Ohmigod, this is it. I take a deep breath this time and close my eyes, then remember that Helen Keller said to look the world straight in the eye. I can do this. I open my eyes wide and stare at the mike, my entrance to the world. I stretch my lips into a smile and let the words spill out. "This is Sweet T hanging out with Jason Stevens tonight and you're listening to The Love Shack on 92.7 The SLAM."
I don't exhale until I feel the beat of the next tune. It's Maltese, with "Melt Me."
"You did it!" Jason breaks my trance. "You're a pro."
"Yeah, right."
"No, really--you have a knack for radio."
I'm just glad I didn't mess up. He persuades me to go on a couple more times during the show, a few station tags and the phone number to the request line. We take turns grabbing the calls.'
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Halfway through the show, I kick off my sneaks and pull my legs up onto the chair. It's almost like I'm at home, much different than when Derek's here or even the rest of the staff. When it's only Jason and a couple of engineers hanging around the building, I can chill. Plus, he actually lets me do stuff, which makes me feel important.
Jason picks up a line, then whispers into the phone. "Yeah, I think she's single. Hot, definitely. That, I can't tell you. She's a woman of mystery." He looks over at me and winks.
I wave my hands back and forth no. Please, don't tell them anything else. It'll ruin everything.
He hangs up the phone. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"
"It's weird. People talking about me. I'm not used to it."
"You better get used to it. They like you."
"But I don't want them to know anything about me." I pull the zipper all the way up on my sweatshirt.
"Don't worry. I'll keep your identity a secret. I know the truth."
Instant goose bumps populate my skin. "You do?" I gulp. You know I'm a former Snowball, two-time loser?
"Yeah, sure. You're a super kick-butt spy working undercover as a narc."
I can't stop myself from cracking up. Jason knows I'm full of it. But even if he does scope me out, I know my secret is safe with him.
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I end off the show with, "Sleep tight, Miami, You never know where love is hiding . ."
Jason arranged with Rob to drop me home and it's almost midnight when we pull in, but I have to call someone, and let's face it, the only someone I have is Audrey. Mom and Rob are out at some fashion show, So I don't even have to sneak by them.
I plop down onto my bed and whip out my cell. "Hi, Aud."
"Hello," she says groggily.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" I whisper, like that will help.
"No, I was just studying for Senora Garcia's test from hell. Crazy lady has to give a test the day we get back from break."
"That sucks." I don't know why, but I'm totally out of breath. "I did it. I was on the air tonight."
"You got your own show?" she squeaks.
I spring up and down on my bed. I feel like I'm back in the fifth grade, the time I came home all high from the cotton candy and elephant ears at the county youth fair. "No, not exactly. Garrison called in sick, and Derek's producer, Jason, took over. Halfway through, he had me talk on the air."
"What did you say?"
I close my eyes and let the words dance in front of me. "Hi, Miami, up next is the Hot Tees with 'Sweet and Sticky.'"
"That's it?"
"Well, I got to end off the show, too."
"That's great!"
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"Yeah, but the whole time I thought I was going to hurl all over the console."
"You didn't, did you?"
"No, of course not. But do you know how many people listen to The Love Shack? Like a quarter million."
"Wow, probably more people than tuned into Dance Craze tonight. The show sucked, and they voted off Ollie. The cute swing dancer." That's one thing Audrey and I don't have in common. Swing dancing.
"That sucks." I try to muster up as much sympathy as possible. Audrey's a reality TV
show junkie, and if she doesn't get her weekly fix, she can be really moody.
I let out a yawn. "See you tomorrow."
"For sure," Audrey says.
"Oh, and don't tell anyone about me being on the air. Ever."
"Never ever, best friends forever." Audrey recites our mantra.
I slip into my pj's and put on my iPod. It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I didn't even tell Audrey the best part. That they liked me. The people. The audience. Okay, really only two people called in, but, still, they called in about me. Sweet T. I can't believe I'm expected back tomorrow to do it again. Garrison will be out at least until the end of the week.
I step into the kitchen to grab some breakfast before I head off to school. Mom's busy with the blender, attempting to make a smoothie. What is she doing up? And even more suspicious, what
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is she doing using an appliance? I guess Smoothie King isn't open this early in the morning.
She squeezes some lime into the machine. "How was it last night?"
"Way cool." I pour myself a bowl of cornflakes. I can still taste the words on the tip of my tongue. This is Sweet T on 92.7 The SLAM...
"You didn't mess up?"
I can't even remember the last time she was proud of me. It was probably back in eighth grade when she took me to the hairdresser and the owner of the store asked if they could take a photo of me for a presentation they were doing at a salon trade show.
Apparently my hair had the perfect balance of natural shine, highlights, and body. For months after that Mom was after me to stay out of the sun, so as not to ruin my perfect hair. Not such an easy feat in Miami!
"Did you even listen?"
"No. I was on the phone with Karen forever, and then we had to go to the fashion show." Mom opens and closes several cutlery drawers until she conies up with the small paring knife. "But Rob listened before we left. He said it went well."
I nearly drop my spoon. "Really?"
"Yes, but don't get all crazy." She waves the knife in the air. "This is his reputation on the line. So if you screw up, he screws up."
She doesn't think I know that? "Is it so crazy to believe I was a success?" I shove a spoonful of cereal into my mouth before I say what I really think.
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She starts the blender, but apparently the top is not on properly and fruit sprays onto the counter. Serves her right. She quickly turns it off and tightens the lid. "Just don't make things hard for Rob."
What does she think? I'm sitting in the studio with my feet up on the console, picking my nose?
I rinse my bowl and pop it into the dishwasher. "Jason's got it all under control. And they liked me." I don't wait for her response. I quickly dip into the bathroom and put on some glittery lip gloss. I like the way it looked when Pop-Tart-- I mean, Kelly--put it on me. It feels good on my lips, too, nice and smooth.
I throw on my iPod and book it to school. I still can't believe I was actually live on the air, not holed up in my room talking to myself! So what if Mom thinks it's only a matter of days before I mess up? All I need to do is practice.
I'm in a daze for my first two classes. SLAM is welded to my brain. I have to say something different tonight. I have to establish my "radio personality." I always hear Rob talking about that stuff, about how you have to build up your persona the same way you have to build up a business. He may have been stupid enough to marry my mom, but he did bring the station from the number four spot to the number two spot in less than a year. He fired half the staff and made sure everyone he brought on board had something different to offer. Why he kept Derek around is still under debate.
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I don't feel like conquering the lunchroom today--I have too much to think about. I know Audrey will probably be disappointed if I don't show, but I head over to the language lab instead. Kayla's walking out of the room when I get there.
"Hey, Tere. What are you doing here?"
>
"Reviewing."
She stuffs her books into her bag. "Let me guess--you take Spanish."
"Nope. German."
"Really? I've never seen you at any of the programs. I've been taking Deutsch since freshman year."
I stare at her white sneakers. They're so bright. "Schedule problems."
"Oh. Well, see you in English."
"Yeah." I open the door to the lab.
I walk around the back first to make sure Stacy isn't hiding anywhere. I even peer under all the booths. Then I grab my books and CD from Mrs. Tripp and take the seat with the best view of the door. That way I can see if anyone comes in.
I'm on lesson four already. I'm really getting the hang of this German thing. Feelings & Emotions. Just what I need, ha. There's a girl on the page smiling with the word glücklich next to her. Talk about a mouthful. The boy with the droopy eyes is traurig and the kid yelling is wütend. It almost sounds liked wounded. I flip the page until I find myself, nervös. Well, you don't need a translator for that one.
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Once I get the pronunciations under control, I do a quick scan of the room again, then pause the CD. I let each word roll off the tip of my tongue. At first I say everything in my normal tone, then I read everything with a scowl. I sound like a serial killer. I try the smile next, but halfway through I crack up. There must be something in between.
I spend the rest of the period working on the "in-between smile." It's not quite a smirk, but it's not the fake glamour pics photo either. I like to call it the "isn't it a nice day"
smile.
The bell rings midsmile and I rush to Ms. Peters' class. I can't wait to see Gavin.
He's already at his desk. He's got his black Ravers tee on and is busy scrawling in his notebook again with his earbuds in. Damn, I missed looking at him. I slide into my seat and drop my bag to the floor. It hits with a thud. Obvious or what?
Gavin looks up and pulls out an earbud. "Hey, Tere. What's up?"
"Just thought I was late."
"You're never late." True. "I try."
"How was your spring break?" he asks. "Uneventful. And yours?"
"My mom thought it was a great opportunity for me to clean out the garage."
"That sucks." I bite the inside of my cheek. "What are you listening to?"
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He hands me an earbud. "Trena Bay. I'm usually not into mushy stuff, but I heard her on SLAM last night and she's pretty dope."
"You listened? Last night?"
"Yeah, I was scanning the dial and dug the tune that was playing. I like to listen to music while I do my homework."
I'm too stunned to say anything. Did he know it was me? That I'm the one and only Sweet T? I can't believe Gavin was actually listening to me last night!
He puts his hand on my desk. His fingers are long and slender. "What do you think?"
"Huh?" I look down at my own fingers. I'm suddenly embarrassed by my short, chipped nails. I hide them in my lap.
"Of Trena?"
"Oh, right." I stick in the earbud. After a few seconds I say, "I like her voice."
"I think the love show's on every night around seven. You should check it out."
"Definitely."
"If it isn't Dorkstag." I hear an evil witch laugh. I look up. It's Stacy.
"You're not late," I mutter. "Can't be, thanks to you."
I don't even bother to answer. I bet she blames me for her low IQ, too.
But that doesn't stop her from continuing, "My dad almost ripped me a new asshole when the principal called my house
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about my tardies." Her face is pulled tight and has a fierceness to it, but if you peer into her eyes there is a tinge of sadness.
Finally Frank waves her over. She sneers at me, then leaves.
"What was that all about?" Gavin asks.
Ms. Peters shuts the door. Everyone shuffles to their seats.
"Long story, but she hates me."
"That's probably a good thing." He brushes the hair out of his face. "But I don't know how anyone could hate you."
"Thanks. That's sweet."
"I mean it. I know Stacy thinks just because you're shy, she can step all over you, but that's B.S." He sets his hand on my shoulder. His touch immediately sends Shockwaves through my system.
I look into his eyes, and I know he understands where I'm coming from. He doesn't judge. He grips my shoulder tighter, and I will myself to touch his arm. To let him know that I appreciate his understanding.
I want to stay like this forever, but my perfect moment is interrupted by Ms. Peters announcing that the science teacher, Mrs. Fletcher, had her baby this morning. Then she goes around the class asking us how our group projects are coming along. You can tell who has started working and who hasn't. Kayla, our spokeswoman, speaks for us. "There are definitely a lot of challenges to overcome since we have such an eclectic group, but I think we've come up with some good ideas and I'm looking forward to our presentation."
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"Kiss ass much." I hear someone cough in the back.
Ms. Peters tells everyone to get to work, and we push our desks together. Kayla pulls out a binder filled with pastel paper.
I yawn. After staying at the radio station past eleven last night, I could totally use a nap right now.
Kayla lays out her glitter pens and scribbles frantically. Why is she always writing? We haven't even started yet. I peer over. She's just heading the paper. If she does that for every piece, we'll be here until the bell rings. Finally, she looks up. "Okay, I've already been practicing with my cousin's roller skates. What about you guys?"
"I've started on my song, but I don't have anything to share yet," Gavin says.
Kayla turns to me. "And you?"
"Well, as a kid, Helen's hobbies were sailing and tobogganing." I grit my teeth.
"You own a toboggan?" Kayla asks. "You've had over a week. Couldn't you come up with something that you can use?"
Helen worked in vaudeville as a child, but I don't want to give Kayla any ideas. There's no way I'm standing up there blindfolded and doing any kind of singing or dancing.
"Well, she was a writer--"
"Duh." Kayla looks at me like I'm crazy.
Okay, think. What would Sweet T do in this situation? Good evening Miami, up next we have our very first SLAM song in Braille ...
"Braille. I could write something in Braille," I offer.
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She shuffles the pastel papers. "That's stupid. We don't know Braille."
Gavin grabs her wrist. "Relax, Tere just needs a little more time to come up with an idea."
"But the presentation is in less than a month," Kayla protests.
Gavin looks at me. "The next time we meet, you'll have something, right?"
If I don't keel over and die first.
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chapter FIFTEEN
I go straight to the library after school. I have to finish all my homework before I head to the station, and my teachers have piled it on today. You'd think they could give us seniors a break, but no.
I better come up with something for our English project. I don't want to give Kayla a heart attack. I flip through Helen Keller's autobiography and try to get a better sense of who she was. To get inside her head. How would she like to be remembered? Which immediately brings me back to the question, how do I want to be remembered after I leave Ridgeland? At this rate, I won't be remembered, but a part of me wants people to know
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that I at least existed. I want to carve my name in the tree and write, Tere Adams was here.
I wonder if it's ever too late to be somebody. But then I think of Helen and how the older she got, the more of a mark she left. She started off as a helpless mute kid and ended up as an accomplished writer and activist. She spoke English, German, Latin, and sign language and read Braille. She probably would've blasted everyone away at Ridgeland. I know I have to showcase her true talents in the group presentation, b
ut I'm not sure how to honor her yet. I don't want to do any stupid old thing. Who am I kidding; I'm dreading being on display in front of the whole class. And what about Stacy? Is she going to sit there and mock me the whole time?
After staring into space for almost half an hour, the only thing I can come up with is to have Helen spell into people's hands. I don't know if that classifies as a talent, but it's pretty amazing that she was able to communicate that way. Hopefully, Kayla will be okay with it. I glance at the clock and grab my stuff. If I miss this bus there's not another one for forty minutes, and that will put me at the station after Derek's show starts.
When I reach the main hallway, there's a guy running around hugging everyone. He's holding a piece of paper and jumping up and down. "I got in! I'm Harvard bound!"
When he's inches from my face, I step aside, but say, "Congratulations!"
He grins from ear to ear, then moves on to embrace the girl 145
behind me carrying a huge clay pot. I'm glad I added to someone's happiness, even if I only said one word.
Of course, as soon as I open the front door, it's raining. Is this some kind of evil joke? By the time I get to the show, I'll look like a mangy mutt. I speed-walk to the bus.
Kelly says hi to me in a normal tone when I walk into the station, and I actually call her by her name. She'll always be Pop-Tart to me, but that's something I'll keep to myself.
Before I join Derek, I do a little freshening up in the bathroom. There's no way I can mimic all Kelly's beauty tricks, but I manage to roll on some mascara without smudging it. Then I run a comb through my hair and put on a little lip gloss.
Derek's already sucking down a Red Bull when I enter the studio. As usual, he's exposing too much chest hair and he has his cowboy boots up on the console. Isn't he afraid he's going to hit a button and screw up the whole show?
I shove my backpack over to the side and immediately start checking the commercials.
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