Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! Read Online Free

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.
    â€œAre you going to tell us about the concert?”
    â€œIn 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.
    â€œHold 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.
    â€œTell us about how tonight went,” they said, marching into my room.
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œAre you on Facebook?”
    â€œYes, Dad.”
    â€œI thought we agreed no Facebook until high school.”
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œHow much time a day do you spend on this thing?”
    â€œAlmost none,” I said, which wasn’t technically totally true.
    â€œBetween the phone and the computer,” said my mom, “we barely see you anymore.”
    â€œAnd you’re not even in high school yet,” my dad added, piling on.
    â€œListen, 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!
    â€œOooh, nice going,” said my mom.
    I rolled my eyes. “People just think it’s cool that I went to the concert and met Jane.”
    â€œWell, 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.
    â€œUnbelievable,” my dad said. “Does it ever stop?”
    â€œI think unlimited texting was a mistake,” my mom said.
    â€œI need to check your computer,” my dad said.
    â€œWhat?!” 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.
    â€œA 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