange look, but moves along, bags swinging. Another woman and her young son linger to see what’s going to happen. Seeing them reminds me that we have to meet Mom and Sawyer soon. But I can’t leave the mall without my phone, I just can’t.
“Okay, Dad, you’ve had your fun. Now can we please go look for my phone? It has to be here somewhere.”
He gives one more guffaw, then wipes his eyes again and stands up. “C’mon.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go retrace our steps.”
We walk back exactly the way we came, scanning the ground, nearby benches, and inside fake potted plants. Just a lot of dust and a stray dime. We even duck into the stores along the way to ask if anyone turned it in. Dad suggests we try calling it, but I can’t remember the number they assigned me. Finally we end up back at the phone store again.
“Hi again,” says the nice woman who had sold us the phone. “Did you forget something?”
Dad pushes me forward. Unable to meet her eyes, I whisper, “Um, I seem to have lost my phone.”
She leans over the counter a bit. “I’m sorry, what did you say, hon?”
“I lost my phone,” I say louder, cringing with every word.
Her face lights up. “Hey, Robby!” she calls out over her shoulder. “We’ve got a winner!”
Robby must be the manager because he hurries out of the back room with a notebook in his hand. “Seriously?” He flips the book open. “Someone beat four hours?”
The woman nods happily and gestures to me with her thumb. “Fifteen minutes!”
Robby nods appreciatively. “Well done, young lady!” He jots something down in the notebook and then flips it closed.
“I’m, um, glad I could make everyone so happy.” I glance at my dad. I can tell by the way his face is contorted that he’s trying to stifle another outburst. “But can I have another phone now?”
Robby turns to the woman. “Did they buy the replacement insurance?”
She nods. “The works.”
I’m sure it’s taking all of Dad’s self-control not to say, I told you you’d be glad you used all your allowance from the last six months to buy the insurance policy.
“All right, just give us a few minutes to deactivate the old phone and activate your new one.” Robby reaches for the bag, which I realize I’m clutching with both hands. I release it, and he pulls out the paperwork and heads over to a computer at the end of the long desk. The woman turns to the next customer, her eyes still crinkling.
“Dad,” I ask while we wait, “do you think you could not tell Mom about this? If she knew I lost it already, she’ll say this proves I’m not responsible enough to have it in the first place.”
“She doesn’t really think that,” he assures me. “She’s just having a hard time with you growing up, that’s all. She’ll come around.”
I notice he didn’t agree not to tell her, but I have a feeling he won’t. I hope he’s right that she’ll come around, because I’ll need her help for a lot of the things on my list. Even though she can drive me crazy, I still kinda miss the time we used to spend together pre-Sawyer.
Store employees keep nudging one another and looking over at us. Dad takes pity on me and suggests I wait across the hall in the pet store. I run out before he’s even finished the sentence.
The pet store smells a bit ripe. The only other person in here is a teenage boy in a blue sweatshirt buying dog food. I try to breathe only through my mouth as I pass the cages of assorted hamsters and guinea pigs. I forget the smell, though, as soon as I see the bunny. White fluffy body, orange floppy ears, warm and caring eyes. The bunny of my dreams. My heart beats faster. His little nose twitches happily when I stick my hand up to the wire cage. I immed
iately recognize him as the sweetest, softest, most loving bunny in the entire world. I hurry around the cage in search of a sign that will tell me how much he costs, but all I see is an index card with his name:
Kyle R.
Male rabbit
Eight months old
I. MUST. HAVE. HIM. I must also change his name to something cuter than Kyle. I busy myself by making little clicking noises and stroking his nose through the bars. He seems to like it because he keeps lifting his paw at me like he’s waving. He is clearly meant to be mine. But what if someone takes him before I can convince my parents of this? I rush to the front counter and wait as patiently as I can (which is to say, not patiently at all) for the boy to finish paying for his dog food. It eventually dawns on me that he doesn’t have enough money.
“Why don’t you get the cheaper brand?” the store manager suggests.
The boy shakes his head. His hair is so dark it’s almost purple. “My grandmother told me to get this one.”
“I’m sorry, kid, but you’re a dollar short.”
The boy turns sideways and I catch a glimpse of his face. His expression is sad and frustrated at the same time. Even though he looks only a year or two older than me, I don’t recognize him from school.
I can see Dad heading over from the phone store. The window to find out about my future bunny before Dad drags me away is getting smaller. I reach into my backpack and feel around until my fingers close on the dollar bill. I’m about to hand it to the boy when a certain tilt of his chin tells me he wouldn’t accept it. So I crumple it a little and toss it on the floor near his left foot.
“Hey!” I say loudly, pointing to it. “You must have dropped that.”
The kid turns in surprise, then follows where I’m pointing. His face lights up. “Thanks!” He makes a move toward it, hesitates for a second, and then in one swift motion picks it up and plunks it down on the counter. The man takes it and hands him the bag of food.