“I just like music,” Jamie mumbled. “All I’m saying is, I think nineties is too broad.”
“So you want us to narrow it down to, like, hip-hop recorded in a basement in February of ’92?”
“That’s kind of an extreme way to put it, but we could at least … pick a genre or something.”
Joydeep shook his head. “No. Come on. The point is that there’s a bunch of stuff to pick from. If we limit ourselves too much, we’ll have to do actual work. If we say we’re only doing hip-hop or whatever, we’ll have to actively search out hip-hop in the catalog. Too much work. I’m telling you, all we need to do is search the year and queue up songs at random.”
Jamie didn’t look convinced.
“How about this: If you want, you can be music guy. Do you want to be music guy? Do our programming?”
Jamie looked to me and Sasha. “What roles do you want?”
“I don’t care about being music guy,” I said.
“Me neither,” Sasha said. “And I don’t want to be the host.”
“Me neither,” I echoed.
“I’ll do that part,” Joydeep offered.
“For real?” Jamie said.
Joydeep shrugged. “Sure. That’s like the easiest part. All you have to do is talk.”
“I mean, I don’t think it’s as easy as that,” I said.
“Why not? I’m talking right now. Putting words together one after another. Still at it. Little to no effort involved on my part.”
“Great audition,” Sasha muttered.
“So we’re decided?”
“Wait, no.” I peered at the syllabus. “Someone has to be the producer. And someone needs to…” I scanned the requirements. “Do publicity and prepare on-air features.”
“What’s that?”
“Like weather, or news and stuff.”
“That’s fine for me,” Sasha said. “Running the equipment would freak me out.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. “I’ll produce.” It mainly involved pressing buttons. Sometimes modulating volume. I could do that.
“So in summary,” Joydeep said, “I’m the host. Wonder Woman’s gonna do publicity and shit. Where’s Waldo over here will do music.” Jamie looked down at his sweater, frowned. “And, uh…” Joydeep waved in my direction. “You … are the producer.”
“I don’t get a nickname?”
“Let me chill on it,” he said with a grin. Then he slapped his hands on his thighs. “Great. It’s decided. Nineties it is.”
“Shouldn’t we … vote or something?” Jamie said.
“Anybody else got any great ideas?”
We shared a look. The truth was, no. Like every other class I was taking this semester, I just wanted to get this done as painlessly as possible. I was willing to be a nineties power hour (or two hours, as the case may be). Maybe Dad will have some recommendations, I thought absently, before shaking that thought away.
I glanced over at Jamie. He met my eyes but just as quickly looked away.
“Excellent,” Joydeep declared. “Get ready to party like it’s—”
“Please don’t,” Sasha said.
3.
IN NO WAY DID I want to be in charge of our radio show. But technically, I was the producer, and technically, we needed to submit the show proposal by Friday. So we had to meet up outside of class to discuss more details.
It was Joydeep who suggested we meet in the student art gallery. We couldn’t talk in the library, and he claimed the cafeteria was too “exposed.”
We don’t want anyone taking our idea, he texted in the chat we had started for our group.
We already talked about it in class, Jamie replied. Any other group could’ve heard us.
I know. Wasn’t thinking. Won’t make that mistake again.
The student art gallery was off the main hall, next to the lobby outside the auditorium. It was smaller than the average classroom, with gray carpet and white walls lit by fluorescents, and tracks of gallery lighting throwing additional light on the art. There were two doors facing the hall, I guess to facilitate traffic flow should there be an incredible stream of people coming through.
The truth was, though, no one really went in there except during parents’ nights and stuff. The wall facing the hallway was made of windows, so it wasn’t really a place where students could get up to any kind of shenanigans since you were visible to everyone in the hall. A bench inside ran along that glass wall, a round table was pushed up to it, and a couple of chairs sat around the other side. There were signs on both doors that read: WHEN THE DOORS ARE OPEN AND LIGHTS ARE ON, PLEASE COME IN AND ENJOY THE ART.
I had been in the gallery more often than most, probably, since Rose had always had something up in there, and her group of friends—my friends too—liked to hang out there at free period sometimes.
Paintings, drawings, prints, photographs, and paper cuttings lined the walls. A long glass case held items made by the Intro to Jewelry Making class (an actual course offered in Meridian North’s extensive catalog), and there were a few big rectangular stands with pottery pieces on top of them. Rose had taken all of these classes and aced them. She was Visual Arts Student of the Month half a dozen times.
When we were all gathered there after school on Tuesday, I flipped open my notebook and pulled out the handout with the requirements for the proposal.
“So we need a name for the show.”
“Okay, well, Joydeep is hosting,” Sasha said, “so how about … Into the Deep?”
Joydeep made a face. “No, god, why are we going into me?”
“It’s wordplay.”
“I hate it.”
There was a pause. “Nice to Mitra,” Jamie suggested.
“No! Veto. Veto times a thousand,” Joydeep replied.
It was quiet again. Sasha tapped her fingers against the table. Jamie had a bottle of water out on the table, and he ran one finger under the seam of the label, slowly tearing it up.
I absolutely did not want to take the lead on this. I was definitely not putting myself in charge. But “How about something to do with the theme?” came out of my mouth, seemingly of its own volition. “Nineties Jam? Sounds of the Nineties?”
Joydeep snapped his fingers. “Grab Your Joystick.”
Jamie was taking a draw from his bottle of water and choked.
“You just said you hated wordplay!” Sasha said.
“That was before I thought of a good one.”
Jamie was still coughing.
“Does that mean you like it?” Joydeep asked, slapping him on the back.
Jamie caught his breath. “Wouldn’t say it’s an endorsement.”
“Into the Deep is good, though,” Sasha insisted.
“It’s garbage,” Joydeep said definitively.
“I’m putting Sounds of the Nineties in the proposal unless someone thinks of something better,” I said.
“I did,” Joydeep said.
“No,” Sasha replied.
“This is a democracy!” Joydeep looked out into the room as if the art was going to back him up. “We need a vote.”