Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [28]
“Wendy,” Jessica answers, as she has many times before. “Wendy Darling.”
“Right! Wendy Darling! Thank you!” Sylvia says, finally touching her fingertips back down on the keyboard. “That would have bothered me all day. I wouldn’t have been able to get anything done.”
“You could have Googled it,” Jessica says.
Sylvia waves at the computer dismissively “Not here. No Internet connection. Clear Sky wants us cut off from the outside world so we can concentrate on serving customers … like you!”
Jessica laughs politely, sticking to that game plan for getting this done. She congratulates herself on her sense of restraint and maturity, thinking about how a younger, less patient Jessica Darling might have resorted to huffing and puffing and blowing the whole thing out of proportion. But the mere fact that she is so proud of her progress points to just how tenuous her grip on maturity really is. Did Garanimals pat herself on the back for not throwing a hissy fit? No. She just whipped out her cell phone and went into problem-solving mode without causing a ruckus or putting up a fuss. Full-fledged grown-ups shouldn’t celebrate themselves for resisting behavior unbecoming of a toddler. Jessica’s getting there, but she hasn’t arrived yet.
“I don’t like Google,” Sylvia says. “Call me old-fashioned, but I like getting all my answers the hard way, by racking my brain! I swear, my son can’t think thirty seconds into the future. Everything is now now now, with all that texting and instant-messaging nonsense. I don’t think his generation knows how to think for themselves in any way that makes sense.”
“They can think for themselves, and they do,” says Jessica. “They just choose not to share those thoughts with you.”
Sylvia fixes Jessica with a skeptical look. “Are you a teacher or something?”
“More of an ‘or something’ than a teacher,” Jessica says. “But I hope to change that.” She realizes she could end the conversation here, but she’s compelled to push it further, to defend all the Girls who aren’t here to defend themselves. “Texting makes sense to your son. He doesn’t want it to make sense to you. That’s the whole point. Didn’t you pass coded notes in class when you were his age?”
“I did,” Sylvia concedes, before regaining momentum, “because we wanted to keep things private. But that’s not how it is nowadays, with everything on the Internet. None of these kids want privacy. They’re all addicted to attention. Nick dropped out of college and thinks he deserves to be famous for doing nothing. He didn’t have a job until I forced him to get one. Argh!” Sylvia slaps a hand to her forehead.
Jessica’s eyes spin around in their sockets. Sylvia’s comments are indicative of precisely the kind of collective character assassination that gets the Girls all riled up. And no one fought back against the youth bashing more fiercely than Sunny.
Dearest Mom and Dad,
I’m writing this letter to apologize on behalf of the Look at Me! generation. We think we deserve the world’s undivided attention. We demand it! While I have yours, I will use it to make a confession: You are right.
The world is passing through troubled times, and yet we think of nothing but ourselves. Today’s teens love luxury. We want it all and we want it now and heaven help you if you don’t give it to us. We are the biggest culprits in this culture of excess, the most fickle consumers, the biggest contributors to the global garbage pileup resulting from our disposable society.
We have bad manners, contempt for authority, and show disrespect to our elders. We contradict our parents, chatter before company, and are tyrants over our teachers. We have no reverence for parents or old age. We talk as if we know everything, and the wisdom of our elders is passed off as foolishness. I can only speak for myself when I promise: No more!
I understand why you see no hope for a future dependent on the frivolous youth of today, for we are reckless beyond words. When you