“I’ll always be her friend,” Alana said.
“I’m sure that’s all she wants,” I said.
“You’re right. Thanks for the advice!” Alana said.
“You’re welcome,” Victoria said. “Thank you for calling in.”
A few moments later, Alana slipped back in the room and took her seat. First, I narrowed my eyes at her, but then I mouthed thank you and she smiled.
The red light blinked again and I jumped a little. Some static came over my headset, which I was learning meant the call had been put through to us.
“You’re on Not My Problem,” Victoria said. “What can we help you with today?”
“This is like an advice podcast?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, it is,” Victoria replied.
“Advice from high school students?”
“Yes,” Victoria said. I wasn’t sure how she could keep a smile on her face when the cynicism in the caller’s voice was so obvious.
“What qualifies you to give advice?” the woman asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said.
Victoria gave her practiced laugh. I wondered if it really was practiced. Had she rehearsed a routine in the bathroom mirror the night before like I had? “We don’t claim to be experts,” she said after her laugh. “Just hoping to offer objective opinions and open up discussion.”
“Good luck with that,” the woman said, and hung up.
And that was it. No more calls came in. We waited out the hour of allotted time for lab and Ms. Lyon powered down the equipment. I left the recording booth feeling weak with relief that it was over. For now.
“Okay,” Ms. Lyon said when Victoria and I joined the rest of the group on the other side of the glass. “In tomorrow’s lab, the editing team will get this cleaned up. We’re going to list this podcast as an intro instead of an episode. I don’t think we’ll be able to get more than fifteen minutes out of it. Then in class, we’ll brainstorm some ways to get more people calling in. Hopefully, once people hear the first podcast, they’ll get the idea.” And as if I didn’t already suspect the whole thing had been a train wreck, she confirmed my fear by adding, “It’s fine. It wasn’t that bad.”
Frank, who had somehow ended up standing closer than I wanted, said just loud enough for only me to hear, “No, it was worse.”
I put my hand to my forehead and groaned. Maybe the best thing to come of this would be that I’d get fired.
“I don’t want to hear how you thought it was fine,” I said to Alana as soon as we were out of the room and walking down the wide hall.
“I wasn’t going to say that at all. That was awful. You kind of sucked.”
“Hey!”
“It was more that nobody real called in. You sucking was secondary.”
I pushed open the door at the end of the hall. The heat of the day mixed with the scent of pine hit me at once. I stopped for a moment to breathe it in. It smelled a little like the lake and that helped release my tension.
“Thank you for saving us at least a little bit,” I said, glancing gratefully at Alana. “You’re the best.”
“Of course.” She paused. “And you know, I really do worry about you, Kate. And the stuff with Hunter.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I love you but I don’t want to talk about Hunter.”
“I know.”
“No, really.”
“Okay, I promise I’ll stop after this one question—I was right, wasn’t I? You really are still hung up on him. I suspected, because you haven’t looked at another guy in months. But I thought maybe I was wrong.”
“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.