by Kasie West
“I was able to listen to his voice. But I’m still not sure he was the mystery caller.”
I pursed my lips. She may not have been sure, but I was fairly certain. I’d have to talk to him myself.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, my Math textbook on one side of me, my History book on the other. In my ears, the Movie Mashup podcast was playing. My attempt at multitasking wasn’t going well.
Jerry, the podcast host, was saying, “The problem: They made the monster talk. They turned him from a horrific monster à la Alien to the relatable, sympathetic monster of E.T. who just needed to be sent back to his motherland. It wasn’t scary. I found myself rooting for the misunderstood monster. And when they blow his head off in the end, I was angry. Listeners? Agree or disagree?”
Jerry hosted the show by himself. He occasionally took a caller. He played sound bites of movies, did reviews, and rarely had anything good to say about them. I wondered why he watched them at all, when he hadn’t liked a single one so far. Half the time he made me question whether I had really liked a movie I had seen, but he was funny, so I could forgive him.
My mom appeared in my doorway.
“Hey,” she said with a smile. “Listening to a new podcast?”
I tugged my earbuds out and nodded. “I know it doesn’t technically count as homework,” I said. But Wednesday was nearly here again, and I didn’t feel like anything would be different than the week before without some extra preparing.
“It’s okay,” Mom said. “You seem to be having a good time in that class.”
It had been more stressful than fun, but that wouldn’t prove the point that I wanted to eventually make to my parents: that I could love something else and still choose the lake.
“Yeah, it’s … different,” I said.
Mom smiled. “I listened to your second podcast yesterday. It was good.”
“I still have some work to do.”
“I just hope you’re not getting graded on the amount of words you say per episode.” Mom winked at me, as if it was a joke, but it felt like her passive-aggressive way of telling me I needed to talk more. I didn’t need her to tell me; I already knew.
“Well, I better get back to this.” I held up an earbud.
“Good luck.”
As I walked through the parking lot the next morning, I saw a guy holding a poster next to a car filled with balloons. Had someone driven that thing with all those balloons in it? That didn’t seem safe. The poster read: It took a lot of hot air to ask you to the Fall Festival. Please don’t deflate me with a no. A girl read the poster with both hands over her mouth. Then she squealed and threw her arms around the boy’s neck.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Alana said, coming up beside me with her bookbag on one shoulder.
“Nothing says sweet like using ‘hot air’ in a sentence.”
“How did Hunter ask you last year? I forgot.”
“He walked up to me while I was getting my Math book out of my locker and said, ‘So … Fall Festival?’ ”
Alana snorted. “And you said yes to that?”
“We had this discussion a year ago.”
“And was I outraged then, too? Please tell me I was.”
“You were.”
“Good, because that’s ridiculous. But Victoria was right. Apparently you’re not the type of girl who needs an elaborate ask.”
“A sincere one would’ve been nice, though,” I said, repeating what I’d said on the podcast.
“What?” Alana said. “A negative review of something Hunter did? It’s a miracle!”
“Whatever. I just don’t need to witness any more of these invitations today. They’re depressing me.”
I shouldn’t have put a request out in the universe like that, because that school day I got to witness three more people being asked to the Fall Festival. I was relieved that I made it to my last period without permanently damaging my eyes with all the rolling they’d done.
Ms. Lyon stood at the front of the classroom and cleared her throat. “I need your attention and your brains for a minute, class.”
Victoria, who had been telling me about the subtleties of voice inflection, stopped talking and turned toward Ms. Lyon.
“This year we’ve been assigned a booth at the Fall Festival carnival.”
“We have to work a booth?” Victoria cried. “A lot of us will have dates!”
I refrained from rolling my eyes for the millionth time that day.
Ms. Lyon nodded. “Yes, that’s why I wanted to discuss the best options for the night. We can definitely take turns at the booth. Maybe do thirty-minute shifts. But first we need to think of an idea for the booth itself. I’m told dart throw, rope ladder climb, and basketball are already taken.”
“What about that carnival game where people throw quarters on plates?” Mallory suggested.
Ms. Lyon wrote Quarter Toss on the board. “More ideas?”
“Something with water guns?” Jamie called out.
“Frog racing,” Alana offered.
“We’re a podcasting class,” Frank said. “We should do a podcast. Right there at the carnival. With everyone watching.” He raised his eyebrows at me.
Alana, who was sitting beside Frank, elbowed him in the ribs. “A carnival isn’t exactly the best place to record a podcast.”
“No. Wait. It’s a good idea!” Victoria said, brightening. “A live audience. There will be clapping and cheering and a fun energy. We should totally do it.”
A couple of other classmates gave me sideways glances, like I was going to jump out of my chair and protest this idea. I wanted to—a live show sounded like my worst nightmare—but I didn’t do anything. I’d learned Ms. Lyon’s game. She liked to push people to stretch themselves. The more I protested, the more she’d dig in that we had to do a live show. Instead, I’d sit here and pretend like this idea sounded like the best thing in the world.
“Maybe we can gather questions that week during lunch,” Mallory suggested. “If we have a big sealed box, then people can just drop their questions in a slot at the top.”
Ms. Lyon was starting to slowly nod. Uh-oh. That wasn’t a good sign.
“And we can take live questions the night of the carnival, too,” Victoria said.
Alana was still trying to help me. “But the carnival is loud,” she said. “Are we expecting everyone to stop what they’re doing just to listen to our show?”
“We’ll set the show up on the outskirts of the fair,” Ms. Lyon said. “We’ll rope off the area. And we’ll use specific types of microphones that won’t pick up so much surrounding noise.” Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. “This is a great idea, guys. We’ll have some members of our class present it to the student council for approval. Okay, now back to work.”
A live audience in less than four weeks? I wanted to groan. I wanted to run and hide.
But no. I sat up straighter. I needed to change my attitude. I could do a live show. It would be no different than the class watching me through the glass, right? Plus, I had a few more weeks of our not-live podcast to help me prepare. And I’d listen to more outside podcasts for practice. This would be another chance for me to prove to my parents that I was good at something besides the lake. I’d even invite them to the live show. They could see it for themselves.
After class, Alana and I walked down the hall together. “You okay?” Alana asked.
I nodded.
“Really? Maybe we can ask Ms. Lyon if other people can host that night, since it’s a special night. It would give other people in the class a chance to practice.”
Although part of me wanted to look for a way out, I knew I should try to stick with my plan. “I can handle it,” I told Alana. Then I noticed Diego in the hallway up ahead. “Look,” I whispered to Alana. “There’s Diego. You should go say hi.”
Alana grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m staying with you.” She waved to him as we walked past, and he waved back.
“Is my confidence in
the podcast scaring you this much?” I asked my friend.
She laughed. “Yes. You should be freaking out right now.”
I didn’t have time to freak out. I had a podcast to master.
“It’s our favorite day of the week,” Victoria said into the mic after we’d finished giving our opening lines.
“Speak for yourself,” I said.
Victoria laughed. “Kat loves all of you, she just has a hard time showing it. But it looks like you guys love us, too, because I’ve been told four callers are waiting on the lines.”
Mallory patched the first one through.
“You’re on Not My Problem,” Victoria said.
The caller came in fast. “My parents favor my younger sister, and I don’t know what to do about it. They are constantly comparing me to her. Asking me why my grades aren’t as good as hers, why I don’t dress as nicely as her, why I don’t want to wear the style of makeup she wears. It’s frustrating and I don’t know how to make them see me as my own person.”
“Have you told them that it frustrates you when they do this stuff?” Victoria asked.
“They get defensive, say that’s not what they’re trying to do. That they are just pointing out things that I can improve on.”
“By using your sister as the measuring stick?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“That is frustrating,” I said.
“I think she wants real advice, Kat,” Victoria said, “not just an agreement.”
“Oh, right, I’d almost forgotten why people call in.”
The girl laughed a little. “It’s actually nice to hear someone agree with me. I’m so used to having to defend my side against people who don’t.”
“Your friends don’t agree with you?” Victoria asked.
“I don’t really talk to my friends about family drama.”
“Well, there’s your first piece of advice from me,” Victoria said. “You need to vent more. It helps.”
“I agree with Victoria. Venting is validating. Whoa, that was a lot of Vs.” I was learning to just say whatever came into my head. It seemed to work well for the other podcast hosts I’d been listening to lately.
“And just keep trying,” Victoria said. “Hopefully your parents will hear you.”
Advice. Advice. Come on, Kate, you can think of actual advice, not just snark. “Write a letter,” I blurted out. “Sometimes, when someone can read something, without being able to interrupt, they process it better. They don’t get as defensive.”
“I haven’t tried that one yet,” the caller replied. “I think I will.”
“Good luck,” Victoria said. When the caller hung up, Victoria gave me a little nod. I wasn’t sure if that meant she approved of my input or what, but it seemed encouraging.
Mallory put the next caller through.
“Caller, you’re on Not My Problem. How can we help?” Victoria asked.
“I’m a vegetarian,” the caller said.
“Is that the problem?” I asked.
“Well, it’s part of the problem. I get that people can’t make special accommodations for me all the time. But whenever my friends and I go out, they want to go to Burger Palace. You know, the place that only sells burgers?”
“They sell fries, too,” I said.
“I would know. That’s all I ever get. And I don’t mind tagging along with them week after week, but every once in a while, I’d love it if they wanted to go somewhere I want to go. Every time I suggest a new place, they turn their nose up at it and say that I can meet them at Burger Palace with my special food.”
“Tina?” Victoria asked. “Is that you?”
“I want to be anonymous,” the caller said.
“So you call my podcast?”
“It’s not yours. It’s Kat’s, too.”
“It’s actually our whole class’s—” I started to say but was cut off.
“Sometimes we go to your places,” Victoria said into the microphone, looking much more flustered than usual. “We don’t go to Burger Palace every time. But there’s five of us and one of you!”
I bit my knuckle to keep from laughing, took a deep breath, and said, “Come on, Victoria, you really should go someplace that offers more veggie options. Burger Palace?”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “I know. The guys always pick it. I’m sorry, Tina. I didn’t realize it was bothering you so much.”
“Are you really going to use my name on air?” Tina asked.
“Do you think people won’t know who you are? There are only like ten vegetarians at this school!” Victoria said.
Tina laughed. “I’m sure there’s more than ten. But, fine, hi, everyone! Can we lay off Burger Palace?”
“Yes, Tina. Your dissent has been noted,” Victoria said. Then she added, “My friends aren’t allowed to call in anymore.”
I laughed this time, the kind of laugh Victoria always gave, the ones I always thought she forced. Maybe they were real.
We were on a roll and three callers still waited, which meant another one had called in while we were talking.
Victoria answered the next one. “You’re on Not My Problem, we’re listening.”
“Hello?” the caller said. “Am I allowed to call again?”
My heart jumped to my throat. It was him. The guy who had called last time. The one I’d thought was Diego. He was still using a husky voice to hide his identity.
“Yes, of course,” Victoria said. “What can we help you with today? Did you talk to your parents about a schedule?”
“No, I’m still working on that. But I was thinking about something else you said.”
“Which part?” Victoria asked.
“The last part, about how something else might be making me more aware of my time constraints lately.”
The more he talked, the more I could hear his distinct inflections, the tone of his voice. It was Diego. It had to be. My tongue seemed tied to the roof of my mouth; I couldn’t speak. I was glad Victoria never seemed to get tongue-tied.
“So is it the girl? The one you mentioned last week?” she asked. My eyes shot to Alana. She was sitting next to Frank on the couch, taking her job of infiltrating enemy lines seriously. They shared a laptop and were distracted by something on the screen, obviously not listening to the voice that was being broadcasted on their end through the speakers.
The guy who sounded like Diego answered, “Maybe. Is that lame? I can’t let a girl make me resentful of my family.”
Finally, Alana seemed to register the voice she was hearing. She looked up and her eyes shot over to me. You think? she mouthed.
I nodded.
“Maybe the feelings of resentment were always there. This new situation is just making them more apparent,” Victoria suggested.
“That’s probably true,” he said.
“What do you like about this girl?” Victoria asked, shifting on her stool.
“She’s nice and funny and just easy to be with.”
I raised my eyebrows at Alana, who grinned.
“That’s so sweet,” Victoria said.
“It would be,” he said. “But I don’t think she feels the same way about me.”
Alana’s eyes went even wider with that statement.
“Why do you say that?” I was finally able to spit out.
“I don’t know. I just sense it, I guess. When we’re somewhere together, she doesn’t stick around for long. And,” he continued, “she seems altogether indifferent toward me.”
“Indifferent?” I echoed. Alana was not indifferent toward anyone.
“Well, she treats me the same as she treats everyone else.”
Oh, that made more sense. Alana did sort of treat everyone the same, with her fun and flirty ways.
“Ah,” Victoria said. “Maybe she’s trying to tell you something in a nice way without hurting your feelings. Maybe it’s best to move on.”
“No!” I let out in a loud burst. I cleared my throat. “I mean, no, I think maybe you�
�re reading into it too much. Maybe she’s just shy.”
Alana bugged her eyes out, and I nearly laughed. Shy was not a word anyone used to describe Alana.
“If she’s shy and you come on too strong, you might scare her away,” Victoria said.
“Yeah,” the caller said. “I guess my question is: How do I find out if she likes me without scaring her away? I enjoy hanging out with her. I don’t want to ruin that by pushing my feelings into it if it’s just going to make things weird between us.”
It was hard to get the advice for this one right. He was asking as an anonymous caller, and unlike Victoria with her friend, I wasn’t going to call him out. Plus, what if it really wasn’t Diego? What if he wasn’t talking about Alana at all? I knew I needed to treat this like I didn’t have insider information here. Especially because maybe I didn’t.
So I said, “Why is everyone in such a rush to jump into a relationship? What happened to good old-fashioned patience? If this girl is worth it, and like you said, you don’t want to ruin the friendship, can’t you just see how it naturally plays out?”
Alana crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a pout.
“I say just go in for the kiss,” Victoria said with a laugh. “The sooner the better to see if this is going to work out.”
Alana gave a thumbs-up to that advice.
“You have the opposite sides of the spectrum here,” I said. “I guess you’ll have to go with your gut. My gut is always wrong, so good luck with that.”
He gave a polite chuckle.
“Yeah, I didn’t think it was that funny, either,” I said.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just conflicted now.”
“You are the sweetest,” Victoria said. “Will you please call back next week and give us an update?”
“I’ll try.”
He hung up and it took everything in me not to whip off my headphones that moment and race out of the booth toward Alana. I was proud of myself for sitting through two more calls and Victoria’s closing spiel. I even added a “Yes, thank you” at a point where I was almost certain it made sense.
When we shut down the equipment, before I could run out, Ms. Lyon came into the booth.