Lucky Caller(35)

Sasha: This is Sounds of the Nineties here on 98.9 The Jam. I’m Sasha.

Joydeep: I’m Joydeep.

Sasha: And tonight we’re highlighting songs from the year 1996.

Joydeep: Quite a year.

Sasha: Was it?

Joydeep: I don’t know. I assume so?

Sasha: We’ve also got some music coming up from Existential Dead, so if you’re a fan of them or of nineties music in general, keep it tuned.

Joydeep: Hey, Sasha?

Sasha: Hm?

Joydeep: What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever gotten?

Sasha: Are you trying to interview me right now?

Joydeep: Well, as the brand-new Sounds of the Nineties co-host, I feel like we should, uh, give the listeners an opportunity to get to know you better.

Sasha: Yeah, because they’ve learned so much about you so far.

Joydeep: Well, I guess it’s an opportunity to get to know both of us, then.

Sasha: You just want to practice for the interview with our mystery guest.

Joydeep: Nah, I think we established I don’t really need practice, as our producer would probably agree. Can’t I be genuinely curious?

Sasha: Oh my god. You have an article open called “Thirty-Three Interesting Conversation Starters.”

Joydeep: I do not!

Sasha: You do too. You do. I can see it. Everyone in the studio can see it.

Joydeep: Okay, well, even the greats need inspiration sometimes. So what is it? The best advice you’ve ever gotten?

Sasha: Umm … Probably something from my mom. She’s really smart.

Joydeep: Hit us with that mom knowledge.

Sasha: Well … uh, okay, there’s this one. When I was younger, I used to get really sad about stuff ending. Like … I would go to camp in the summers—like different camps each year, usually—and I’d make friends and stuff over the weeks or whatever, and when it was over, I’d be so sad because I wouldn’t see any of the people again.

Joydeep: Camp sadness. Got it.

Sasha: I remember saying to my mom once, like, it’s totally pointless making friends at camp because even if you go back to the same one the next summer, they might not even be there, and you’re not going to see them the rest of the year anyway. They’re not going to be like your real-life friends. And my mom told me that part of growing up is just … learning that people come in and out of your life, and that there are all kinds of levels of friendship, all different types. And maybe you’ll make a friend, and you won’t see them again, but it doesn’t devalue what you had with them or the time you spent together. That’s still valid, even if it wasn’t built to last. It’s not any less … significant, you know?

Joydeep: Damn. Mama Reynolds swooping in with the sage wisdom.

Sasha: What about you? Best advice?

Joydeep: Uhh … My brother Vikrant told me that the thing on the end of a shoelace is called an aglet.

Sasha: That’s not even advice.

Joydeep: I know. I panicked. Yours was really good. Here’s a song, and that song is “Upturned Sunset” by Existential Dead …





32.


MY SEARCH OF THE STORAGE room closet for my Honey Bear had turned up fruitless, but I still had the Conrad and Mickey: The Supercut tape. What I didn’t have was anything to play it on. And what I didn’t know was why I actually cared to hear it, but I did.

I knew the editing bays at the station had tape players, but it was hard to get in there when no one else was around. I could try to stay late after our show, but I didn’t want anyone finding out why, for some reason. I didn’t want anyone asking about this.

I ended up texting Alexis:

Do you have a tape player?

Alexis had most things. And I knew she wouldn’t ask why. She was pretty easygoing, pretty carefree about stuff like that.

Mmm no but Tate might?

Alexis’s brother Tate was in his early twenties. He had finished up college at Duke and moved back home to work at their dad’s company for a bit. According to Alexis, he was “hipster to a fault.” He liked mushroom lattes and artisanal beef jerky. He’d ride one of those bikes with giant front wheels if he could, she told me once. No, scratch that—he’d go full horse-and-buggy if that was an option.

I’ll ask him, she texted.

She appeared at my locker the next day with a small, rectangular tape player. I thanked her and shoved it in my coat pocket.

Alexis smiled. “You just need some big Jamie Russell style headphones to go with it. You remember those jank ones he used to have in junior high? The cord was like six feet long?”

I did remember. Jamie always had those headphones with him back then, an old, bulky pair with a long cord stretching into his pocket. One day in particular sprang to mind—Jamie walking by the lunch table where Alexis and I and a group of other girls sat, those headphones around his neck. It was the fall of eighth grade, around the same time that our final game of Kingdom was underway.

He had glanced my way as he passed, a smile breaking his face. “Hi, Nina.”

“Jamie Russell!” Alexis had said, eyes alight. “Come sit with us.”

Jamie had hesitated, but Alexis gestured to one of the other girls to scoot over, and Jamie slipped onto the bench next to me.

“How’s it going?” Alexis said as Jamie began to unpack his lunch. That was another thing about him—he always brought lunch to school in a Velcro lunch bag.