Free Gone Bad by Lesley Choyce

fourteen-year-old daughter listening to the song on the Internet. And Mrs. Morality Montgomery proceeded to go through the roof. She found an ally in the form of Richard Garber, another parent whose son had been warped out of his morality by our music and was forever damaged because he had listened to the lyrics of “Downtown Dangerous.”
    â€œIt’s censorship again,” Kelsey said. “They can’t do this.”
    â€œOf course they can,” I said, spraying fragments of toast around the room as I talked. “If people like to hate our music, it means we must be doing something right.”
    â€œHow come the paper didn’t ask us to comment?”
    â€œKelsey, don’t get so serious about this. It’s just a bunch of old geeks with hormonal deficiency trying to stop us from having fun.”
    â€œYeah, but they’re also trying to censor us.”
    â€œLet ’em. Kids love anything their parents say is bad for them.”
    â€œYeah, but the Parents for Musical Morality are going to be on our case whatever we do. And they’re going to try to have CKDU’s broadcasting licence revoked.”
    â€œI’ll bust their legs,” I said.
    â€œYou always revert to being a caveman when you’re upset, don’t you?” Kelsey never knew when I was joking. But then neither did I.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with that?”
    â€œNothing a good brain transplant wouldn’t cure,” she said. The way she said it really ticked me off. I was getting tired of Kelsey putting me down all the time. She still couldn’t accept me for who I was, and that really bugged me. When would she give it up and stop trying to turn me into something I wasn’t?
    While I was sulking, Barry called to say he’d read the story and was still behind us a hundred percent. We hadn’t said much to Barry since Giles had shown up, but now that he had called us, I guess Kelsey felt it was time to give him the lowdown. “Come on over to our jam session this afternoon,” Kelsey told him. “There’s somebody I think you should meet.”
    That somebody was Giles. I knew this was going to be awkward. But Kelsey figured that together, Barry and Giles could help us plan a counterattack on the PFMM.
    While we were setting up, Alex said his mom had friends who were joining this musical morality thing.
    â€œAlex, it doesn’t mean you have to worry about it. She’s only your mother,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t know how much flak I put up with to stay in this band.”
    â€œMy heart is bleeding big puddles of blood for you, Alex. But grow out of it. What your mom’s friends think doesn’t mean squat. They’re all gonna be dead in forty years and we’re all going to still be hammering music.”
    Barry arrived a short while later. He was running in full support mode. “Yeah, man. Don’t let it get to you. They start censoring your songs and who knows where it will end. You can’t stop writers and musicians from being creative by putting limits on what they are allowed to say. It’s freedom of speech.”
    I was afraid this was going to get real boring. I was afraid he’d get all wired up in one of his political tirades and we’d have to listen to it. So I made a musical comment by doing a heavy roll on the snare drum. Barry took the hint, looking a little hurt.
    â€œJust trying to loosen up my wrists, man. Sorry.”
    â€œYou don’t need to apologize,” Barry said.
    â€œI’m going to write a song directed right at these self-righteous music-haters,” Kelsey asserted.
    â€œI don’t know,” Alex said. “I just don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
    I didn’t get what he was talking about. Of course it felt right. A song that trashed a bunch of lame prudes was an excellent idea. I knew Kelsey would make it good and angry, which would give me a chance to