Listen to Your Heart

by Kasie West

  “I liked that one, too,” Ms. Lyon said.

  “The second year was famous teens in history,” Victoria continued. “It was fun listening to stories of people our age doing interesting things in the past, like ruling nations or robbing banks. But overall that year, in my opinion, was a bit of a flop. It wasn’t interactive enough. People didn’t get to call in. It was all just talk talk talk.”

  Alana let out a grunt from beside me. “I think that dry-erase marker is going to her head,” she whispered.

  I was surprised that Victoria was admitting any sort of negativity about past shows to the director herself, our teacher. She had power over the gradebook, after all. Ms. Lyon’s eyebrow shot up.

  Victoria continued, “But thankfully, last year’s class raised the bar with opposing opinions about controversial court cases featuring teens. People got to call in and voice their views on the cases. Did they have researchers for that one?”

  Ms. Lyon nodded. “They did. You will all contribute to the show in some way, from researching to editing to sound checking to equipment. There are many aspects to recording a podcast. You will all learn them this year.”

  I wondered how Ms. Lyon had learned about podcasting. She seemed older, late forties maybe. Podcasting couldn’t have been around when she was in college.

  “Speaking of jobs,” Victoria said, still holding the dry-erase marker, even though she had finished writing. “I would like to be one of the hosts.”

  “I’ll be assigning the appropriate people to that role, along with everyone else’s positions, next week.” Ms. Lyon held out her hand for the marker and Victoria passed it over. “The highest priority right now is finding the best possible topic.” Ms. Lyon swept her hand to the side, gesturing to the board. “These are off-limits, but everything else is fair game. Be creative, think outside the obvious. You must submit a topic by Friday.”

  Several groans sounded in the room.

  “I don’t need complaining about something as important as the topic,” Ms. Lyon said. “And I hope all you complainers know that the lab hour for this class is after school once a week. A third of you will be in the production lab on Wednesdays. The other two-thirds in the postproduction lab on Thursdays.” She clapped her hands twice, then tapped the board. “Did you all forget to bring notebooks on the first day? Write these topics down. Then you can take the remainder of class to brainstorm new topic ideas with your neighbor.”

  The sound of backpacks being unzipped and notebooks being opened filled the room. I wrote down the off-limit topics, then turned toward Alana.

  “Any ideas?” I asked.

  “None,” she said.

  “I kind of thought the topics were assigned.”

  “Me too. I mean, what class would actually pick teens through history?” she said quietly.

  “That one sounded interesting to me.”

  “Really? I thought I knew you.” She wrote the word History on my blank page, then put a giant X through it.

  “We should do something about the lake,” I said, drawing a stick figure riding her X like a wave. “Teen wakeboarders or lake folk tales.”

  “Ah. There it is. I do know you after all.”

  “It’s a good idea!” I protested.

  “You really think the city kids would vote for that?”

  I glanced around the room to see how many Lakesprings students were in the class. That’s when I noticed Frank Young in the back row. I scowled. Frank’s parents owned half of Lakesprings and wanted to own all of it. They’d been trying to buy the marina out from under my parents for years. It sat on prime property that they’d been eyeing for a high-end hotel. Since my parents weren’t selling, the Youngs had been attempting to force them out—conservation studies, code violation reports, the list went on and on.

  “Did you see him?” I hissed.

  “Yep. I’m surprised it took you this long,” Alana said.

  “Did you know he was going to take this class?”

  “How would I know that?”

  Frank was sitting next to Victoria. He doodled in an open notebook while she talked about topics.

  “I think music would be cool. That hasn’t been done before,” she was saying.

  “There are a million music podcasts. Not to mention the radio stations that actually play music,” Frank responded.

  “She’s taking this very seriously,” Alana said, obviously overhearing Victoria as well.

  I forced the scowl off my face and took a deep breath. I wouldn’t think about Frank. Maybe we could just ignore each other in this class. That could work well.

  “Probably because she wants to host,” I told Alana. “I could see caring a lot more about the topic if you have to talk about it for the next however many weeks.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hosting,” Alana said.

  “You’d make a good host.” It sounded like torture to me.

  “What job would you want?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Research, I guess.”

  “Here’s hoping we get our first picks.” She tapped her pen against mine in a writing-utensil toast.

  The bell rang, and I shoved my notebook into my backpack. I stood up, and someone knocked against my shoulder as he walked by.

  “Hello. Distance,” Frank said, and kept walking.

  “Excuse me?”

  “At least you stayed dry this time,” he threw back over his shoulder, and then exited the classroom.

  For a second I was confused, but then I remembered the lake that morning. Frank had been the guy on the WaveRunner. He had sprayed me on purpose. An entire year in the same small class as Frank Young was not going to be fun.

  When I got home from school, I stopped by the kitchen, where Mom was stirring a pitcher of iced tea.

  “Does Dad need me at the marina?” I asked.

  “No, it slowed down this afternoon.”

  My eyebrows popped up. “So does that mean there’s an extra WaveRunner I can take out?”

  Mom laughed. “You are determined to spend all your earnings on gas, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, you should just pay me in gas from now on.”

  She opened the fridge and pulled out an apple. “How was school?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Your junior year might be your best one yet.”

  “You say that every year.”

  “I like to think positively.” She turned on the tap, washed the apple, and handed it to me.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I left the kitchen just as Max entered, and Mom started asking him about his first day of freshman year.

  As I headed down the hall to my room, my phone rang and I pulled it out of my bag.

  “Hey, Alana. Miss me already?”

  “We need to brainstorm more podcast topics,” she replied.

  “Why? We just had class. And the assignment’s not due until Friday.”

  “Topics will get picked fast. The longer we wait, the harder it will be. And by the way, have you listened to any of the podcasts I told you about?”

  I opened my bedroom door and let my backpack slide down my arm and onto the floor. Then I plopped down onto the beanbag in the corner, biting off a chunk of apple. I looked across the room at my big poster of a wakeboarder creating an arc of spray. It reminded me that I wanted to be out on the lake. “I’ve been busy.”

  “You know you can listen to podcasts while you go on your WaveRunner.”

  “I know, I know. What’s your favorite? I’ll listen to it.”

  “I like the funny movie review one, ooh, or the funny food review one. Or there’s this first dates one that is awesome.”

  “So all of them?”

  “Pretty much.”

  My cousin came into my room then with a loud, “Ughhh.”

  I gasped in surprise, nearly choking on chewed-up apple.

  “What happened?” Alana asked.

  Liza’s strong citrus scent followed her in. “It’s Liza. She seems happy.”

  “I am
not happy,” Liza said.

  “Oh, you just smell happy, I was confused.”

  “You need to get over this problem you have with my perfume.”

  “Are you having a conversation with me or Liza?” Alana asked from the phone.

  “Sorry, you,” I told Alana.

  “I have a problem,” Liza said loudly.

  “Did Liza say she has a problem?” Alana asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Put me on speaker.”

  I sighed but complied.

  “Hey, Liza,” Alana said. “Tell us your problem.”

  “My mom wants me to go to tutoring at that center by the grocery store in town,” Liza said with a frown.

  “Okay …” Alana said.

  “Once a week, after school. To ‘get ahead of the problem,’ she said.”

  “What problem?” I asked.

  “You know, my grade problem.”

  I didn’t know. “You have a grade problem?”

  Liza shrugged. “I lack motivation when it comes to homework.” She used two fingers to stretch a piece of gum out of her mouth.

  “And going to the tutoring center is a bad thing?” Alana asked. “What’s wrong with forcing yourself to do homework once a week and having help readily available?”

  Liza twisted the gum around her pointer finger, then scraped it off with her teeth. “I’m a freshman. Think of my reputation.”

  I wasn’t sure what reputation she was referring to, but I understood what she was saying. “Who is going to know about this?” I asked. “Anyone that’s there is also getting tutored.”

  Liza gave an epic eye roll like I was the most ignorant person in the world, and sat down on the edge of my bed. “It’s by the grocery store. Do you know how many people from our school go to that grocery store?”

  “No, I don’t.” I rarely went to the grocery store in Oak Court. We had a small market in Lakesprings and even though it was owned by the Youngs, it was more convenient than the alternative.

  “I don’t, either,” Liza admitted, “but I’m sure it’s a lot. Someone will see me.”

  Alana’s voice rang out from the phone. “Why don’t you talk to your mom and see if you can prove to her that you’re willing to do homework on your own? Tell her that she can check the school website every week and the first time that it shows a missing assignment, you’ll agree to her tutoring plan.”

  Liza sat forward with a smile. “That is an excellent idea, Alana. You give the best advice. Thank you!” She hopped up and ran out of my room, apparently to share this idea with her mom that second.

  “You’re welcome,” Alana said to my empty room.

  “She’s gone,” I said.

  “That girl is funny. But hey, my mom just got home from work and is patiently waiting to talk to me.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.” I ended the call and went to my dresser for a swimsuit. When I turned around to shut my door, my mom stood there, leaning against the frame.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she said.

  “What’s not?”

  “Checking the website to make sure your homework is done before you have lake time.”

  “Nobody suggested that as an idea.”

  She winked. “I made a couple of modifications. I heard you telling Alana that you have something due this Friday.”

  “It’s just a topic for the podcast. No big deal.”

  Her face brightened. “How was the podcasting class? Did you love it?”

  Alana had sold my mom on podcasts last year as part of her strategy to convince me. “It was okay.”

  “Give it a chance. It might surprise you.”

  “Do you wish you could take the podcasting class, too, Mom?”

  “Funny. So you have to think of a topic for the show?”

  “Yes.” I dropped the apple core into the small trash bin under my desk.

  “What are your ideas so far?”

  “I have none. Alana and I will figure something out.”

  “How about fashion advice?”

  I looked down at my plain old shorts and striped tee. “Is that a hint?”

  “Not at all. I’m just trying to think of something teens might be interested in.”

  “Leave it to the actual teens,” I said with a smile.

  “How about, ‘What’s in Your Lunch?’ Exposé-type news stories of what’s happening around the school.”

  “Mom, I love you, and thanks for trying, but no.”

  She pointed to the swimsuit I still held in my hand. “Well, you better think of something fast, because no lake time until you do.”

  I let my mouth fall open as she walked away. “Since when?”

  “Since now,” she called back as she headed off down the hall.

  Crap.

  My brother walked by my door. “Max!” I shouted in desperation.

  He backtracked so he stood in my open doorway.

  “Do you have any ideas for a podcast?” I asked him.

  He thought for a second. “Hmm. Gaming? Comics?”

  “Any mainstream ideas?”

  “Lots of people like both those things,” he argued.

  “I know, but the show has to have mass appeal.” Actually, maybe that didn’t matter. Ms. Lyon didn’t say it had to appeal to a wide audience. She just said it had to be original. “Maybe I should suggest lake myths. Or lake sports.”

  Max shrugged and walked on.

  I threw my swimsuit on my bed, pulled out my laptop, then logged on to the website for Ms. Lyon’s class.

  I was surprised to see that there was a list of ideas already there. People had beaten me to it! And I was even more surprised to see that one idea listed was: lake stories. I growled. Had Frank submitted that? Was there someone else from Lakesprings in the class? The entries were anonymous on the site (only Ms. Lyon could see who had entered what). If I wrote in lake sports, would that be too close to lake stories?

  Liza came barreling back into my room and flung herself on my bed. “She said no!”

  “What?”

  “My mom. She says tutoring is nonnegotiable for at least the first quarter of school. I even told her you would tutor me.”

  I frowned. “Why did you tell her that?”

  “Because the other thing Alana told me to say wasn’t working.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I start next week,” Liza said glumly.

  “I’m sorry, Liza. But it won’t be that bad, right?”

  “My mom walking me to my weekly tutoring session?”

  “I can take you.”

  Liza scrunched her nose up like she hadn’t thought of that idea and wasn’t sure if it was a good one. “Okay. Yeah … sure. You’re a junior now, after all. That makes you at least cooler than my mom.”

  “Thanks … I think.”

  “This might work!” And just like that, she was gone again. That girl was a ball of energy.

  I scanned the list of topics once more. Not only was lake stories taken, but comics, music, and fashion were on there, too. Someone had even submitted the suggestion my mom had given, about exposés of high school life. And this was the first day! There’d be nothing left if I waited.

  I tapped my fingers lightly on the keyboard. I just had to think of an idea. It wasn’t like it would actually get used when the whole class had to vote. Maybe I could call Alana back and get her advice.

  Advice.

  The thing Alana had wanted about Diego. The thing Liza had wanted about tutoring. Wasn’t that something teens were always looking for? Whether from their friends or parents or teachers? An advice show could totally work.

  I typed in my idea. It was a solid one. Or at least original enough to count. I hurried into the kitchen to tell Mom I’d submitted my topic, and she gave me a thumbs-up. Within seconds, I’d changed into my swimsuit and was on my way to the lake.

  The next day, at lunch, Alana and I discussed my topic choice.

  “I like it,” Alana said as we sat side
by side on our usual bench outside. “The Ask Alana Advice Show.” She placed each word in the air with her hand. “Triple A.”

  “That might be copyrighted,” I said, sticking a straw into my smoothie.

  “Either way, I’m voting for your idea.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said.

  “I know. I want to. It would be fun to hear people call in with their problems.”

  I shoved her shoulder. “Be nice.”

  “Was that mean?” Alana asked as she unwrapped her sandwich.

  I ignored her question because I was pretty sure she was joking and asked, “Have you thought of a topic yet?”

  She let out an exaggerated groan. “No. Do you have any other ideas in that brilliant brain of yours that I can have?”

  “I had a hard enough time coming up with mine!”

  Alana’s attention was drawn across the commons, her eyes locked onto a target. I followed her gaze to see Diego talking to a group of guys. He held a can of Pepsi and a sandwich.

  “How about Stalking 101?” I said. “How to get and hold the attention of your crush.”

  Alana smirked. “Don’t tempt me. I’d be an excellent host for that topic as well.”

  “So if that was your topic, step one would be: Drag your friend to stare at him in the hall. Step two: Stare at him while he eats his lunch. What is step three, Alana?”

  “You think I’m all talk and no game? Is that it?”

  “I know you are far from no game. I’ve seen you in action. I’m just wondering how this particular one is going to play out.”

  “Step three, my doubting friend, is to make him think he’s the one with the crush on me.”

  “And how is that accomplished?”

  “Watch and learn.”

  Alana left me on our lunch bench with my smoothie. I watched her dig her phone out of her pocket. As she walked, she stared at the screen until she walked herself right into Diego. She jumped back, her hand flying to her chest as if startled. He reached out to steady her from the impact. She said something and he smiled and dropped his hand to his side. Then she started talking to another guy in the group. That guy shrugged. Alana said something else to the other guy, kicked his shoe playfully, and turned around and walked back to me.

  “And that’s how it’s done,” she said, sitting back down.