by Deb Loughead
“Okay man, okay, I don’t want any trouble,” we hear him say. “But you’re scaring off customers, and that’s bad for business.”
“Who gives a crap,” Spencer tells him, laughing. “They’ll just go elsewhere.”
“So check it out,” I say, pointing at the ruckus, which is getting worse as more skaters pipe up in scrappier voices. “That shop owner is going to go back inside to call the cops now. Do you really want to hang around with a jerk like that, who challenges anyone that gets in his way? This guy’s like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Yeah, well don’t believe everything you hear, Clem. Those rumours? I’ve heard them, too. Some asshole must have had a reason for spreading them, right? I mean, I really thought you were way cooler than this.”
Jake drops his skateboard with a clatter, and rides over to the other guys. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I turn around so I won’t see him heading in the wrong direction — away from me. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
There’s no way I feel like hanging around to see how things will end here. It all just leaves me feeling turned inside out, knowing Jake is part of it. That he’s choosing to hang out with that jackass Spencer.
There’s nothing left to do but wonder about it all as I wander slowly home. I mean, what happened just now with Jake, and with Ellie — what was that? Why can’t things be like old times, fun times, the way they were just a few years back, like before Ellie’s dad moved away. And since we started high school, things have gotten even worse. Our friendship just isn’t the same anymore. But ever since that field party and Kit’s death, there’s no turning back. Just about everything in my life that means something has turned to crap.
The ghost of Kit trails along right behind me, asking all the same questions. How did it all go so very wrong? How has everything changed so suddenly and so drastically, and how has the happiness been sucked out of so many lives? Because that field party in June was supposed to be fun times, and it actually started out that way.
Word about the end-of-school bash had spread like wildfire. Then that night, around dusk, everyone met at the field on the edge of town, the one that backs onto the quarry.
My folks had always warned me about field parties, but I took the risk anyway. It sounded way too cool to miss out on. And what could have been a bonfire with a few kids from grade nine going into ten turned into a crazy party, with too many kids of all ages and too many bad things going on.
Kit Stitski showed up that night, too. And even though a bunch of us from middle school were there, his so-called Circle of Friends who always pitched in and tried to keep an eye on him, something went wrong , and he disappeared. It was too dark, too noisy. And in the end, too awful.
I’m about to turn a corner near my street when I hear it: the unmistakable sound of skateboard wheels clattering along the pavement. I look back at the very instant Jake zips through the intersection I just crossed, eyes straight ahead, not even checking to see if any cars are coming. As if he’s in a huge hurry to get somewhere. Or maybe in a hurry to get away from somewhere. Is it possible? Did he listen to me back there at the plaza, change his mind about sticking around? Come up with an excuse to split?
A small smile starts to form on my face, along with a small flicker of hope in my heart.
The rest of the way home, and for the rest of that afternoon, sweet possibilities wrestle with sour realities. As much as I can hope and dream that something might happen between Jake and me, the memory of being at the quarry that night is like a painted backdrop in a play. I keep hoping for the curtain to drop.
While we sit at the kitchen table later that afternoon, Zach keeps on nudging me back to reality as I try to focus on helping him with science, as promised. Still my thoughts swoop away like an out-of-control kite, and crash into the blatant truth. I’m the one who let Kit leave that night. I’m the one who betrayed him.
I keep on reviewing that moment, over and over again, as if I’m practising lines for a scene in a play that I wish I didn’t have a part in.
Act I, scene 1: At the party. Everyone dancing and drinking and carrying on around the bonfire. Much mischief and revelry. Kit runs up to Clem.
Kit: What time is it, Clementine? Time for me to pee! (jumps about, legs clamped together)
Clem: Seriously Kit? (Looks over shoulder toward Jake and party fun) Okay, well there’s a clump of bushes right over there. You’ll find a spot.
Kit: (distressed) Will you come with me? Please?
Clem: God, Kit, I can’t stand there while you’re peeing. That’s just gross.
Kit: But, Clem, it’s so dark over there.
Clem: Come on, suck it up. You’ll be fine, buddy.
Kit runs off toward bushes, Clem turns back to party, eyes scanning crowd for Jake.
I will never forget that feeling of impending doom when I opened my eyes the next morning. Knowing that I’d forgotten something important. And knowing what it was the moment Mom walked into my bedroom without knocking first.
She stood in the doorway, her face twisted with distress, lost for words. Then she found them. “Kit’s missing.”
My first thought was like a boulder hitting me in the chest, knocking the breath right out of me — it’s my fault.
At least my reaction seemed normal. I instantly burst into tears, and Mom hurried over to rub my back. And I couldn’t say, “Did they check the quarry?” Because how would I have known he was there if I didn’t go?
By then it was way too late anyway. Kit never made it home that night because he never left the quarry. They found him later that morning, drowned in the cold, black pond.
I only ever told one person about seeing Kit walk off into the dark. Ellie, my “best” friend. Now the two people I cared most about up until that summer night have completely changed. Jake, who I’d once called a good friend, has turned into someone I don’t even know anymore. And Ellie’s become a sneaky liar who blackmails her supposed best friend into doing anything she wants on threat of giving my secrets away.
The terrible truth is that deep down I know I’ve changed, too. I’m just getting better and better at denying it.
4
Late Sunday morning we all head out for brunch, our monthly treat. The local café serves to-die-for crêpes, and our family needs a fix every now and then.
Mom, Dad, Zach, and I have all squeezed into the same booth. I’m totally antsy, jiggling my feet under the table as I wait for the server to deliver my fruit crêpe, piled high with a cloud of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce.
The rest of Saturday I never heard a word from Ellie. There are two possibilities for that. She’s either been grounded, or she’s mad at me for some reason or other. Lately she always finds reasons to be mad at me. Somehow I’ve become the person to blame for all her woes. And even though she’s caught up in this big whirlwind romance, she’s always crabby. Any minute I expect her to text me, needing something else.
It makes me feel twitchy. The cramped booth isn’t helping, and I try to distract myself. My thumbs dancing as I switch between texts and Instagram to find out what was going on last night. Now and then Dad nudges me to move over, tells me I’m hogging the seat. I just laugh and nudge him back. Across from us, Mom and Zach are having the same nudging match, judging from their body language.
I didn’t miss much last night. I stayed home and watched a movie on my laptop in my room, and most of my other friends did the same thing. That’s because they all went to the Saturday matinee while I fulfilled my end of the bargain I made with Zach. Everyone was talking about the zombie rom-com on Twitter, and added rave comments about how awesome it was. I missed out, as usual, because of Ellie.
I snicker at a few things my friends posted about certain gruesome-but-funny scenes in the movie, meanwhile gritting my teeth because I’m the only one who didn’t see it.
&
nbsp; I watch a YouTube clip that somebody posted of a skateboard fail. I groan when the guy wipes out, then look up embarrassed that I’d groaned so loud. Nobody’d noticed.
And then the text from Ellie shows up and my stomach flips.
Something big is happening soon Clems!!!!!!!
Like what E?
Like Mac has these HUGE amazing plans for next weekend. And I need your help.
Suddenly I feel nauseous. Just the thought of food makes me sick.
What if I’m not available Ellie? What if I’m busy.
Oh you’ll be available Clems. Love you xoxo ☺ You’ll help me, right??????
I’m totally stunned by her announcement. I put my phone down and stare at it, wishing I could crush it under my shoe. I drum my fingers on the table, trying to get anyone’s attention. Maybe it’s time to come clean with my family and let them know what’s going on. Maybe someone will have an idea about how I can stop this Ellie crap from destroying my life.
“Mom,” I say, nudging her with my foot. “Can I …”
“Just a sec, honey,” she says, holding up one finger and staring at her phone.
“Dad? Dad?” He doesn’t even hear me. The restaurant is noisy and of course he’s staring at his screen. And Zach may as well not even be here either.
Nobody at my table has even noticed I’m in distress. They’re all slumped over their own smartphones the exact same way I am. Except for Dad, who’s using his tablet. It’s been glued to his hands pretty much 24/7, ever since Mom gave it to him for his birthday in September. She secretly told Zach and me that he even falls asleep most nights with the thing on his stomach. He even takes it into the bathroom — gross!
Across from me, Mom sits in a daze, swiping her finger across her phone screen, and Zach’s thumbs are flying as he plays some stupid game.
How pathetic can our family possibly get? When I glance around the room, most of the families with kids our age are doing the exact same thing, of course. Wired, logged on, hunched in the same sloppy positions, necks at weird angles, eyes focused on their screens. Completely ignoring each other. The only people talking to each other are much older. Maybe they aren’t as hooked on technology as the younger generations, but still, a few of them have phones on the table, right beside their plates. They even check them now and then.
The only ones having fun are a few little kids. They’re scrambling around in their seats, babbling to each other, scribbling with crayons on colouring sheets provided by the café. Their distracted parents are ignoring them, too focused on screens. It’s utter craziness! I bang my fist hard on the tabletop.
“What is wrong with this picture,” I say, loudly. Maybe even extremely loudly, because more than a few heads veer in our direction. “How can we ever know what’s going on with someone, unless we actually look at them?”
“Clem, shh,” Dad says beside me in his grumpy voice.
“Why, Dad? Am I disturbing you?” I stare at him, but he doesn’t even look over at me. “Dad?” I nudge him hard. “Hello in there!”
I have Mom and Zach’s attention though. They watch suspiciously from across the table, as if they’re afraid that I might be totally losing it.
Dad finally looks up, too.
“What’s your problem, Clem?” His eyebrows are stitched together in a worried way.
“Turn off your tablet, Dad. I dare you. Mom and Zach, too. Let’s try talking face-to-face for a change.”
“Yeah right, Clem,” Zach says, then focuses on his phone.
“Seriously.” I reach across the table and snatch it from his hand.
“Hey! Bite me, Clems,” he yelps, grabbing it back. More heads turn. Mom cringes.
“I’m not kidding around,” I tell them. “I just want to see if we can all do this.”
Mom’s half-smiling now. “Your sister has a point, Zach. A very good one.”
I flash a grateful smile at her.
“We’re not even talking to each other,” I say. “It’s pathetic. And look around. Most of the other families aren’t talking either.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about,” Zach says.
“Hold on,” Mom tells him. “That’s only because we haven’t even tried. So let’s all turn off our devices and have a chat.”
“Have a chat?” Zach folds his arms against his chest and rolls his eyes. “That’s what people do online, Mom. They chat. They message each other. You do it every day.”
Dad starts laughing and actually puts down his tablet. “Chatting was invented long before the Internet, Zach. I agree with Mom and Clem. Let’s try this.”
“Sweet! Turn your phone off, bro,” I say.
Zach narrows his eyes at me. “What’s in it for you? You’re always on your phone.”
“Well, I guess I’m trying to change,” I tell him. “Haven’t you heard of Internet addiction? We’re all turning into techno-zombies. Do you know that the first thing in my hand every morning is my phone?”
“Hmm, that sounds familiar,” Mom says. “To be honest sometimes I even sneak a peek at school when my grade fours are doing seat work.”
“Oh, me, too, Laura,” Dad says. “We’re all guilty, aren’t we? We don’t own our devices, they own us. Really, we should try to work on this.”
Zach looks stunned. “You don’t mean we have to give them up, do you, Dad?”
Dad’s pause is so long that I start to get nervous myself. I may have an agenda here, but I don’t want it getting out of hand. I’d honestly be lost without my phone.
“Not so much give them up, as put them down. What if we have no-phone zones at home and times when no electronic devices can be in use, including video games. And if we want to watch a movie, we all watch it together, so we can talk about it and share a bowl of popcorn.”
“Yes, John. That’s a great plan!” Mom leans across the table with gleaming eyes.
I’m not so sure I like that look. Am I creating a monster here? Still, I just sit and nod in agreement, even as Zach’s kicking me under the table.
And right then my phone screen lights up again. Another text message from Ellie. I don’t even check what she’s saying because I already know what it will be about. And my mind is made up. I’m ending this now.
“We just have to set some guidelines and decide as a family what they’ll be,” Dad says. “Really, Clem, this is such a very thoughtful idea. I’m so glad you noticed how little attention we pay to one another lately.”
“So, let’s toss some ideas around,” Mom says. “Right now. A brunch out as a family with phones turned off is a great place to start, isn’t it? What else can we do to change our obsessive techno-geek habits?”
Zach looks queasy, like he’s suddenly been stricken with the stomach flu. He mouths the words “thanks, stupid” at me, and I shrug and mouth back “you’re welcome, moron.”
Okay, so I haven’t been completely honest with my family about my motives for this. But it’s a win-win situ-ation, as far as I’m concerned. Now I can tell everyone I know that our family is trying to limit our “wired” time. That we’ve made a pact to disconnect, which will be really good for the family. Now we can actually start connecting face to face. And during certain times of the day, nobody will be able to reach me. Including Ellie. I finally have a legitimate excuse for turning off my phone. All my own brilliant idea!
Over brunch in the café, we came up with the new unplugged house rules. When we got home, Dad printed the list off, and Mom stuck it front and centre on the fridge door, so there’ll be no excuses for failing to follow through.
NO ELECTRONIC DEVICES AT THE KITCHEN TABLE
ONE HOUR OF NON-LINE (my word) ACTIVITY AFTER DINNER EACH EVENING, SUCH AS GOING FOR A WALK, READING A BOOK, PLAYING A GAME, ETC.
REGULAR FAMILY MOVIE NIGHTS
NO TEXTING ANYONE INS
IDE THE HOUSE
LOW-TECH SUNDAYS
BEFORE BED, DEVICES MUST BE LEFT IN THE KITCHEN, TURNED OFF
That afternoon, we all played Monopoly and had a blast. Then we watched a Will Ferrell comedy after supper and laughed together as a family for the first time in ages. Even Zach didn’t seem so mad any more, especially after Mom found an easy recipe online (that was allowed) for savoury cheese and garlic popcorn, and he helped her make it.
My favourite rule is #6. It’s also the one that I came up with. And the one Zach isn’t crazy about. I like it because it means I won’t have my phone in my hand until after breakfast each morning.
Dad and Mom like the idea, too. They even dug out their old clock radio and set it to wake up to classical music each day. Dad got his old watch out from his sock drawer and displayed it proudly on his wrist. It was a gift from us kids one Father’s Day, when we were toddlers (which our mom had bought and wrapped up for us). He used to wear it constantly, until he became permanently glued to his phone and tablet.
“Just like in the good old days,” Dad told us with a wry smile. “Before we relied on our smartphones for absolutely everything. Before they replaced our brains.”
Mom found a vintage alarm clock in a cupboard, which she’d picked up at Value Village. One you actually have to wind. I snatched that one up pretty quick. It has a cool cartoon cat on it, and the cat’s eyes and tail move back and forth as each second ticks by. The alarm is jarring, but why not try waking up the way people used to back in the olden days? Zach seemed a bit jealous until he heard the alarm jangle. Then he decided it would be okay for Dad to wake him each morning until he gets an alarm clock of his own.
The one thing we decided we could use our smartphones for on Sundays was actual phone calls. Dad said that since we no longer have a landline, we need to have a phone available in case someone wants to reach us. And, after much discussion, we all agreed that speaking to friends on low-tech day is okay, as long as we don’t spend all day yapping, or cheat and text while our phones are switched on.