Lucky Caller(27)

Joydeep pointed to Jamie. “Yes. Yeah. This is good.”

“Sasha,” I said, looking to her for reason.

But she just gave a small smile. “I don’t hate the idea. It would be … kind of cool, actually. And we could even…” She paused.

“What?” Joydeep said. “Hit us with that magic, Wonder Woman. Lasso us in truth.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I’m the greatest of all time.”

Sasha rolled her eyes, then took a breath. “What if at first, we bill it as an interview with a mystery guest? Like a secret celebrity interview. We can advertise for it, like dropping clues as to who it is. So part of the whole thing is in the buildup to it. Generating buzz and stuff. Getting people to guess who it’s gonna be.” She shook her head. “None of the other groups are doing anything like that. So even if no one really cares after the big reveal—sorry, Nina—” I waved a hand. “It’ll show Tucker that we put effort into doing something different. And score us some points for doing, like, actual publicity.”

“I like that,” Jamie said. “There’s only one issue.” He glanced at me. “Do you think he’d do it?”

I took a deep breath. “Well … I mean, he’s coming to town for my sister’s school play in April. So … I think he could do it then?” In theory, if he came in on Thursday, he could do the show, talk to our class on Friday, and catch the opening night of the musical that evening. We weren’t going out to California for spring break this year, so he said he’d make a trip out here.

“Perfect,” Sasha said, and Joydeep punched his fist in the air.

“We’re back on track!” he cried.

We were definitely something.





22.


MY PHONE LIT UP WITH a text from Joydeep a few days later.

You should put together a list of fun facts about your dad What? Why? I replied.

To build hype for the mystery guest. We’ve got to tease him Ew, I said.

To the audience, gross! he replied, and two more messages quickly followed.

We gotta give them a little bit of FLAVOR, you know Like of what’s to come

I didn’t reply right away, and to my surprise, my phone buzzed once more.

Look I get that everything up until this point has been kind of a clusterfuck. I’ll admit that. So that’s why we have to turn this thing around You just don’t want to lose your bet, I said.

I mean yes

But also I don’t want to fail

And anyway, I think it’s important to Jamie I frowned, my thumbs hovering above my phone screen, before typing: So?

He’s my bro, Joydeep replied.

I didn’t respond right away, and my phone buzzed again after a moment or two.

The mystery guest thing is going to be big for us. Nobody else is going to have that. It’s super cool your dad is doing this It’s super cool you brought it up in the first place So let’s make the most of it, yeah?

Yeah okay, I sent.

Joydeep replied with two thumbs-up.





23.


FACTS ABOUT MY DAD.

I tapped my fingers lightly against the keys of Mom’s laptop, not pressing anything down. Just tap tap tap tap.

His favorite band was Pearl Jam. He was a terrible cook. He started in radio during college, interned at a station here in Indianapolis over summers, then got his first on-air job right out of college. It paid very little, so he also waited tables at TGI Fridays and deejayed at weddings and parties.

None of this was particularly helpful in terms of our show. Joydeep asked for fun facts.

My mom and dad technically met on the radio—that was a fun fact. Or it was, I guess? Until it all expired?

They got divorced when I was seven. We did two weekends a month at my dad’s for the next six years.

He always woke up early, even on the weekends. Conditioned from years of doing morning radio, I guess. The show started at 6 a.m., so he would get up at four forty-five. “Sleeping in” meant sleeping until seven or so, and even then, he said he’d still catch sight of the clock and feel panic, like he was meant to be in the studio.

He traveled sometimes, doing stuff for the station. I remember him coming back one time with teddy bears for the three of us when we were little—each bear had a yellow-patterned dress and apron on, with bows attached to their little teddy bear heads.

I loved that bear. It was special in particular because Dad picked it out all on his own. He stopped at the airport gift shop or the drug store or wherever and saw those specific bears, and for whatever reason—they were cheapest, he thought they were cute, they would fit in his suitcase—he picked them out and bought them and traveled all the way back with them, just for us.

When my dad’s show got bought and we found out that he would be leaving, I was in eighth grade, Rose was in ninth, and Sidney was in fourth. It was early fall, and my dad had taken us to Graeter’s for ice cream. Crowded around one of the small round tables with our favorite too-big waffle bowls, he announced that he would be moving to California.

“This is a really big opportunity,” he had said, “but it’s not gonna—we’ll still spend time together, and it doesn’t mean that I don’t…” He broke off a bit of cone, stuck it in the top of the mound of ice cream like he was planting a flag. “You can come for trips and stay longer—summer vacation, and Christmas—”