Miss Communication

by Jennifer L. Holm

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Holm and Matthew Holm

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! rhcbooks.com

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Holm, Jennifer L., author. | Holm, Matthew, illustrator.

  Title: Miss communication / by Jennifer L. Holm and Matthew Holm.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2018] | Series: Babymouse. Tales from the locker |

  Summary: “After finally getting a cell phone, Babymouse tries to increase her popularity in middle school by becoming the queen of social media.” —Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017011512 | ISBN 9780399554414 (hardback) |

  ISBN 9780399554421 (glb) | ISBN 9780399554438 (epub)

  Ebook ISBN 9780399554438

  Subjects: | Social media—Fiction. | Cell phones—Fiction. | Popularity—Fiction. | Middle schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Mice—Fiction. | Animals—Fiction. | Humorous stories.

  Classification: PZ7.H732226 MI 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v5.3.2

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Titles

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Conversation

  Chapter 2: Whiz BangTM

  Chapter 3: LOL!

  Chapter 4: Almost Sorta Barely Famous

  Chapter 5: Picture-Perfect

  Chapter 6: App-Titude

  Chapter 7: Free

  Chapter 8: Viral

  Chapter 9: Get Lost!

  Chapter 10: Say What?

  Chapter 11: Photobomb

  Chapter 12: Fall of Rome

  Chapter 13: #Typical

  Insights into Ancient Rome by Babymouse

  About the Authors

  For Millie, Morgan & Natalie

  So there I was, sitting on the bus on the way to school. And not just any school…

  Dun. Dun. Dun.

  I wanted to catch up with my friends, but everywhere I looked, kids were zoned out on their phones….

  What was I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs?

  Le sigh.

  Felicia Furrypaws and her crew were sitting in front of me, texting each other. They were laughing hysterically. Why they were texting when they were sitting right next to each other, I couldn’t tell you….

  I leaned over the back of their seat.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  All four girls stopped texting and looked up from their phones.

  “Nothing, Babymouse,” Felicia replied coolly.

  “None of your business,” Melinda added.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Belinda asked.

  “She totally would,” Berry answered.

  The air filled with laughter—I mean, LOLs.

  Hmmph. I slumped back into my seat and wondered what they could be texting about.

  Everyone stopped and looked up at me—even the bus driver, who had just pulled up to the school. I could hear crickets chirping outside.

  Felicia rolled her eyes. “You are so weird sometimes, Babymouse.”

  * * *

  I thought things might get better once I got inside the building, but I was wrong. Kids were walking up and down the hallways texting, not even bothering to look where they were going—which, as it turned out, was almost always directly into ME.

  RINGGGG.

  I squeaked into homeroom just in time. Mr. Ludwig, my lizard homeroom teacher, didn’t even look up from his device. I turned toward my best friend, Wilson. At least he would pay attention to me.

  “Hey, Wilson,” I whispered. “How was your weekend?”

  “One sec, Babymouse,” he said, putting up a finger. “I just got to the good part!”

  Sigh. Let me know what that feels like, I thought.

  * * *

  The first class of the day was social studies. I took my seat and pulled out my notebook and a pen.

  “Now remember, class,” Mr. Gibbons said. “Your reports on ancient Rome are due in a few weeks. As the saying goes, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and I hope none of your projects will be, either.” He walked up and down the aisles as he spoke.

  “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that this assignment makes up eighty percent of your grade, so please do not wait until the last minute.”

  Mr. Gibbons looked directly at me, though I had no idea why. Okay, maybe I had a little hint. Last time we had a huge assignment like this—our ancient Egypt report—I waited until the night before to get started. Well, needless to say, that ended up being a pretty terrible idea, because I had to pull an all-nighter to get it done in time.

  Still, I’m not sure how Mr. Gibbons would have known that….

  I was mostly tuning my teacher out, because it just so happened that I had finished my project early. I really didn’t want history to repeat itself (and neither did my parents).

  * * *

  The rest of the day fell as flat as Felicia’s pin-straight whiskers. I couldn’t strike up a conversation with any of my friends. It seemed like all anyone cared about was updating their statuses, posting selfies, or checking in to different classrooms. With all the checking in, you’d think the school was a hotel.

  * * *

  When I got home, I plopped in front of the TV like a character from one of Wilson’s zombie movies. TV made everything better. Usually. But instead, I was taunted by commercial after commercial—every single ad was for the Whiz BangTM phone!

  The Whiz BangTM jingle was my favorite. I sang along loudly—maybe too loudly, because Mom popped her head in from the other room.

  “What is that screeching sound?” she asked. “Is something dying in here?”

  “Mom, can I get a cell phone?” I asked.

  “You don’t need one, Babymouse,” she replied.

  “But everyone has a cell phone but me!”

  “Nobody needs a cell phone, Babymouse,” my mom said. “It’s a privilege.”

  “But what if there’s an emergency?”

  Mom smiled. “I’ll discuss it with your dad and let you know, Babymouse.”

  * * *

  Over the next couple of days, I checked in with my parents constantly to see if they had made their decision.

  It soon became obvious that begging and pleading were not going to work. So I decided to go in the opposite direction. I gave them the silent treatment.

  Unfortunately, they beat me at my own game.

  Mom eventually gave me a cupcake, but it came with a lecture.

  “You know, Babymouse, if you want to prove to us that you’re ready for your own cell phone, you should do it by being more mature, not LESS mature,” she said.

  Tha
t was something I’d never considered before. It almost made sense!

  I figured that the best way to prove how responsible I could be was to take really, really good care of a cell-phone-like object for a couple of days. But WHAT?

  I scoured my room for anything resembling a cell phone.

  But there was nothing that even remotely resembled a cell phone. Wait! That was it!

  A remote!

  I ran into the living room and searched for the TV remote. I eventually found it sandwiched between two couch cushions.

  “Mom! Dad!” I yelled. “Come quickly!”

  They both came running, thinking it was an emergency. Which was a good thing, because it pretty much was.

  “I have the solution,” I proudly told them. “I am going to take excellent care of this remote control for the next couple of days so you can see just how well I am able to care for expensive technology.”

  My parents looked at each other, unsure. Dad shook his head at Mom, but she raised an eyebrow, and he just sighed. (Parents.)

  “Okay, Babymouse,” Mom said. “If you can hold on to that remote for the next forty-eight hours without losing or breaking it, we will consider letting you get your own cell phone.”

  I had this.

  * * *

  For the next two days, I didn’t let that remote control out of my sight. I even brought it with me to school! (Though I kept it in my locker so people wouldn’t think I was weird.) I was also on my best behavior in general. I did my homework without being asked, cleaned up the kitchen, and babysat my brother, Squeak.

  That weekend, my parents came into my bedroom, smiling. I was suspicious at first, but then they told me THE. MOST. BABYMOUSETASTIC. NEWS. EVER.

  “We have a surprise for you, Babymouse,” Dad said.

  “We’ve decided that you’ve been very responsible lately,” Mom continued.

  “And we are willing to let you get your own cell phone on a trial basis, but you have to promise to never use the phone during class,” Dad warned.

  My parents took me to the Whiz BangTM store.

  “Hello. I would like to be a part of the conversation, please,” I told the employee at the front desk.

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “Um, I want to buy a Whiz BangTM phone, please,” I said.

  “Oh, okay. Coming right up.” She reached down for a tray of display phones and laid them out before me. They sparkled like precious diamonds.

  “I’ll take that one!” I exclaimed, pointing toward the smallest, coolest one. “It’s perfect for me.”

  “The Whiz BangTM Mini. Great choice!” the saleswoman said.

  “Now, this isn’t going to be one of those things where we buy this phone today and the brand-new model comes out tomorrow, is it?” Dad asked.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” she said. “It’s very unlikely that that would happen.”

  She turned her attention back to me. “Have you had a cell phone before?”

  “Nope! This is my first one,” I replied.

  “Congratulations! Just make sure to be very careful with it,” she said. “Even with a protective case, the glass screen is very fragile.”

  “Fragile. Roger that!”

  * * *

  When we got back to the house, Mom and Dad posted a new “Cell Phone Policy” on the fridge.

  Even Mom and Dad’s strict rules couldn’t keep me from being on 9. I was officially part of the conversation (or “convo,” as the cool kids called it—I was picking up the lingo already!).

  * * *

  The next day, I could hardly wait until lunchtime to show my new phone to my friends. The day dragged on. But finally, the bell rang for lunch!

  “Look at my new phone!” I said.

  Duckie looked up from a messy PB&J. “Oh. That’s a Mini?”

  “Uh, yeah?” I responded.

  “It’s the old model…,” Penny said.

  The old model? That didn’t sound good.

  “What do you guys have?” I asked. Everyone held up their phones.

  “The new model. The Whiz BangTM Boom,” Wilson said.

  Maybe everyone else had the Whiz BangTM Boom, but that didn’t change anything. I still loved my Mini, and it loved me. (Or at least it would have if it hadn’t been a cell phone.)

  I added everyone’s information, and made sure to get a pic of each person for their contact profile.

  Now all I needed was Felicia’s number. I took a deep breath (of yucky cafeteria air—gross!) and made my way over to the popular table.

  “Felicia! Check it out!” I said. “I got a new phone! Can you give me your number?”

  Melinda, Belinda, and Berry exchanged smirks.

  “A Whiz BangTM Mini. How precious, Babymouse,” Belinda said.

  “I didn’t even know they made those anymore,” Berry added.

  “Did you get it at an antiques store?” Melinda asked.

  “I, uh, got it at the mall,” I stammered. I looked at Felicia and handed her my phone before anyone could say anything else. I was relieved when she took it right away.

  “Sure, Babymouse. I’ll give you my number.” She smiled widely.

  I was surprised she was being so nice, but I thought maybe it was because having a cell phone—even a Mini—gave me immediate CGS (Cool Girl Status). I watched as she carefully punched in the numbers.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the phone back to me. Just then, the bell rang.

  RINGGGG.

  Bye, Felicia.

  * * *

  The next class I had was math. I don’t hate-hate-hate math, but let’s just say we politely agree to disagree. Especially when it comes to answers.

  The clock was ticking slowly. I put my phone in my lap so no one could see, and began watching videos of baby koalas. (That should tell you how boring the class was, because koalas sleep at least eighteen hours a day, and they were still more exciting than integers.)

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a foot tapping next to my desk. I looked up to see my math teacher, Ms. Calculate, standing over me. I smiled my most innocent smile, but she shook her head and pointed to a sign in the front of the room.

  The next thing I knew, I was in the principal’s office.

  Typical.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, I went back to the principal’s office to get my phone. Luckily, it was easy to find.

  Okay, so my phone had a huge crack on the screen. But it still worked. Besides, image filters were totally in! I just pretended to be using a giant spider photo filter for everything.

  I had to focus on the positive. For example, now that I had a cell phone, I could go to the Coffee Shoppe after school. The Coffee Shoppe was THE place to see and be seen. (I mean—c’mon—they didn’t even spell it “Shop.” If that’s not cool, I don’t know what is….)

  All the popular middle-school kids went there after class with their friends. They sat at fancy little tables with overstuffed comfy chairs, texting each other and drinking lattes. It was all so very…French.

  But with my Whiz Bang™ Mini, I would be an outsider no more. (Literally!)

  * * *

  I dashed over to Locker, gathered my things, and started to make my way to the Coffee Shoppe. I wanted to make sure I got a good spot for people watching. I was so happy I was tempted to skip the whole way, except I was pretty sure skipping wasn’t cool. (Based on the fact that Penny had repeatedly told me so.)

  Hmm, that reminded me to check in with Penny.

  I was starting to realize emojis were only great for expressing your feelings if your feelings fell into an existing category. That was pretty limiting. If it was up to me, there would be a customized emoji for everything!

  When I arrived at the Coffee Shoppe, I quickly got in line. After w
hat seemed like forever (but was probably only about eight minutes), it was my turn to order.

  “What can I get you?” Barista asked. Or at least I assumed that was her name because it was written on her name tag.

  “I’ll have a latte, please,” I said.

  “What flavor?” she asked. “We have pumpkin, caramel, vanilla, mocha, peppermint….”

  “I’ll have that.”

  “Which one? They’re all different flavors.”

  “Um, I’ll take all of them.”

  She punched the order into the cash register. “What size?” she asked.

  “Extra large.”

  “And your name?” Finally, an easy one.

  “Babymouse.”