“We’ve been too busy talking about deworming cats and selling used cars and opening avocado-based food trucks,” Samantha replied. Their dates always talked about the weirdest things, but that made the show hilarious.
“Good point,” Tami said. “We’ve learned so much from our first dates. And from yours, listeners, so keep them coming, people. We feed off your misery.”
Samantha and Tami were definitely better at playing off of each other than Victoria and I were. Well, better than me, in any case. Victoria was great. She could have joined right in with Samantha and Tami.
While the podcast went to commercial, I grabbed the folded towel next to me and dried off the seat of the WaveRunner. The sun was setting, throwing oranges and pinks onto the lake. I watched a large speedboat race across the water, pulling a skier behind it.
One of my earbuds was tugged from my ear and I whirled around to see my dad standing there.
“Hi,” I said, taking the other earbud out as well.
He smiled. “Hey, welcome back to the real world.”
“Sorry, were you calling me?”
He took his baseball cap off and ran a hand over his bald head. “What are you listening to?”
“A podcast.”
“For your class?”
“Sort of.”
“Are you done here?” Dad asked, gesturing to the WaveRunners.
“Almost.”
“Okay. I locked up the marina. Will you just padlock the gate on your way out?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, kid.”
I put my earbuds back in. I hadn’t hit PAUSE, so it took me a second to get back into it, but that was all. Only a second. That’s how engaging the hosts were. That’s what I had to work on—being engaging.
I stared at the microphone. It loomed in front of me. I couldn’t believe Ms. Lyon still wanted me to be the one talking into it.
“Remember, class.” Ms. Lyon’s voice came through my headphones, pulling my attention away from the microphone and to the group on the other side of the glass. “If you recognize the caller’s voice, I expect you to maintain their privacy since we won’t disguise it until edits. We must hold true to our reporting morals.”
The day before, in class, Alana and I had suggested the anonymous calling and email options. Everyone had loved the idea, including Ms. Lyon. Alana had been talking up the podcast’s new anonymity policy on social media ever since.
I adjusted my headphones.
Ms. Lyon turned a full circle. “We have someone checking emails, right?” she asked.
A girl named Jamie raised her hand.
“Great, let us know if any good ones come in. And I assume all the social media reminders have gone out?”
Alana held up her phone. “This new batch has been going out for the last thirty minutes.”
“We already have two callers waiting,” Mallory said.
“We do?” I asked, surprised.
“Then let’s get started,” Victoria said, her excitement obvious.
Ms. Lyon pressed the RECORD button. Then she pointed at us, our signal to start talking.
Victoria leaned forward. “Hello, listeners. It’s Victoria and Kat here from Not My Problem. We gave you an intro teaser last week, and now we’re here to sink our teeth into our first full episode. Right, Kat?”
I started to correct her, then paused. I remembered what Tommy had said, about how the name fit my on-air persona. Maybe I could be however I wanted to be on the podcast. Maybe I could be the voice that I forced to stay inside of my head most of the time.
“Well, I don’t know about my teeth,” I said, “but I’ll sink something into it.”
Victoria gave a trill of laughter. “How about you give a whirl at our disclaimer?”
“Right. We are not professionals. Not even close. So if you have a real emergency, please call 911 or any of the phone numbers we put up on our website.”
“And speaking of our website,” Victoria said, “we have a new email option for those of you who don’t like to speak on air. We get it. You’re shy but you still have problems. So type away and we’ll try our best to help. It looks like we already have a caller on the line. Let’s get started.”
The crackling sound of a connected caller sounded in my ears.
“You’re on Not My Problem,” Victoria said. “We’re listening.”
“I’m anonymous, right?” was the first thing the girl said. “I sound like Batman or something?”
“Or something,” I said because right now she sounded nothing like Batman or any other disguised version of her own normal voice. That would change in edits.
“Yes, of course. Nobody will know who you are. Complain away,” Victoria said.
“It’s about Mr. Grady.”
“As in the Biology teacher here at Sequoia High?” Victoria said.
“Yes, that one. He is the worst teacher in the world.”
I cringed and looked at Ms. Lyon. Our teacher didn’t make a move to indicate we should stop Batman in her blaspheme. In fact, Ms. Lyon held her hand out to the side as if to say continue.
“In what way?” Victoria asked.
“He is horrible at teaching, goes off on personal stories throughout the class, and then expects us all to know the answers to the tests when he hasn’t taught them.”
“Have you tried telling him this?” Victoria asked.
“I haven’t, but enough other people have that I know the result—harsher grading of homework. No, thanks.”
“How about asking for a study guide for each unit?” I offered.
“Yes,” Victoria agreed. “So during class while he’s talking about his life, you can be filling out the study guide. Then if you have a question, just raise your hand and ask. Maybe it will get him back on track.”
There was silence on the line and I thought the Batman girl was going to come back with how this wouldn’t work. But then she said, “That’s not a bad idea. Thanks.”
When she hung up, Ms. Lyon said, “We’ll edit out the name of the teacher.”
That was probably a good idea, to avoid the students all having to deal with his wrath.
“There’s another phone call,” Mallory said. “She also wants to be anonymous.”
“You’re on Not My Problem,” Victoria said to the caller. “What can we help you with?”
“Hi. My boyfriend wants me to meet his parents for the first time,” the girl said. “And not just, hey, come over to my house and say hi. A formal dinner, at a fancy restaurant. A formal dinner? What does that even mean? Like there will be more than one fork and I have to pretend to like Roquefort?”
“What’s Roquefort?” Victoria asked.
“It’s a cheese. And it’s gross,” I said. I only knew this because my aunt was a caterer.
“Right?” the girl said. “So gross. I can’t pretend to like that.”
“Don’t pretend,” Victoria said. “You want his family to know the real you, not some made-up version. So be real.”
“And don’t order a cheese plate,” I said.
“What should I wear?” she asked.
“Take a deep breath,” Victoria said. She was right; the girl sounded close to panic. “Wear something you already own. Nice but not too flashy. Google some etiquette rules to feel more comfortable with the silverware. And then just be yourself. You sound absolutely charming to me.”