Shrinking Violet by Danielle Joseph
Authors: Danielle Joseph
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, People & Places, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Performing Arts, Girls & Women, School & Education, Secrecy, Parents, Schools, Miami (Fla.), Dating & Sex, High schools, Emotions & Feelings, Mothers and daughters, secrets, radio, Disc jockeys, Bashfulness
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without me even knowing.
The bus screeches to a halt and the man stands up. "Miami's a big city; watch out."
"Danke," I whisper.
There's nothing like the truth.
72
73
chapter EIGHT
I've never been to SLAM alone before. There's no one to hide behind today. Maybe Mom's right. I'm not ready for this. My whole body's shaking by the time I reach the station. I feel like an earthquake victim. Maybe I should turn around, forget the whole thing, and catch the next bus home. Mom would be happy, but I would not.
I clutch my backpack with one hand and grasp the handle to the front door with the other. If I hold on to something, maybe the trembling will stop. I take small steps until I reach the security desk in the middle of the lobby. The sign-in sheet glares at me. I write down my name and where I'm going, then hand the guy my driver's license.
74
"Here to pick up a prize?" he asks me.
"My dad." I point to the elevator. I can't believe I just called Rob my dad, but there's no way I'm correcting myself.
"Oh, you're here to pick up your dad." He nods.
I nod back so he doesn't think I'm some psycho. Then I take off to the second floor before I change my mind about being here. I open the glass door and step inside. The station seems a lot bigger than it was last week.
There's a new girl sitting at the front desk answering phones. Maybe Patty's solitaire addiction finally got the best of her. New Girl can't be much older than me. She's wearing a supertight, low-cut SLAM tank. Her boobs look like Pop-Tarts sticking out of the toaster.
Pop-Tart snaps her gum at me. "Can I help you?"
I swallow hard. "Derek."
"What?" She cups her hand over her ear.
I open my mouth wider but don't look directly at her. "Derek."
"What about him?" The phone rings and she answers it, "SLAM 92.7 . ."
It's not easy dealing with the dense ones.
I look at the carpet and wait until she transfers the call. "Tere Adams," I say.
"Nobody by that name works here." She wrinkles her nose. I point to myself.
"Oh, you 're her. I get it." She picks up the phone. "I'll let Derek know you're here."
75
I play with one of the loops on my jeans. I sneak a quick glance at the red couches. Two old ladies armed with clipboards are sitting there with a large plastic jar stuffed with dollar bills nestled in between them. I wonder what they're collecting money for. I squint to read the label on the jar. It says Edna's College Fund. Okay, I guess it's never too late to realize your dream. I wonder which one is Edna.
Pop-Tart puts down the phone. "He says to go right in."
I start to walk away but she yells, "Wait."
I quickly stop. What's wrong? My face goes beet red. Is my fly down or something?
She leans over the counter. "It's so cool that you're here."
Really? Rob told everyone I was coming? How sweet.
Pop-Tart leans over even more, letting it all hang out. "This is incredible. I've never met a deaf person before."
Oh, brother, this girl needs more than Hooked on Phonics.
A lady in a black suit passes me as I walk down the hallway. She must work in the sales department. Those are the only people that really dress up around here.
I stand outside the studio and wait until the on-air light goes off. The hallway is filled with photos of the DJs and celebs that have come by the station. In front of me, I'm staring at a picture of Rob and Gracie May at the New Year's Eve bash. I've never seen Rob smile that widely before.
The light goes off, but my stomach is back to the limbo. I just stand there for a moment.
I can do this. I have to do this. I grasp the
76
door handle before I change my mind. Derek's at the board with his back to me.
I don't move from the door, hoping he'll eventually turn around. But instead, he leans over the laptop plugged in next to him. The lights on the request lines are blinking, but I know he has two interns down the hall answering those calls, I shuffle to the center of the studio now and rustle the keys in my pocket. Finally
The bus screeches to a halt and the man stands up. "Miami's a big city; watch out."
"Danke," I whisper.
There's nothing like the truth.
72
73
chapter EIGHT
I've never been to SLAM alone before. There's no one to hide behind today. Maybe Mom's right. I'm not ready for this. My whole body's shaking by the time I reach the station. I feel like an earthquake victim. Maybe I should turn around, forget the whole thing, and catch the next bus home. Mom would be happy, but I would not.
I clutch my backpack with one hand and grasp the handle to the front door with the other. If I hold on to something, maybe the trembling will stop. I take small steps until I reach the security desk in the middle of the lobby. The sign-in sheet glares at me. I write down my name and where I'm going, then hand the guy my driver's license.
74
"Here to pick up a prize?" he asks me.
"My dad." I point to the elevator. I can't believe I just called Rob my dad, but there's no way I'm correcting myself.
"Oh, you're here to pick up your dad." He nods.
I nod back so he doesn't think I'm some psycho. Then I take off to the second floor before I change my mind about being here. I open the glass door and step inside. The station seems a lot bigger than it was last week.
There's a new girl sitting at the front desk answering phones. Maybe Patty's solitaire addiction finally got the best of her. New Girl can't be much older than me. She's wearing a supertight, low-cut SLAM tank. Her boobs look like Pop-Tarts sticking out of the toaster.
Pop-Tart snaps her gum at me. "Can I help you?"
I swallow hard. "Derek."
"What?" She cups her hand over her ear.
I open my mouth wider but don't look directly at her. "Derek."
"What about him?" The phone rings and she answers it, "SLAM 92.7 . ."
It's not easy dealing with the dense ones.
I look at the carpet and wait until she transfers the call. "Tere Adams," I say.
"Nobody by that name works here." She wrinkles her nose. I point to myself.
"Oh, you 're her. I get it." She picks up the phone. "I'll let Derek know you're here."
75
I play with one of the loops on my jeans. I sneak a quick glance at the red couches. Two old ladies armed with clipboards are sitting there with a large plastic jar stuffed with dollar bills nestled in between them. I wonder what they're collecting money for. I squint to read the label on the jar. It says Edna's College Fund. Okay, I guess it's never too late to realize your dream. I wonder which one is Edna.
Pop-Tart puts down the phone. "He says to go right in."
I start to walk away but she yells, "Wait."
I quickly stop. What's wrong? My face goes beet red. Is my fly down or something?
She leans over the counter. "It's so cool that you're here."
Really? Rob told everyone I was coming? How sweet.
Pop-Tart leans over even more, letting it all hang out. "This is incredible. I've never met a deaf person before."
Oh, brother, this girl needs more than Hooked on Phonics.
A lady in a black suit passes me as I walk down the hallway. She must work in the sales department. Those are the only people that really dress up around here.
I stand outside the studio and wait until the on-air light goes off. The hallway is filled with photos of the DJs and celebs that have come by the station. In front of me, I'm staring at a picture of Rob and Gracie May at the New Year's Eve bash. I've never seen Rob smile that widely before.
The light goes off, but my stomach is back to the limbo. I just stand there for a moment.
I can do this. I have to do this. I grasp the
76
door handle before I change my mind. Derek's at the board with his back to me.
I don't move from the door, hoping he'll eventually turn around. But instead, he leans over the laptop plugged in next to him. The lights on the request lines are blinking, but I know he has two interns down the hall answering those calls, I shuffle to the center of the studio now and rustle the keys in my pocket. Finally
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