PRETTY TYPICAL MIDDLE SCHOOL STUFF
I was drier and calmer by the time Becca’s dad dropped me home.
My mom gave me a huge hug. “Oh my goodness. What were you thinking?!?!”
Before I could answer, Becca did.
“It wasn’t her fault,” she told my mom. “Katie overheard me and the other girls saying mean things about her behind her back.”
“You weren’t saying mean things,” I said. “You were just trying to figure out how to tell me you didn’t want to be in the band anymore. I overreacted.”
We both tried to smile. “It’s been a long week,” I added.
“Well, listen,” my mom said. “This all sounds like pretty typical middle school stuff to me. And regardless of what happens with the band, you guys have a big gig tomorrow night, and you need to get some rest.”
“Nice use of the word gig, Mom,” I said.
“I try,” she said.
I walked Becca to the door. We looked at each other.
“Are we still playing tomorrow night?” I asked her.
She looked unsure. “Do you want to?”
There were so many ways to answer that question. One of which was, “Not in a million years.” Another of which was, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The truth lay somewhere in the middle.
“I think so,” I said. “I think we should.”
“People would think it was weird if we didn’t show up,” Becca agreed.
“And Ms. Ferrell would be mad,” I added, and we both tried to laugh.
We stood there for another minute. There seemed to be so much to say, but we decided not to say any of it. Sometimes, part of communicating is keeping quiet.
So all we ended up saying was, “See you tomorrow.”