>How to Meet a Rockstar in One Easy Step

>”So Jeanine and I were at Panerra last night,” my 16-year-old stepdaughter told me on Saturday morning. “And we were really bored, so we thought we’d talk in British accents.”

“And that must be why you had the accent when you called Dad last night,” I said.

“Yeah. So we were planning on seeing Disturbia and somehow, two guys and a girl at the next table overheard us and said they were going to see the movie, too. And we all started talking.”

“You still had your British accents?”

“Yeah. But Jeanine was really bad at it. And she was saying the craziest stuff! Like when they said they knew some people from our school, she said, ‘Oooh, hahve yoo huhd of a gell named Jeanine Withahs?”

“Oh my.”

“Yeah. And then she said, ‘Hahve any of yoo evah been to a Sooc, Sooo, um, Soocah, Soocer game?’ And I said, ‘Doon’t yoo mean football?’ And then I said, “Sooo sorry, sometimes my friend’s voice gets rahther squeaky.'”

“Wow. That’s bad.”

“Yeah. So it ended up being too late for us to go to the movie, but the guy I was talking to the most got my number and gave me his and said he wanted to hang out some time. And he’s in a band.”

“Oh,” I said noncommitally. This is Nashville. Who isn’t in a band?

“It’s like a real band,” she said. “They have a record label and they’re going on tour in May all over the country and then to Europe. And he homeschools because of all the touring.”

“What’s the name of the band?” I asked. She told me.

“16!” I said. “They’re totally famous!”

“They are?” she said. “I’d never heard of them.”

“And now he thinks you’re British.“

“I know!” she laughed. “I’ll just have to tell him when he calls.”

“And he’ll hate you for lying. And your days hanging out with teenage rock stars will be over before they began. Dammit! Dammit!”

Later that afternoon, he text messaged her: You’re not really British, are you?

Hmm. I wonder how on earth he figured that out. Yet shockingly, he doesn’t hate her. He’s meeting her for lunch this week.

Ordinarily, this tale would’ve been of minimal interest to me, other than determining whether he’s what they call a Bad Influence. But now that I’m practically under house arrest, the little events of our household are pretty much all the live entertainment I’ve had in weeks. That’s why I’m already making fiendish plans to embarrass the hell out of my stepdaughter by doing some sort of Flashdance rendition in the front row at the band’s next Nashville show.

I’m sure she wouldn’t mind asking her new friend to put her stepmother on the guest list. I mean, I think I’ve proven I’m down with the homies.