by Emma Mills
Maybe it would’ve happened anyway because of high school—more people, new friends, new after-school commitments. Meridian North was massive, so I didn’t have any classes with him anyway. I didn’t see him much once high school began except when we would run into him at the Eastman, in the elevator or at the mailboxes. My mom would ask him about his grandparents, or how school was going, and he’d chat good-naturedly. He’d show up to the bus in the mornings at the last minute, board and sit near the front with a couple of other guys on our route. Walking back from the bus stop in the afternoons—if we both happened to be riding—I’d slow my steps so we wouldn’t have to catch the elevator together.
When he showed up at our place on Christmas with Gram and Papa, that was the first time I had really had a conversation with him in ages.
And I liked having conversations with Jamie. There was a time when talking to him was one of my very favorite things to do. Sitting across from each other on the rides to and from school every day, asking Would you rather only eat breakfast foods forever or have to give them up forever? What if you could transport yourself to anywhere you wanted in the world, but only for five minutes at a time? Would you marry the clown or be the clown—that one came up a lot. Jamie’s eyes shining, smile a little bashful, You should marry the clown, Nina, it’s the perfect solution.
Is it?
Well, yeah. I already said I’d be the clown.
I looked down at my phone the afternoon that Jamie had walked out of radio class. I couldn’t get his look of disappointment out of my mind. I wished, with a sudden fierceness, not to be the kind of person who let Jamie Russell down. Not again.
I stared at the contact name on the screen for a moment before pressing it.
“Nina?”
“Hi, Dad.”
“What’s going on? Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah. Uh … I wanted to ask you something. About when you come for Sidney’s play.”
“Sure thing.”
“Do you think you could do this thing for my radio class?” I described it to him—the interview, the talk for the class. “Nothing huge or, like, that you’d have to prepare for or anything. Just answering some questions about being in the industry and stuff like that.”
“Uh…” A pause. “Uh, yeah. I think that should be all right.”
“You can make it? For our show on Thursday and for class on Friday?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna take a couple days off work. I’ll be there.”
“For real?”
“Definitely. Sounds good. Anything for my favorite deejay!”
I hadn’t mentioned that I wasn’t actually on-air.
“Thanks. That would be really great.”
“Everything else going okay? Rose and Sid? Mom’s all right?”
“Yeah, everyone’s good.”
“Good. Good, good. Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up.
* * *
There was a knock on our front door that evening. It wasn’t Dan, because he was there, and he was the only person on our “approved visitors” list. Everyone else had to be buzzed up.
I swung open the door, and there was Jamie.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you have a second?”
I hesitated. We were just sitting down to dinner. If I invited him in, I knew Mom would ask him to join us, and then I’d have to sit through a bunch of awkward small talk, all the while knowing he came to have a conversation with me.
“Nina?” Mom called.
“Be right there,” I said, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind me.
“Sorry, we’re just starting dinner—” I began at the same time Jamie said:
“I can come back. I didn’t mean to—”
We both broke off.
Jamie flashed an awkward smile that faded quickly. “I just … wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. At school. I shouldn’t have just left like that.”
“No, Jamie, I—”
“I’m just stressed. That’s all. I shouldn’t let it affect the show or the group or anything like that, and I shouldn’t … I mean, that’s not an excuse to be a dick.”
“You weren’t,” I said. “You were right. I should’ve asked him already. I was being stupid.” A pause. “But I checked with my dad, and it’s going to be fine. He’ll definitely do it.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. One hundred percent confirmed.”
“Awesome.” Jamie nodded. “Thanks. For that.”
I nodded back.
He shifted from one foot to the other for a moment and then said, “Well, I, uh…”
“Why are you stressed?”
He shook his head. “It’s not really about school or anything.”
I smiled a little. “Would I only care if it’s about school?”
“I don’t know,” he said, in a way that made me think he really believed that, and it broke my heart a little bit.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t you have dinner?”
“It can wait.”
I stepped to the right of our door and sat down with my back against the wall. Jamie smiled a little, leaned against the opposite wall, and sank down too.
“I’m just worried ’cause…” He shook his head, the corners of his mouth pulled down. He shut his eyes after a moment and rested his head back against the wall.
“My grandpa can’t really work anymore,” he said eventually. “But my gram is working a ton. She works for this nonprofit, but it’s kind of been struggling this year, and she might … like, she keeps playing it off, but I think they might have to let her go. And I feel like shit because she was basically retired already from teaching when they—when I came to them, and she had to start working again, and if she loses her job, I don’t know … With Papa’s health stuff, and—” He cut off, shrugged. “It’s just a lot.”
I’m sorry or I wish I could help or Is there anything I can do? were all things that I could have said. Should have said. But I was me. I was supremely versed in Not Knowing How to Deal with Things, the Chief Executive Officer of Feelings Are Uncomfortable. So I just made a sound kind of like hmmmmyah in the back of my throat and studied the carpet—black, patterned with white diamonds, low pile, a staple of the Eastman for probably the last twenty years at least—and only looked Jamie’s way when I was sure he wasn’t looking back.
Right now he was staring off in the direction of apartments 903 and 901, which faced the front of the building. 901 still had their Christmas wreath up, all these weeks later.
“Existential Dead probably has a good song for this kind of thing,” I said eventually, because I couldn’t stand a silence for too long. I was too much like my dad.
“You think so?”
“For sure.” I screwed my face up in thought. “You know, something like … Grandma’s working hard for bucks … A cruel twist of fate steals well-earned luck … Then, you know, the chorus.” I shrugged. “Eat my face, eat my face … eat my face, eat my face, eat my face.”
Jamie just looked at me for a second and then burst out laughing.
I felt weirdly proud. “It’s called ‘Lament for the Lost Souls Who Wander and Wait for the Bus That Never Comes.’ It’s a bonus track from their unreleased 1996 album … Satan’s Shoehorn.”
“Oh, for real?” he said, still laughing. “It’s a bonus track?”
“Yeah. It was a live recording from a concert they gave in the basement of a Chili’s in Muncie. On the night of a lunar eclipse. They played that song only, and then they torched the Chili’s. Like, literally burned it to the ground.” I leaned in and dropped my voice conspiratorially. “You know the wildest part is, their original bassist was still inside.”
Jamie buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, and when he looked at me again, there was a wide grin on his face, moisture in the corners of his eyes.
I dropped my gaze back to the carpet, and I don’t know why I said it now, exce
pt that there was something in his smile, in making him laugh, that was so deeply gratifying that I felt like I couldn’t enjoy it—like I didn’t deserve it—until I did this one thing right. The way I should have done it before, originally, or at least a long time before now.
“Hey, Jamie?”
“Mm. Yeah?” He was wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
“Remember in middle school…” I swallowed. “You know that dumb thing … like, with Alexis…”
I dared to glance at him, and he met my eyes, the smile fading, his expression shifting to something neutral.
The carpet was my friend, my constant companion.
“I’m … sorry about that,” I said. “I’m really sorry.”
It was quiet. I couldn’t make myself look up at his face.
“Nah, it’s…” Jamie’s tone was even, just a touch hesitant. “I mean, that was just … kid stuff. Right?”
“Yeah, but … no,” I replied, because Sidney was almost the same age now that I was then, and I knew she was perfectly capable of not acting like a complete and utter dick to someone she cared about. “It was … a jerk thing to do. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Jamie said. “No worries.”
There were still worries, though. I wanted to apologize more, to press him further, and I wasn’t even sure why. That would just make it even more about me and about making myself feel better. Maybe sometimes you just have to ride out the discomfort of your own guilt. I don’t know what more I wanted from him other than No worries. To demand the exact words I forgive you? That was absolutely unreasonable.
It didn’t stop me from wanting more, though, and I didn’t know why. I just know I didn’t feel … absolved, or whatever.
But I just said, “Cool,” and then it was quiet between us.
“I should, uh, get going,” he said finally, and gestured to the door. “You’ve got … dinner and stuff.”
“Oh yeah.”
We got to our feet. “But … are you scheduled for Saturday?”
I nodded.
“Awesome. See you then, I guess?”
“Yeah. For sure.”
He headed away, and I resisted the urge to watch him go. But just barely.
38.
DURING SATURDAY’S WEDDING, THE BEST man pulled a crumpled sheaf of paper from his suit jacket, tried to smooth it against his leg, and fumbled with the mic before swinging around to the bride with a grin.
“Katie, as Mike’s best friend, I have just one thing to say to you.”
A dramatic pause before the follow-up:
“You can do better.”
The room broke into laughter.
I caught Jamie’s eye across the room. He made a face and then smiled.
I smiled back.
* * *
My phone buzzed with a text that night after I had gotten home, showered, and collapsed into bed.
There should be a wedding rating system, and the You Can Do Better speech should get minus thirty points
I grinned. Read it, and read it again before replying.
Agreed.
39.
MR. TUCKER CAME OVER DURING class on Monday as we were gathered in our groups having “programming meetings” (ostensibly—the group next to us was discussing March Madness).
“So,” he said, taking a seat at the empty desk next to Jamie. “I wanted to talk with you all about a potential fundraising opportunity related to Nina’s dad’s visit.”
“Okay,” Jamie said, with none of the reservation that I suddenly felt.
“I’ve been thinking about the whole thing—the interview on your show, the visit with our class. You guys are pulling in really decent numbers.” His voice dropped down. “The best in the class at the moment, to be honest. So here’s what I’m thinking: We could—potentially—turn this into a ticketed event.”
“What?” I frowned. “No, it’s just the interview in-studio, and a talk for people in class, right? Like it’s just supposed to be an educational thing.”
“Well, I’m thinking we could combine the interview and the talk, have it the evening of your show, and make it open to the public. The members of our class and all the volunteer hosts would get free entry, of course. Absolutely. But I think it could be a really cool fundraising opportunity for the station. You guys are growing a listenership, and I think we could potentially capitalize on that. I also think it’s a great chance for members of the community to learn more about what we do here at the station.”
This was a good idea in theory, but in practice, in this particular situation, it was not a good idea at all. I looked at the group, not wanting to be the one who had to say it, but to my surprise, Jamie spoke:
“Can a portion of the ticket sales go to charity?”
Mr. Tucker smiled. “That’s a great idea, Jamie.”
“I know one. That we could pick.” He avoided all of our gazes. “I know a charity we want to pick.”
“Awesome. We can definitely coordinate that. Let’s discuss this more later, okay?”
“Great,” Jamie replied, and Mr. Tucker headed off to the next group.
“What the hell?” Joydeep hissed. “What about the situation?”
“The Nina’s Dad’s not coming situation, or the Existential Dead situation?” Sasha asked.
“Either! Both! This is a multifaceted situation!” Joydeep replied.
“He can come,” Jamie said. “Nina checked with him. One hundred percent confirmed, right?”
I had to agree: “Right.”
“So we have a guest, just like we promised,” Jamie continued.
“Not a guest that anyone would buy a ticket for!” Joydeep said.
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry, I thought we were past stroking your dad’s ego.”
“I don’t want to stroke Nina’s dad’s anything,” Sasha interjected.
“We said that it’s not Tyler Bright,” Jamie said. “Multiple times. It’s not our fault if people ignore us and think what they want anyway, is it?”
No one spoke.
“If we could do this, it would really…” Jamie met my eyes, and then quickly looked away. “There’s this food bank, on the west side … My grandma works there. It would be really cool if … I mean, it would help a lot—if—”
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said.
Sasha looked skeptical. “You do?”
“Sure.”
There was gratitude in Jamie’s expression when I glanced back at him.
“But what are we gonna do if a horde of angry Tyler fans comes at us when they realize their idol isn’t there?” Joydeep asked.
“It probably won’t even be a thing,” Jamie said. “We haven’t even sold any tickets yet. We’re overthinking this.”
* * *
We were under-thinking it. Over the course of the next week, Mr. Tucker set up a webpage for the event, scheduled for the Thursday evening of Dad’s visit in April. We linked it on all our social media pages.
98.9 THE JAM: SPECIAL DISCUSSION WITH MYSTERY GUEST!
Sounds of the Nineties (Thursdays from 5–7 p.m.) is hosting a special discussion with a mystery guest familiar to the airwaves of Indianapolis. Join us for a live interview with this radio legend at Meridian North High School on April 11!
We sold thirty-two tickets in one day.
It’s chill, Jamie said in the group chat. It’s not too many, and it’s good money for the charity.
Joydeep replied: No offense, Nina, but if people knew it was your dad, would we sell that many right off the bat?
Probably, I said, and then kept typing:
Yeah
I mean
Maybe?
* * *
The next day, we only sold only twelve tickets. The day after that, just five.
“See?” Jamie said before class started. “Totally chill. The first wave was probably just…”
“What? Bots and stuff?” Joydeep said skeptically.
“The hardcore
fans. Of our show.”
“Of Tyler,” Joydeep corrected.
“It’ll be fine,” I replied.
* * *
It was fine. Until Friday, when Sasha logged on before class started and saw that we had sold fifty-four tickets so far that day.
“What the hell?” Joydeep said, standing to peer over her shoulder at her laptop screen, like visual confirmation was necessary.
“I don’t know,” Sasha replied. “It just spiked.”
“Check the Deadnoughts. See if they’re saying anything about us.”
Nothing came up besides the usual:
Omg @soundsofthe90s please play Velvet Flycatcher #bestalbum #no contest
#threedeepcansuckit
TB DOING A LIVE INTERVIEW APPARENTLY????
did u see? classic ExD denial tho lol
“We’ll just have to … monitor it,” Jamie said. “Over the break. We’ll just keep an eye on it.”
* * *
After radio class that day, only one more period stood between us and spring break. There would be no show next week. We had reached 1999 with this week’s episode and had resolved to start the theme over again when classes started back up.
“Got any plans for break?” Sasha asked as we filed out of the classroom into the hall.
Jamie shrugged. “Just working.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Tomorrow?” Jamie asked.
I nodded.
“Cool, same.”
“I’m planning on doing nothing, literally nothing, and I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of it,” Joydeep said. “How about you, Wonder Woman? Fighting for truth and justice?”
“I’ll be around,” Sasha said.
“Good. Our planet is safe in your hands,” Joydeep replied with a salute, and then headed off down the hall.
“Have a good break,” Jamie added, and then he took off as well, leaving Sasha and me standing alone.
“Where are you headed?” Sasha asked.
“World Lit.”
