by Wendy Mass
I glance out the door. Dad is only a few of his enormous strides away.
“Thanks again,” the boy says as he hurries past me, hugging the bag like it’s the dog itself.
I quickly step forward to take his place. “How much is that bunny?”
“That guy?” the manager asks, glancing over at the cage. “He’s on special. Twenty bucks. Comes with the cage.”
My eyes open wide. Twenty bucks for the bunny AND the cage? That’s perfect!
A hand clamps down on my shoulder. “We have to go, Rory.”
“Can you hold him for a few days?” I ask as Dad begins steering me out of the store.
“Don’t worry,” the guy promises, “he’ll be here.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Trust me.”
He must not be a bunny lover, which I just do not understand at all. Who wouldn’t love bunnies? “Bye, Kyle!” I call out. “See you soon!”
As soon as he can tear me away from the pet shop window, Dad hands me my new phone and begins the sprint out of the mall. Not taking any chances this time, I grasp it firmly in my hand. By the time we get in the car, my knuckles have turned white from the pressure. I’ve just fastened my seat belt when the phone rings, startling me so much that it drops into my lap.
“Who could be calling you already?” Dad asks, backing out of the narrow parking spot.
“I have no idea.” I fumble with the phone and press the green button with the little picture of a phone receiver on it. “Hello?”
“Yes, hello,” a male voice on the other end says. He sounds rushed. “I’ll need three large pizzas, one plain with thin crust, one extra cheese, and one with meatballs and onions.”
When I’m too surprised to answer, his voice rises. “Did you get all that?”
“Um,” I stammer, meeting Dad’s questioning glance. “You have the wrong number.”
“This isn’t Johnny’s Pizzeria?” the guy asks, sounding very annoyed now. He must really want his pizza.
“Nope, sorry.”
He mutters something R-rated and hangs up.
“I’m sure that was just a fluke,” Dad assures me. “A random wrong number.”
I’m sure he’s right. Kind of funny, really. I dial Annabelle’s number. She picks up on the first ring.
“It’s me!” I squeal into the phone. “I finally got it!”
“Hurray!” she yells with just the right amount of enthusiasm. “Am I your first call?”
“Yes! But someone already called me. To order a pizza! Can you believe it? My first call was a wrong number!”
“You should have told him his order would be ready in twenty minutes!”
I laugh even though I never could have done that.
“I’ve gotta run,” she says. “I just saved your number on my phone. I’m still coming over to watch the movie tonight, right?”
“Yup. Hey, I found a bunny I want!”
“Cool! Later!”
I watch the screen as the call disconnects. My phone doesn’t have photo capabilities, and the screen is a dull gray color. But at that moment I don’t care at all. It works! And it’s mine! I’m still looking at the phone when it rings again.
“Wow, you’re popular,” Dad comments.
“I’m sure it’s just Annabelle.” I press the button. “Hello?”
A high-pitched female voice asks, “I have a coupon for a free liter of Coke with a medium pizza, but it expired last week. Will you still honor it?”
I laugh. “Very funny! But my mother doesn’t sound anything like that.”
The voice on the other end doesn’t laugh. “Excuse me?” she says after a pause.
“Annabelle, I know it’s you.”
Pause. “Is this Johnny’s Pizzeria?” She doesn’t sound so much like Annabelle now.
I look down at the screen. The number that shows up isn’t Annabelle’s! I hurriedly bring it back to my ear. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”
“Is this …” She rattles off the number so quickly I have to ask her to repeat it. She does, and I double-check it against the number the saleslady wrote down for me.
“That’s the right number,” I say, heart sinking. “But this isn’t Johnny’s.”
She hangs up without saying another word. I look at Dad. A tear is glinting in the corner of his right eye from trying to hold in his laughter.
“Dad, aren’t you the person who says you should never take joy in another’s misfortune?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry. “Call the store; the number’s on the receipt. Tell them you need to change your number.”
“No can do,” Robby says when I explain the situation. “The system will only let us change a customer’s number once every two months, and we already changed yours today.”
“But what should I do if they keep calling?”
“Well, you could always learn how to make pizza!”
For a second I actually consider that. I mean, I am able to use the oven now.
“Sorry, kid, that wasn’t very helpful. Just come back in two months, and we’ll fix it. Good luck,” he says, and hangs up.
Dad shakes his head. “Poor Johnny. He’s missing out on a lot of orders.”
“Yeah, poor Johnny,” I repeat, slumping down in my seat. A minute later my phone makes an unfamiliar beep. I hold it up to look at the screen. It’s my first text!
SARI SAW JAKE HARRISON
AT THE DINER!!!!!!
SWEARS SHE ALMOST FAINTED
+ HE HAD TO CATCH HER!!!!
C U 2NITE!
Sari is my most dramatic friend. She’s always almost fainting over one thing or another. But for Jake Harrison I’d have fainted, too. Johnny and his pizza fly right out of my head. I text back, OMG!! WOW!, which takes me longer than expected because I keep messing up how many times I need to push each button to get the right letter. This must seriously be the last phone on earth without a real keyboard. But it doesn’t matter because I’m officially In The Loop! I spend the rest of the short trip back into town fantasizing both about Jake Harrison and about how popular I’ll be now that people can text me.
My warm glow of satisfaction and anticipation lasts until we pull into the restaurant parking lot and my phone rings. Dad turns off the car and we both stare at it suspiciously. “One of your friends?” he asks.
This time I pay attention to the phone number that pops up on my caller ID. I don’t recognize it.
“Do you want me to answer it?” he asks.
I hand him the phone and get out of the car.
“Hello?” he says as we start walking to the restaurant. “Sorry, we’re sold out of ham and pineapple pizza. Out of pizza altogether, in fact. What? Yes, I’m serious. We only sell donut holes now. No, not like the Munchkins at Dunkin’ Donuts. We sell the actual holes. The space inside the donut. Right. Okay, well, good luck to you, too.” He hands me back the phone. “I don’t think they’ll be calling again.”
“Probably not,” I say wearily. “Why did I want a cell phone again?”
“So your mom and I could reach you whenever we wanted.”
“Oh, right, that must have been it.”
Dad holds the restaurant door open for me and things get strange very fast. As usual for a Saturday night, Applebee’s is packed with families and teenagers and everyone else. It just opened a few months ago, and it’s the only chain restaurant allowed in Willow Falls. My theory is the town council let them in because the name reminds the old-timers of the days when apples were the main crop in town. As soon as I step through the door, my eyes light upon a half-naked Sawyer running between the tables, followed closely by our red-faced Mom, frantically waving a pair of training pants in the air. Diners are grabbing their drinks so they don’t get knocked into their laps.
“Rory!” Sawyer yells gleefully when he sees me. He runs over and hugs my knees. I look up in time to see half the gymnastics team — currently the most popular girls in my grade — al
l texting one another and laughing. Mom’s right. Texting at dinner is rude! I try to duck around the hostess stand in the hopes that they won’t recognize me. This probably would have worked if Sawyer wasn’t hanging from my legs and chanting my name.
Then, to add to the mayhem, my phone rings. Before I can think, Sawyer lets go of my legs and snatches the phone from my hand. Mom has caught up with him by this time, but he keeps running in circles around me and she can’t grab him. After pressing random buttons, he lands on the right one. “Hi, my name’s Sawyer!” he says into the phone. “Pizza? I love pizza!” I try to pull the phone away, but he holds fast. “I’m naked!” he yells at the unfortunate person on the phone (and the entire restaurant, too), and then tops it off with “I have a naked butt!” I’m pretty sure that even if Mom had a buy-one-get-one-free dinner at Applebee’s for the rest of her life, we won’t be coming back here.
Mom and Dad team up and corner him. Dad wrenches the phone free while Mom hauls him off to the bathroom. All the while Sawyer continues to sing about his butt.
Dad hands me my phone. “Safe to say Johnny’s Pizzeria has lost another loyal customer.”
Chapter Five
When I wake up the next day, the lamp is turned on next to my bed. Did I leave it on all night? Why would I have done that? A bunch of disjointed images flash through my mind. Getting a phone. Losing a phone. Falling in love with a bunny. Getting another phone. Sawyer’s butt streaking across a crowded restaurant filled with the popular girls from school. Annabelle giving me lessons on texting shortcuts while we eat birthday cake. Hearing Mom groan as she read over my FINALLY chart. Watching Friday the 13th Part IX. Oh, that’s right! The movie is the reason my light is on. Even though Annabelle and I watched most of it through our fingers, I was so scared after seeing it that I was afraid to sleep in the dark. I may never sleep in the dark again.
A ding from my computer alerts me to a new e-mail. I scramble out of bed, throw on my glasses, and run to the desk. But it’s not an e-mail — it’s an IM! My first ever! Annabelle helped me set up my account last night. Mom won’t need to worry about strangers IM-ing me because the only people who can write to me are kids from the school’s own network. We even have to use our real name, which is really uncreative, but it’s not like I’m complaining, because it’s better than nothing. My first IM is from Sari, which is kind of cool, because usually we don’t talk much unless Annabelle is around. Now that I can IM, I’m obviously even MORE in the loop! I sit down so quickly I almost fly backward off the chair.
Sari: Hey!! Your name popped up on the list of people who can IM now!! Wake up! I’ve got to tell you about my JAKE HARRISON SIGHTING!!!
Rory: This is my first IM!
Sari: Welcome to the Internet Age!
Rory: I know!!!!!!!! So what’s Jake like in person?????
Sari: SOOOOOO CUTE!!! Taller than in the movies. He must have had a growth spurt. Did you hear I almost fainted?
Rory: Annabelle told me. She TEXTED me on my NEW CELL PHONE!!!
Sari: Hooray!
Rory: I know!! But I had to turn it off when I went to bed. You have no idea how many people want to order pizza at midnight!
Sari: Huh?
Rory: Never mind, long story.
Sari: Here’s a picture of me with Jake!
Next to her half of the little IM box another box pops up with the word Loading.
Rory: You got a PICTURE with him??
Sari: Not exactly WITH him. Did it load yet?
Rory: Nope. My computer’s really slow.
Sari: Do you think Jake would like it if I wore my whole collection of Hello Kitty barrettes?
Rory: I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.
Sari has a thing with hair. She’s always cutting hers in these weird styles or wearing really bizarre accessories. When she and Annabelle start talking hair, I tune right out. The picture finally appears, but I’m not sure what I’m looking at. I move closer to the screen. Is that a sneaker?
Rory: Are you sure you sent the right one? All I see is a sneaker.
Sari: That’s it! That’s HIS sneaker! I took it with my phone after the whole fainting thing.
Rory: LOL. Why didn’t you just ask him if you could take a real picture?
Sari: I didn’t want to seem like a crazed fan or something.
Rory: But you are.
Sari: I’m playing hard to get.
Rory: By fainting in his arms?
Sari: Exactly!
I’m about to argue the logic in that when Mom pokes her head in.
“On the computer already?” she asks, heading over to my desk.
Annabelle taught me what to do in these situations. I turn back to the screen and quickly write:
Rory: MOS.
Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know that means Mom over shoulder, honey. I have a whole book on teenage Internet shorthand.”
Figures.
“Tell Sari you’ll type at her later. We need to go over some plans for today.”
Rory: GTG. TTYL.
Sari: L8R G8R.
I can practically hear Mom rolling her eyes behind me. I close the IM box and spin around in my chair. “So, what do you want to talk to me about?”
Instead of responding, she pulls something shiny out of her pocket and dangles it in front of me. I eagerly hold out my hand, and she drops the silver object into it. My fingers close around it. A house key. My very own house key. I think I just grew two inches taller.
“Remember,” Mom says gravely. “As President Roosevelt wisely said, ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’”
“Um, wasn’t that from the first issue of Spider-Man when Peter Parker decides to accept his fate?” Some kids know how Humpty Dumpty fell off his wall; I know how all the superheroes got their powers. Dad used to read comics to me before bed. He still would, if I didn’t stop him.
Mom shakes her head. “I think it was Roosevelt.”
“Rory’s right,” Dad calls out as he passes by in the hall.
Mom crosses her arms. “Well, whoever said it, it’s still true. We’re trusting you with the key because we trust that you will be responsible when you’re home alone.”
“Am I going to be home alone soon?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too eager.
“Not if it was up to me, but if you truly feel you’re ready …”
“I do, I do!”
She sighs, a little dramatically if you ask me, and says, “Well, then, no time like the present.”
I jump up from my chair. “Really? Now?” Images begin to swirl through my head. Dancing around my room to loud music. Eating the chocolate Mom hides behind the paper towels in the pantry. Watching whatever I want on TV. It’s going to be amazing!
“Don’t get too excited,” Mom warns, always the mind reader. “It’s only for two hours. Apparently the latest batch of Sesame Street puzzles were shipped without the piece containing Big Bird’s head, so your father has to go sort that out, and Sawyer has a birthday party for a boy in his preschool class. We don’t have to go, though.” She frowns. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“You should, you should,” I insist, leading her to the door. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
She hesitates, then nods. “All right. I guess if you’re going to be babysitting soon, you’ll need to be able to stay home alone.”
“That’s true,” I agree, and run off to pack Sawyer’s diaper bag before she changes her mind. Down in his playroom (which used to be our dining room), I throw in two diapers, a bunch of wipes, a juice box, his chewed-up copy of Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!, his favorite stuffed animal (a bright pink creature of unknown gender or species that he named Hot Lips), and a change of clothes. Last, I grab a slice of pizza from the freezer, wrap it in tinfoil, and add it to the bag in case they don’t serve pizza at the party. Clearly I’m going to make an excellent babysitter because I already know how to anticipate a child’s every need.
Ten minutes later, I’m loc
king the door behind them. Mom had made me promise not to invite anyone over, not to answer the door, not to use the oven or stove, and not to play with knives. Seriously, I had to promise not to play with knives. She’d also left me the numbers of the police station, fire department, hospital, and burn unit, and made me promise to keep the home phone within reach at all times.
I wait until I hear the car scrape the bump at the end of the driveway, then spring into action. First, chocolate. Mom doesn’t think anyone knows it’s there, but we all do. Even Sawyer. I found him stuffing his face with Peanut M&M’s one day when our parents thought he was still in his crib napping. If I ratted him out, the chocolate would be moved and I couldn’t take that chance. I waited to see if Sawyer’s face would swell up in reaction to the peanuts, and when it didn’t, I figured all’s well that ends well and stuck him back in his crib. I did suggest it was time my parents think about moving him to a bed, though, so he wouldn’t climb out and hurt himself. Mom praised me for my forward-thinkingness.
No M&M’s today, just Tootsie Rolls. Even though a Tootsie Roll has no actual chocolate in it, I’m willing to overlook that. Behind the candy, stuck halfway between the wall and shelf, I spot something shiny. Further investigation uncovers the bottom corner of a can of soda. I have to lean all the way into the pantry to wrestle it free. Tab? I’ve heard of that brand, but never seen it in the house before. Mom only allows soda in the house for special occasions. She probably meant to serve it with the birthday cake last night, but forgot. I guess that makes it mine! I pop it open and pour it into a tall glass with ice. It tastes like a really flat Coke.
Dad’s overstuffed armchair is waiting for me and I settle in, enjoying the comfort of the soft (but not real) leather as it molds to the shape of my body. I place the glass in the convenient cup holder on the armrest and prepare to be entertained by an episode of The Simpsons that I’m sure aired decades ago but which I’m never allowed to watch because Mom claims it lowers IQ points.