That night we hit the halfway point—which meant the Halfway Point Barbecue.
I was getting ready to go to Tiffany’s house when my mom knocked on my door.
“You have a phone call.”
I could tell who it was by the amazed smile on her face.
I raced to the kitchen to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Well, hey there,” came that familiar, rock ’n’ roll voice. “Just checkin’ in. Glad to hear you’re holding up your end of the bargain.”
“You got my note?” I stammered.
“Yes, ma’am!”
My heart was racing in the usual I-can’t-believe-I’m-talking-to-Jane-Plantero way. “I was really hoping to talk to you again. We’re halfway through the week.”
“And how’s it going?”
“Well, it’s been pretty interesting so far.”
Jane let out a raspy chuckle. “I’ll bet. Yup, Nareem’s Papa gave me the note. How are things with ole Nareem, anyway?”
I took a deep breath. “Well, I should probably tell you—Nareem and I broke up. After the whole text thing. He’s such an incredible person, though.”
“Well,” Jane said, “the heart wants what it wants.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “The funny thing is, there’s this other boy, who I have kind of a complicated relationship with. And he didn’t give up his cellphone for the week. And in fact, it’s become this thing at school, the kids who gave up their phones against the kids who didn’t. And he’s leading the other side. And it’s really annoying.”
Jane laughed again, harder this time, and it ended with a coughing fit.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, still chuckling and coughing a bit. “You join the rock ’n’ roll club, you sign up for a lot of late nights. It’s in the manual. Nothin’ I can do about it.”
“Okay,” I said. I wanted to tell her to take care of herself, but didn’t want to sound like a priss.
“Enough about me,” she answered. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate. And how about the song? ’Bout done with that baby yet?”
“I’m working on it,” I said, somewhat untruthfully.
“Well, work harder,” Jane said. “Don’t you have a talent show coming up?”
“Saturday night. We have rehearsal Friday. I’ll finish it by then, I promise.”
“Good girl.” I heard some muffled sounds—I think someone was saying something to Jane, and Jane answered—then she said to me, “Gotta fly. You take care. You’re doing good.” And then there was a click.
I hung up the phone, thinking about what Jane said. The heart wants what it wants.
Well, right at that moment, my heart was thinking about CHICKMATE. And my heart didn’t care that Becca and the rest of the girls in the band just wanted to play famous songs.
Some day, I was going to play my song.