Listen to Your Heart

by Kasie West

  “I’m one step past hung up on him. I was hung up on him over the summer, now I’m …”

  “Hung down on him?”

  I laughed. “Off the hook but still touching it?”

  She shook her head. “Well, instead of touching that hook, you can help me in my romantic endeavors.”

  “Are you still coming to Liza’s tutoring thing with me on Monday so you can hang out with Diego there?” I asked as we headed to my car. This was the strategy we’d come up with after several discussions.

  “Would that be too obvious?” Alana asked, twirling a strand of her dark hair around one finger.

  “A little, but when has that ever stopped you?”

  Alana laughed. “Okay. Since you are now the expert advice giver, I’m going to listen to you.”

  “Funny. When does the podcast get posted online, anyway?” I asked.

  “Friday.”

  “Oh joy. Can’t wait for my debut.” It wasn’t like nobody listened to the podcast. It had actually built up quite a loyal following. I had two days to pretend this would all go away.

  The wind whipped through my hair and pounded at my ears as I practically skidded across the lake on the WaveRunner. I knew I was driving fast, maybe too fast, but it felt good. I loved being out on the lake, doing something I was good at. I didn’t feel stupid or out of my element or judged. I felt strong and confident. I felt free.

  Well, except for the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be out here. I was supposed to be cleaning this WaveRunner. A bucket of soapy water sat on the dock about twenty minutes behind me. It was nearing sunset and there was actually a whole row of WaveRunners I was supposed to clean. But as I’d stood on the dock, holding the bucket, I knew I needed this more.

  I released my hold on the gas and the vehicle slowed to a stop. I put my forehead to the handlebars and let the tension melt out of my shoulders and back.

  The way I felt now—relaxed and happy—was worth the look on my dad’s face as I pulled back up to the dock thirty minutes later. But not necessarily worth the fact that I realized he held a towel in his hand and had obviously just done my job.

  He sighed. “Kate, I know the siren call is strong, but sometimes I wish you could resist.”

  “I needed a break.”

  “You always need a break.”

  “That’s not true. I work here a lot.”

  He let out a small chuckle. “I wasn’t talking about here. I meant the things waiting for you at the house—homework, chores, responsibilities.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hurry home. Mom said you were supposed to have your homework done before going out on the lake.”

  “I know. Sorry.” I probably should’ve been more sorry. I hung up the keys and made my way home.

  The next two days passed in a blur. Before I knew it, it was Friday afternoon, and I was pacing the floor of my bedroom. Liza and Alana sat on my bed, staring at me. The three of us had just finished listening to the first episode … or intro … or whatever Ms. Lyon was calling the thing. The editing team had done a good job editing out the silence at least.

  “I thought you hated being called Kat,” Liza said. The editing team had also edited out every time I corrected my name.

  “I do.” But my name was the least of my worries.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Alana finally said, echoing Ms. Lyon’s words from Wednesday. Anytime someone has to say something isn’t that bad, that just proves the opposite.

  “You were funny,” Liza said.

  “For sure,” Alana agreed. “You played the snark to Victoria’s straight. It almost seemed like you two meant to play it that way.”

  “You used the word almost.” I sank to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest.

  “You sounded a tiny bit froggy, but otherwise you were okay, Kate,” Liza said, playing with her blonde ponytail. “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out.”

  “Thanks, Liza.”

  “Did your group come up with any ways to get more callers?” Alana asked.

  In class today, Ms. Lyon had split us into different groups to try and brainstorm ideas.

  “Not really.” I sighed from my spot on the floor. “My group was too busy giving me advice on how to be more charming and likable on air.”

  “Oh yeah, what kind of advice did they have?” Alana asked, shifting on my bed.

  I thought back to their shouted suggestions. “One was to smile while I talk. Then I would at least sound happy.”

  Liza screwed her lips up into a smile. “Does that really work? Do I sound happy right now?” she asked us.

  “You sound like a robot,” Alana said. “You’re supposed to both smile and move your mouth.”

  “Is that possible?” Liza practiced it a few times, whispering different words with a smile pasted onto her face.

  “What about your group?” I asked Alana. “Did they come up with brilliant plans for more calls?”

  “No. They’re thinking that once the first episode airs, more people will call in.”

  “Based on what, exactly?” I asked, feeling defeated. “My winning charm?”

  “Based on wanting to be on a podcast, I guess.” Alana shrugged.

  I tapped my bare feet against the floor. “Maybe we’ll have to assign all the people who are in Thursday’s postproduction lab to call in on Wednesdays with fake problems,” I said, remembering how Alana had called in. “They can work on their voice manipulation and acting skills.”

  Alana scooted off my bed and came to sit on the floor next to me. She put her arm around my shoulder. “Look on the bright side.”

  “There’s a bright side?”

  “It can’t get any worse than that episode, right? It will only get better from here.”

  “You just totally jinxed it. Next week someone will call in about undercooked meat at the local hamburger joint.”

  “Or they’ll want you to help them with math homework,” Liza said in her robot smile voice. Then she checked her phone. “Oops, my mom just texted that it’s dinnertime. I’ll see you guys later.” She bounded off my bed and was gone.

  Alana squeezed my arm. “You are being too hard on yourself. Let’s forget about this stupid podcast for now, okay?” She pulled me to my feet. “It’s Friday. We are going to find something amazing to do.”

  “This is Mr. Young’s hotel,” I whispered to Alana half an hour later. We stood outside the metal gate that led to the pool and hot tub. “Are you trying to make him hate my family more?”

  “You think Mr. Young mans each and every one of his properties on a Friday night?” Alana waved her hand through the air, her big brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “Please. Besides, he owns all the hotels in town. So it’s not like we have a choice if we want to go hot tub hopping.”

  This had been Alana’s amazing plan for Friday night. The two of us wore swimsuits under our shorts and tank tops, and we were ready to sneak in.

  “Mr. Young doesn’t own Sierra Inn,” I pointed out.

  “True,” Alana said. “And that’s why Sierra Inn doesn’t have a hot tub.”

  A couple headed down the path toward us and Alana pulled me out of the way. “We forgot our key,” she said when they reached the gate.

  They used theirs to let themselves in and held the gate open for us.

  “See, easy,” she said under her breath. “Think of this as what Mr. Young owes you for all the trouble he causes your family.”

  I looked around. Lights strung overhead reflected off the wet, stamped concrete. The pool was lit a bright blue and the hot tub bubbled with white steam. Pine trees hugged the back side of the fence, like towering guards. The moon rested just above one, as if the tip of the tree had pierced it and held it in place. The whole atmosphere was gorgeous and I could see why people came to Lakesprings for honeymoons and family vacations and weekend getaways. What I didn’t understand was why anyone ever wanted to leave.

  Alana and I ste
pped into the hot tub and I slid into a corner, letting the heat work at my muscles.

  Alana nudged my foot with hers. “See, I knew you needed this. You should never question my plans. They are always perfect.”

  That night, after Alana dragged me to three more hot tubs, I lay on my bed decompressing. As much fun as I had with my best friend, I liked my alone time, too. That reminded me of a text Hunter had sent me months ago. I pulled it up on my phone.

  It’s okay to gain your energy from silence, he’d written. Silence isn’t static.

  I smiled. Hunter got me. No, Hunter obviously didn’t get me, because he’d stopped texting me ages ago. I should’ve just deleted all his texts and his contact info and unfollowed him on social media so I could stop torturing myself. But I didn’t delete anything.

  My bedroom door was nudged open and Uncle Tim’s dog walked in. He was a big dog, some mix that included Great Dane. Of course he came straight up to where I was lying on my bed and stuck his nose on my cheek.

  I covered my face. “No, CD.”

  My cousins and I called him CD, short for Community Dog, because he spent so much time in all of our houses. I didn’t even remember what my uncle had originally named him two years ago.

  “Come on,” I added, “you’re in the wrong house.” I rolled off my bed and stood up. CD followed me out my door, outside the house, and into the backyard. I walked to the right, stopping at my uncle’s back sliding door. I gave a cursory knock and waited ten seconds before I slid open the door, pushed the curtains aside, and directed CD inside.

  My uncle sat at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal. He looked up when I appeared and a smile lit his face.

  “Kate! Hey.”

  “Hi, Uncle Tim. CD thought I needed a friend tonight.”

  “Ah, sorry about that.” Uncle Tim patted his leg. “Come here, boy.”

  I’d started to leave when my uncle called me back.

  “Do you want some cereal?” he asked.

  “It’s eleven o’clock at night.”

  “And?”

  I shrugged. “And nothing, I guess.” I pulled out the stool next to him and sat down. He got me a bowl and pushed over the milk.

  “How’s the new school year so far?” he asked as we ate together. Uncle Tim’s kids were my younger cousins; they were all still in preschool or elementary school.

  “Decent,” I answered, my mouth full of cereal. CD, curled up beside my uncle’s feet, began to snore.

  “And your brother? Is he adjusting to high school well?”

  “I think so. He hangs in the library and reads.”

  “Sounds about right. And why are you hanging out at home on a Friday night?”

  “I wasn’t. Alana and I went out and now I’m back.” I hoped Uncle Tim wouldn’t ask me what we’d done. I didn’t like lying, but I would never tell my uncle about trespassing on Mr. Young’s properties. He’d be disappointed, maybe worried. My parents always said we needed to maintain a squeaky clean reputation, never give the Youngs ammunition.

  “You seem down,” my uncle said in his thoughtful way.

  Despite Alana’s attempt at distracting me, my brain was still wrapped up in my major fail at hosting. Thinking about struggling through a year of something I never wanted to do in the first place wasn’t sitting well.

  “How do I convince my podcasting teacher to let me switch jobs?” I asked my uncle, turning to face him. “She’s really stubborn, but I feel like the entire class wishes that would happen.”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  My heart sank. “You listened to it, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  He didn’t finish that sentence with: you were great or you were funny. Instead he said, “You’ll get better. And don’t worry, the class will come around.”

  Ouch. “Yeah … maybe.” We finished our cereal in silence. I stood up and dumped the remainder of my milk into the sink.

  “Don’t stress about it, Kate. Success doesn’t happen without some failure.”

  I turned back around to look at him at the counter. “That’s one of those things adults say that really means nothing, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “I stand by it.”

  “Thanks.”

  I wanted to believe him. But his statement implied that success always came after failure. I knew that wasn’t true. “Maybe I should just drop out of the class,” I mused out loud. “Take pottery instead.”

  “Your mom wouldn’t like that. She’s excited that you’re taking this class.”

  “I know.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s all into podcasts thanks to Alana.”

  Uncle Tim laughed. “I think it’s more that she wants you to find some new passions. Make sure you’re living up to your potential and all that.”

  “But I already have my passion!” I protested. “I want to run the marina. Why are my parents suddenly acting like my caring about the lake is a horrible thing? Their lives are about the lake.”

  Uncle Tim nodded. “But there’s nothing wrong with exploring some more options before making a decision about your entire future. That’s all your parents want.”

  “Says the guy who has known he wanted to fly airplanes since the time he was five.”

  He smiled. “True.”

  I started to walk toward the door.

  “But I minored in Biology because I thought cutting things open sounded fun, too.”

  I turned and walked backward a few steps. “You’re weird.”

  He raised his cereal bowl to me. “Sometimes the path of least resistance isn’t necessarily the right path. You can resist the siren call of the lake sometimes.”

  I stopped walking. “What?”

  “What?”

  “You were talking to my dad, weren’t you? He used those exact words. Did you all sit around talking about me?”

  “No.”

  I lowered my chin and continued to stare.

  “They’re just concerned about you, Kate.”

  I frowned. “They think I only want to run the marina because it’s easy? Because I’m lazy or something?”

  “They don’t want you to choose your future by default.”

  “I love the marina. Maybe more than they do.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  I grunted and marched to the door. “Fine. I won’t quit the podcast.”

  At least, not yet.

  “I thought Alana was coming with us today,” Liza said as we pulled up outside the tutoring center on Monday afternoon.

  “She’s meeting us here.”

  Alana had explained to me that she didn’t want to show up at Diego’s place of employment without a good reason. I wasn’t sure what good reason she’d come up with, but I’d learned long ago to just go along with Alana’s plans. Things turned out better that way.

  This time, Diego was at the front counter when Liza and I walked inside.

  “Hey, Kate, Liza,” he said.

  Tommy came out of the back room. “Hi, Liza. You ready to get to work?”

  She shrugged. “Not really.”

  Tommy laughed. “Well, too bad, kiddo. I get paid the big bucks to make you work.” His gaze slid to me. “Hey, nice job on the podcast Friday.”

  I nearly choked on my own surprise. “Oh … you listened to that?”

  “Yeah. You were funny.”

  “See!” Liza said. “That’s what I tried to tell her, but she cried about how awful she was.”

  “I did not cry.” My face got hot.

  “Whined, whatever.”

  She had me there. “Yes, there was lots of whining.”

  “Well, I liked the podcast,” Tommy said. Then he gestured toward the tables and led Liza away.

  I bit my bottom lip and tried to avoid Diego’s stare, which I could feel on me.

  “You host the school podcast?” he asked.

  “I know. I seem like the last person who should’ve been picked to be a host.”

>   “I didn’t say that.”

  I occupied myself with the magazines on the table again. There were new ones, I noticed. “It was a job forced upon me.” I picked up one of the new ones, a fashion magazine, and showed it to Diego. “This another hobby of yours?”

  “No. Do you like fashion?”

  I threw the magazine down and sank onto the chair. “Not really.” I opted for one of the three-year-old celebrity gossip magazines and began reading some articles. It was interesting going back in time for a bit. Some things seemed exactly the same and others were totally different.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat leafing through that magazine and wondering if Alana would ever show up. But when I looked up again, Diego was typing into his phone. A picture was tucked into the clear case of his phone. My curiosity had me tossing the magazine back on the table and standing up to take a closer a look.

  “Your family?” I asked. The photo showed Diego with two adults, plus two older guys and a girl I guessed were his brothers and sister. They were all good-looking, with similar wide smiles.

  “What?” he asked.

  I pointed. “The picture.”

  He flipped his phone over to look. “Oh. Yes. I like my family. Go figure.”

  I smiled. That was sweet. “Me too. Most of the time.”

  Diego went back to typing something, and I was just about to ask him what had his attention when Victoria’s voice rang out over his phone’s tiny speaker, broadcasting the podcast.

  I gasped and without hesitating, I lunged forward tried to steal the phone from Diego. He held it out of my reach. Then my voice rang out from the speaker. I grabbed his arm and tried to pull the phone down. He laughed and twisted out of my hold.

  “Seriously, Diego, this isn’t funny. Please turn it off.”

  “But I want to listen.”

  “No, I forbid it.” I had his sleeve now and I knew he wasn’t taking me seriously because I was laughing, too. It was my nervous laugh, but a laugh just the same. How was anyone supposed to take me seriously when I laughed? Our collective laughter made it impossible to hear the podcast. But not impossible to hear the bell on the front door as it opened.

  “Alana,” Diego said, and I whirled around.