by Kasie West
“Am I missing a good game?” Alana asked.
In the new silence, my voice sounded from Diego’s phone. “Having to host a podcast when I don’t like people very much.”
“You don’t like people?” Diego asked me.
“Only the ones that try to talk to her,” Alana answered for me.
“Please turn it off,” I said. This time my sincerity was obvious.
Diego lowered his phone and pressed the screen. The room went still.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I brought you back your math book, Kate,” Alana said. “I dropped it off in your car.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She hadn’t borrowed my math book. Apparently that was the really good excuse she was going with.
“Ooh, fashion.” Alana sat down, propped her feet on the coffee table, and started looking through the magazine.
“Two questions,” Diego said as I backed out from behind the counter and took a seat next to Alana. “One, why do you feel like the podcast was a failure? And two, I thought you hated to be called Kat?”
“I do. All the times I corrected Victoria were edited out. And the podcast was a failure because hardly anybody called in.”
Tommy yelled out from the back like he’d somehow been able to follow along with our conversation. “Just keep being funny and people will call in.”
My cheeks went pink from his praise.
Alana casually stood, most likely to get a look at Tommy, but pretending it was to examine the art on the walls.
“Oh, really?” she mumbled when she sat back down. “Maybe that finger is about to come off the hook, after all?”
I answered just as quietly back, “No. Liza is crushing on him. He’s off-limits.”
“Anonymity,” Diego said.
“What?” both Alana and I asked at the same time, turning our attention away from our private conversation and back to him.
“People aren’t going to call in with personal problems if there’s a chance the listeners will know who they are,” Diego said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I mean, I guess some people might. But you’ll have a bigger chance at success if people can be anonymous.”
“He’s right,” Alana said.
Of course he was, and I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t thought of that. Even Alana, the most outgoing person ever, had tried to disguise her identity when she called in. Part of it was that she didn’t want the class to know she was bailing me out, but it was also because she didn’t want everyone in the world to hear her problems … well, my problems.
“You’re right,” I said. “That’s a great idea.”
“Yes, it is,” he said with a smirk. “You’re welcome.”
Anonymity. Like when people didn’t put their real identities on their posts online. “Email,” I said. “We need to let listeners email in, too. Some people don’t like to talk on air, right?”
Diego nodded. “That’s true. Email would help.”
“Ms. Lyon is going to be impressed with our practical ideas.” Alana freed a food magazine from the stack on the table. “Ooh. I love to cook.”
“Me too,” Diego said.
“Really?” she asked.
Diego’s eyes went to me like he was wondering if I had told her this about him. I had, of course.
“Cool,” Alana went on smoothly. “We’ll have to exchange tips sometime.”
“Like in a cook-off,” I said.
She gave me a warning look, like she was working up to that.
“Is that a challenge?” Diego asked.
“Yes, it is,” Alana said.
Diego grinned at her. “You’re on.”
Tommy and Liza appeared from around the counter. Tommy said, “If people are cooking, I can be available to do the eating.”
“Ditto,” I said.
Tommy pointed at me. “Kat and I will be eating partners.”
“It’s Kate,” Diego said before I could.
“How come it’s Kat on the podcast, then?” Tommy asked.
I sighed. “Long story.”
“I like ‘Kat,’ ” Tommy said. “It’s edgy and makes you sound sure of yourself. It fits your on-air personality.”
“You think?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I agree,” Alana said. “You should definitely keep Kat for the podcast. Kat is snarky and sarcastic. ‘Kate’ doesn’t fit that persona as well.”
Liza hadn’t joined us by the coffee table yet, just stood by Tommy, staring up at him with dreamy eyes.
“What do you think, Liza?” I asked.
“I agree with Tommy. Kat is cool.”
Diego didn’t give his opinion and I didn’t ask for it. I’d always hated the name Kat. But I kind of hated the podcast, too. Maybe they fit together.
“Okay, time to go,” I said.
Alana picked up her backpack and glanced around. “Since I am at a tutoring center, do either of you guys have a minute to help me with an algebra problem I can’t get through?”
“I can help,” Diego said, sliding down the counter to make room for Alana. She sidled up next to him with her book, their shoulders touching. Diego didn’t move away. And that’s how I left Alana alone with Diego. He’d fall for her before they could even solve for X.
I sat on the dock at the marina, wiping down WaveRunner number four with a soapy sponge. My phone was tucked into my board shorts and my earbuds were firmly in place. I was fifteen minutes into the First Dates podcast Alana had recommended I listen to, and I’d laughed approximately fifty times. That was about three times a minute. No wonder Alana had wanted me to listen to this podcast—it was good. And I needed to get better.
I was going to get better. Mainly to prove everyone wrong. My parents thought I was only choosing the lake and marina because it was easy? So I’d get better at the podcast and prove to them that I would still choose the lake. That way, they’d realize I knew exactly what I wanted, no matter what I was good at.
“I figure if I go on a first date once a week,” Samantha, one of the hosts, was saying, “I can save approximately a hundred dollars a month in food.”
“You never pay?” Tami (the other host) asked.
“I offer to pay for the second date. That saves me even more money.”
“Why?” Tami asked.
“Because I rarely have second dates.”
I giggled. The First Dates podcast, while making me feel worse about my podcasting ability, was making me feel slightly better about my dating life. And with my feet dangling in the lake, I always felt better. “I like this strategy,” Tami said. “How has this not come up before?”
“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.”
“I do?” the girl asked, sounding surprised but relieved.
“Yes, you do. Very well spoken and nice,” Victoria said reassuringly.
“Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
Victoria was going to be president one day, I decided.
Mallory shook her head, indicating no more calls.
I could see Jamie say something but couldn’t hear her.
Ms. Lyon pushed the button, letting us in. “Jamie says we have some interesting emails. Kat, I’ll bring you the iPad so you can read them.” Now even she was calling me Kat?
Ms. Lyon opened the door and brought me the iPad, pointing to where the emails waited. There were two, each with no subject line, so I didn’t know what to expect. I clicked on the first one and read aloud into the microphone.
“ ‘Kat, I happen to like Roquefort. It is one of the best. Perhaps you should keep your uncultured cheese opinions to yourself.’ ”
I let out a groan. “Was that a cheese pun? Is cheese cultured or am I thinking of something else? Also, this isn’t a live show. How does someone already know my opinions on cheese?”
Alana held up her phone, indicating she had been live tweeting.
Victoria spoke into the mic. “One of our fellow podcasters is tweeting this, Kat. You should’ve thought of the cheese lovers before you made such a bold declaration about cheese.”
“For the record, I’m a little picky about food, so I’m not a good judge,” I said.
“Let’s move on to the next email,” Victoria said, gesturing to the iPad.
I clicked on the second email and began to read out loud.
“ ‘Dear Victoria and Kat, I want to ask someone to the Fall Festival, but I’m seeing all these elaborate invites and wondering how I can even compare. Some guy used sidewalk chalk to write his invitation out in ten-foot-tall letters on the parking lot and then sent his drone up to take a picture of it. Is that what my date is going to expe
ct? Will she say no if I just simply walk up and ask her?’ ”
I finished reading and caught my breath. With the Fall Festival about four weeks away, I wondered if we were about to get lots of these kinds of questions.
Victoria gave a small hum. “I guess you have to know who you’re asking. For example, I don’t think Kat here would mind a simple proposal. But I, on the other hand, expect the ten-foot letters. Do you hear that, Brian?” She paused and added, “Brian’s my boyfriend, listeners.”
“Hey now,” I said, even though she was very right about my preferences. “I don’t think it’s about the simplicity or complexity of the ask, but the thoughtfulness and sincerity of it.”
Victoria nodded. “I’d agree with that. Brian, when you do the ten-foot letters, make sure you’re sincere.”
“We have another caller,” Mallory said over the headset, then clicked it through.
“Hello, welcome to Not My Problem,” Victoria said.
“Hi.”
“What can we help you with today?” Victoria asked.
“I’m anonymous, right?” The voice was low and husky, almost like he didn’t expect us to change it, so he was changing it himself.
“Yes, you are,” Victoria said. “Do you have a problem you’d like to share?”
“Yes. It’s about my family. They are so focused on my future and what it’s going to take for me to get there that sometimes I feel like I don’t get to live in the now. It’s all about schoolwork, college applications, tests, and studying. I have no time for anything else. It’s like they don’t want me to have a social life at all until I’m done with college.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?” Victoria asked.
“How do I make my parents relax a little so that I can do something outside of school and work?” the caller asked.
“What about making a schedule?” Victoria offered, which I thought was smart. “Maybe you can block out times for studying and times for social things. They can’t expect you to eat, drink, and breathe schoolwork.”
“They probably can,” I said. Sometimes parents expected a lot.
“So do you have advice, Kat?” Something about the way the caller said my name felt personal. And that husky voice of his wasn’t helping, either. A shiver went through me.
