Shrinking Violet by Danielle Joseph Page B
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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evening, South Florida, it's Dynamite Derek helping you survive the drive home . ."
Jason mouths to me. "Who are you?"
I make a T sign with my hands.
He mouths, "Time-out?"
"Intern," I say softly. It makes things easier.
"Ahh." He nods and jumps onto the computer. As soon as he's finished, he swivels around to face me. "Since I'm sure Derek didn't tell you what a studio intern's duties are, I'll fill you in."
"Thanks," I say and pull a small notebook and pen from my backpack.
Jason brushes away the paper. "Nothing formal. When you get here, just check the commercials loaded on the computer against the printout for the show. You'll find the printout next to the console."
That's all?
Jason continues, "You'll help on phones as needed and anything else that comes up during the show, promotions, giveaways, etc. Any questions?"
80
"No." I shake my head, and before I can think of anything else to say, Jason is back to the computer, pulling up a song for Derek.
That's what I like about radio, there's no downtime. You talk, listen to music, do a few shout-outs and before you know it, it's time to sign out and hand the mike over to the next DJ. I still don't know how I got the guts to talk Rob into letting me give this radio gig a try. But I'm glad I did. Despite the fact that Derek is a major slime dog, I think I'm going to like it here.
81
chapter NINE
Gavin looks different today. I'm not sure why, though. Piece -of hair hanging over his left eye. Check. Dark brown eyes.
Check. Faded jeans. Check. T-shirt. It's red. Whoa, back up. That's like me showing up to school in a string bikini. I lean forward and notice that it's a Speed Bump tee. Not exactly alternative music but definitely good stuff. They're one of the groups that Rob's trying to get to play at the SLAM Summer Bash in July.
This is the fifth year in a row that the station is sponsoring a huge outdoor concert at Bayside with over fifteen different artists. The concert starts at noon and goes until eleven at night. I've been for the past three years, and it's such a blast! Of course, it would
82
be better if I could go without my mom, but I can't complain because we always get backstage passes.
I wait until Gavin looks up from his paper.
"Nice," I whisper to his shirt.
"Thanks. My mom was just happy that I wore a color other than black." I laugh.
"I'm going with my brother to see them play in May."
"Really, when?"
"I think it's the second or third weekend. I know it's a Friday."
"Oh." My heart sinks. The small venue on the Beach. They're already sold out. I should've asked Rob for tickets, but Mom always tells me not to be too greedy, that the tickets need to go to his staff, too. Of course, when she wants to go to a concert, she doesn't waste a second to ask for not only the tickets, but also the best seats.
Ms. Peters asks everyone to quiet down and takes attendance. Stacy's absent. Darn.
We hand in our homework. Then we're instructed to break up into pairs. After being called on to speak in class, pairing up is the next kiss of death for me. I immediately go into invisible mode and stare down at my notebook, my hair covering as much of my face as possible.
Waiting for everyone else to pair up always seems like an eternity. I know the drill: there are a few seconds of do I have any friends
83
in this class panic, followed by excited voices calling to each other across the room.
Then, when there's only one person left, they can come and grab me. I resume doodling to look busy, while people crisscross in front and back of me to find their perfect match.
I don't look up because I don't want anyone to see me, feel bad for me. I'm used to being picked last. The only time it sucks is when we have an uneven number and the teacher has to place me with two people who chose each other, leaving me the third wheel. Or worse, I have to partner with the teacher. That thankfully hasn't happened since freshman year science when I burnt the tip of Mr.
Jason mouths to me. "Who are you?"
I make a T sign with my hands.
He mouths, "Time-out?"
"Intern," I say softly. It makes things easier.
"Ahh." He nods and jumps onto the computer. As soon as he's finished, he swivels around to face me. "Since I'm sure Derek didn't tell you what a studio intern's duties are, I'll fill you in."
"Thanks," I say and pull a small notebook and pen from my backpack.
Jason brushes away the paper. "Nothing formal. When you get here, just check the commercials loaded on the computer against the printout for the show. You'll find the printout next to the console."
That's all?
Jason continues, "You'll help on phones as needed and anything else that comes up during the show, promotions, giveaways, etc. Any questions?"
80
"No." I shake my head, and before I can think of anything else to say, Jason is back to the computer, pulling up a song for Derek.
That's what I like about radio, there's no downtime. You talk, listen to music, do a few shout-outs and before you know it, it's time to sign out and hand the mike over to the next DJ. I still don't know how I got the guts to talk Rob into letting me give this radio gig a try. But I'm glad I did. Despite the fact that Derek is a major slime dog, I think I'm going to like it here.
81
chapter NINE
Gavin looks different today. I'm not sure why, though. Piece -of hair hanging over his left eye. Check. Dark brown eyes.
Check. Faded jeans. Check. T-shirt. It's red. Whoa, back up. That's like me showing up to school in a string bikini. I lean forward and notice that it's a Speed Bump tee. Not exactly alternative music but definitely good stuff. They're one of the groups that Rob's trying to get to play at the SLAM Summer Bash in July.
This is the fifth year in a row that the station is sponsoring a huge outdoor concert at Bayside with over fifteen different artists. The concert starts at noon and goes until eleven at night. I've been for the past three years, and it's such a blast! Of course, it would
82
be better if I could go without my mom, but I can't complain because we always get backstage passes.
I wait until Gavin looks up from his paper.
"Nice," I whisper to his shirt.
"Thanks. My mom was just happy that I wore a color other than black." I laugh.
"I'm going with my brother to see them play in May."
"Really, when?"
"I think it's the second or third weekend. I know it's a Friday."
"Oh." My heart sinks. The small venue on the Beach. They're already sold out. I should've asked Rob for tickets, but Mom always tells me not to be too greedy, that the tickets need to go to his staff, too. Of course, when she wants to go to a concert, she doesn't waste a second to ask for not only the tickets, but also the best seats.
Ms. Peters asks everyone to quiet down and takes attendance. Stacy's absent. Darn.
We hand in our homework. Then we're instructed to break up into pairs. After being called on to speak in class, pairing up is the next kiss of death for me. I immediately go into invisible mode and stare down at my notebook, my hair covering as much of my face as possible.
Waiting for everyone else to pair up always seems like an eternity. I know the drill: there are a few seconds of do I have any friends
83
in this class panic, followed by excited voices calling to each other across the room.
Then, when there's only one person left, they can come and grab me. I resume doodling to look busy, while people crisscross in front and back of me to find their perfect match.
I don't look up because I don't want anyone to see me, feel bad for me. I'm used to being picked last. The only time it sucks is when we have an uneven number and the teacher has to place me with two people who chose each other, leaving me the third wheel. Or worse, I have to partner with the teacher. That thankfully hasn't happened since freshman year science when I burnt the tip of Mr.
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