as he turned report pages.
“This is your fault. Your fault!” Clementine said.
No. Clementine was wrong. This JISP was wrong. Space between me and my BFs was wrong. Everything in my life was wrong. I lunged for the door, needing to escape the cave.
“Wait!” Duncan tapped his index finger on the report. “Have you all looked at question ten? The one where we ask what kind of programming listeners want? More than music or news or sports, listeners want interactive programming. They want their voices heard. They want a talk show.”
“What does a talk show have to do with keeping us on the air?” Taysom asked.
Duncan waved the papers at me. “Don’t you remember Chloe talking about refritos? We find out what kind of refried beans our target market wants, and we give it to them. If we give them what they want, they’ll tune in, and if enough of them stay tuned in, we’re sure to pull in underwriters, and if we have an abundance of underwriters, the station will have so much extra cash we can pay the school for the extra storage space.”
Clementine shook her crinkly mane of hair. “Talk shows are beasts. Controversial topics alienate listeners. Stuff could happen that would get us yanked off the air in a heartbeat. We don’t do talk shows. Never have. Never will.”
“Maybe we should,” Duncan said. “Ninety-eight percent of respondents want one.”
Taysom scanned the report. “Dunc’s right.”
“Anyone willing to handle callers in a talk-show format?” Duncan went on.
Taysom shuddered. Haley made a splat sound. Clementine said, “Hell no!” Everyone looked at Frick and Frack as they shook their heads.
“Seriously, Chloe’s funny and articulate, and she never shuts up,” Dunc said. I’d never seen his gray eyes so bright. “She’d be a great talk-show host.”
“She knows squat about radio,” Clementine said, her voice screechy.
“She can learn the technical stuff,” Duncan argued. “The important thing is she has an engaging personality. We need her.”
“My gawwwwwd, people. No one’s going to want to talk to Chloe. She fracked Mr. Hersbacher, the head of the Mistletoe Ball committee, to win a stupid crown. Brie Sonderby saw everything.”
The hit was straight on, Clementine’s right fist to my already-bleeding heart. This was the big secret behind the whispers. This was the heart of the rumors Brie spread to turn the entire school against me. Surprisingly, Clementine’s words didn’t storm through my head. Nor did Brie’s lies, because they were so ludicrous, so ridiculous, I would have laughed if I wasn’t thinking about Duncan’s wonderful words.
We need her .
When you’ve been out in an ocean, stung by jellyfish, battered by waves, and circled by sharks in frosty pink lipstick, you grab at the first life preserver tossed your way. I wrapped my arms and mind around those words.
We need her .
I faced every member of the KDRS radio staff. I wasn’t naked. I wasn’t alone. And according to Duncan, I was needed.
“You’re wrong, Clementine. Brie Sonderby lied. I did nothing inappropriate with my old guidance counselor to win the Mistletoe Crown, and I could spend time and energy fighting Brie, but I have something more important to do. Duncan’s right. You need me here at the station, and I can prove it . . .” I inserted a dramatic pause worthy of a Daytime Emmy—winning soap queen. “. . . with rotten salsa.”
“Oh my gawwwwd!”
“TAKE OFF THAT STUPID TIARA.”
“And happy Tuesday to you, too, darling Clementine.” I slipped off my tiara and positioned it in the middle of my desk, which was a dented whiteboard supported on either end by storage boxes and shoved against the north wall of Portable Five. Welcome to the glamorous home of Chloe, Queen of the Universe , KDRS’s exciting new radio talk show, debuting this Friday.
Clementine had kicked and screamed, fighting the idea of me hosting a talk show. While I wasn’t a fighter by nature, I
“This is your fault. Your fault!” Clementine said.
No. Clementine was wrong. This JISP was wrong. Space between me and my BFs was wrong. Everything in my life was wrong. I lunged for the door, needing to escape the cave.
“Wait!” Duncan tapped his index finger on the report. “Have you all looked at question ten? The one where we ask what kind of programming listeners want? More than music or news or sports, listeners want interactive programming. They want their voices heard. They want a talk show.”
“What does a talk show have to do with keeping us on the air?” Taysom asked.
Duncan waved the papers at me. “Don’t you remember Chloe talking about refritos? We find out what kind of refried beans our target market wants, and we give it to them. If we give them what they want, they’ll tune in, and if enough of them stay tuned in, we’re sure to pull in underwriters, and if we have an abundance of underwriters, the station will have so much extra cash we can pay the school for the extra storage space.”
Clementine shook her crinkly mane of hair. “Talk shows are beasts. Controversial topics alienate listeners. Stuff could happen that would get us yanked off the air in a heartbeat. We don’t do talk shows. Never have. Never will.”
“Maybe we should,” Duncan said. “Ninety-eight percent of respondents want one.”
Taysom scanned the report. “Dunc’s right.”
“Anyone willing to handle callers in a talk-show format?” Duncan went on.
Taysom shuddered. Haley made a splat sound. Clementine said, “Hell no!” Everyone looked at Frick and Frack as they shook their heads.
“Seriously, Chloe’s funny and articulate, and she never shuts up,” Dunc said. I’d never seen his gray eyes so bright. “She’d be a great talk-show host.”
“She knows squat about radio,” Clementine said, her voice screechy.
“She can learn the technical stuff,” Duncan argued. “The important thing is she has an engaging personality. We need her.”
“My gawwwwwd, people. No one’s going to want to talk to Chloe. She fracked Mr. Hersbacher, the head of the Mistletoe Ball committee, to win a stupid crown. Brie Sonderby saw everything.”
The hit was straight on, Clementine’s right fist to my already-bleeding heart. This was the big secret behind the whispers. This was the heart of the rumors Brie spread to turn the entire school against me. Surprisingly, Clementine’s words didn’t storm through my head. Nor did Brie’s lies, because they were so ludicrous, so ridiculous, I would have laughed if I wasn’t thinking about Duncan’s wonderful words.
We need her .
When you’ve been out in an ocean, stung by jellyfish, battered by waves, and circled by sharks in frosty pink lipstick, you grab at the first life preserver tossed your way. I wrapped my arms and mind around those words.
We need her .
I faced every member of the KDRS radio staff. I wasn’t naked. I wasn’t alone. And according to Duncan, I was needed.
“You’re wrong, Clementine. Brie Sonderby lied. I did nothing inappropriate with my old guidance counselor to win the Mistletoe Crown, and I could spend time and energy fighting Brie, but I have something more important to do. Duncan’s right. You need me here at the station, and I can prove it . . .” I inserted a dramatic pause worthy of a Daytime Emmy—winning soap queen. “. . . with rotten salsa.”
“Oh my gawwwwd!”
“TAKE OFF THAT STUPID TIARA.”
“And happy Tuesday to you, too, darling Clementine.” I slipped off my tiara and positioned it in the middle of my desk, which was a dented whiteboard supported on either end by storage boxes and shoved against the north wall of Portable Five. Welcome to the glamorous home of Chloe, Queen of the Universe , KDRS’s exciting new radio talk show, debuting this Friday.
Clementine had kicked and screamed, fighting the idea of me hosting a talk show. While I wasn’t a fighter by nature, I
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