Cowgirl Cat

Chapter 2

Leslie Murphy

"What do you mean no gifts?" Jamie doesn't mince her words. She has the habit of constantly blurting out exactly what I'm thinking but am too afraid to actually say. "That's totally not cool! Who'd you tick off?"

I have two best friends: Jamie and Cassie. While Cassie lives next door to me, I feel closer to Jamie. Probably because Jamie and I are in the same grade. But I'd never admit that to Cassie. Even though she tends to be more quiet, she's really weird about favorites in our group. Once I caught her trying to read Jamie's text messages. She made up some lame-o excuse that she thought it was her own phone, but I think she was spying on Jamie.

I never told Jamie.

In some ways, they are both my best friends. In others, they can be my worst enemies. Take for instance when I had a crush on Tommy Hunter. OK, that was back in sixth grade, but Jamie had an absolute fit about it and said that, if I married him, my name would be Cat Hunter and that just did not sound right. Plus, Cassie chimed in that she saw him pick his nose and eat it at a Little League game one year.

World's shortest romance ever.

"She said gifts later," I explain to Jamie as we walk down the hallway at school.

"Oh man. That sucks!"

Tell me about it.

"Is Brooke coming home?" Jamie asks.

I shrug again. My older sister's whereabouts are always a mystery to me. She's twenty and tends to come and go. It's like someone has her on fast-forward all the time. Don't get me wrong; I like her well enough, although there was a period of time that I forgot who she was since she's almost never home. I suspect she inherited my mom's high-energy because Brooke sure is busy: between college, work, and horseback riding, she's always somewhere else.

"Well, you'll get good gifts then, I'm sure," Jamie says half-heartedly.

I'm not so sure. I mean Mom had prepped me with the whole medical bills scenario. That certainly set the stage for no Jumble-Bug-upgrade-to-iPhone. And I know Dad is totally out of the running for even contemplating something cool like that. He still thinks I'm into Littlest Pet Shop figurines which was so three years ago.

The homeroom bell rings and we say goodbye until lunchtime which is really the only time I get to chat with her anymore. After school, it's like she dissipates into a vapor. You see, Jamie has an iPhone. I, on the other hand, have something called a Jumble Bug or some ridiculously embarrassing name like that. And it's bright green. Like florescent. There's no losing that phone...even if I tried...which I have.

So, while the rest of eighth grade is totally in tune with the twenty-first century, my mom refuses to let me escape from the world of tin cans and string. In fact, I know what it feels like to have lived in the Dark Ages, you know...before color television. Jumble Bugs do not allow texting, only calls. Jumble Bugs do not connect to Twitter or Facebook. The one thing Jumble Bugs do have is keypads. Large keypads. An almost blind, ninety-year-old doesn't need glasses to punch the glow in-the dark numbers on the Jumble Bug. In fact, I think the company advertises the phone in the back of magazines next to those electric chairs that float up the stairs and "specialty undergarments" for people who can't hold it long enough to get to the bathroom.

Major humiliation. Thanks Mom.

For the rest of the day, I feel like I'm living in a parallel world. I mean, it's just another ordinary day. No one notices that, today, I'm special. Surely I must be glowing! After all, I'm officially thirteen. Not a baby 'tweenager, a label that I absolutely hate because adults always say it with a weird tone in their voice, but I'm now bona fide thirteen! Today is suppose to be one long party for me.