Lucky Caller(37)

[sad foghorn] [high-pitched female voice saying nya nya nya]

“Do you realize how sexist your soundboard is? Like, where are the sounds for when men complain? Where are the male sex sounds?”

“I’m sorry, Michelle, Producer Shoebox can only express himself through the magic of sound and innuendo, but we will be sure to load up some male org—Can we say that, Shoebox? I’m gonna say we shouldn’t. We will load up the male happy fun time sounds just for you, Michelle. So what’s our beef about? Or did that pretty much cover it?”

“Oh, we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“Okay. Let’s hear it. What’s your main issue? The real, uh, heart of the beef.”

“Whenever I call in for tickets, you always pick up, but then you just say keep trying and hang up on me.”

[nya nya nya]

“I swear to god, if you don’t knock that off—”

“Sorry, Michelle. Producer Shoebox, cool it, okay? For like one second?” [pause] “I see your finger on that button, and if you play a foghorn stinger, we’re not friends anymore.” [pause] “Steve.” [pause] “If you press that button, you’re leaving the booth. You won’t be allowed in here anymore.”

[pause]

[sad foghorn]

“Out. Right now. I’m not even kidding.” [scrambling] “Sorry, you still there, Michelle?”

“Honestly, whatever they pay you guys, it’s too much.”

“We got you listening, didn’t we?”

“I like the music. And the contests. Which takes me back to—”

“The beef, yes, right. Okay, but you know that’s sort of how these call-in things work, right? You gotta keep trying if you want to be the lucky caller.”

“I’m lucky enough that you pick up the phone, but not enough to be the winner! It’s rigged!”

“Rigged specifically against you?”

“Why do you always pick up?”

“Maybe I like the sound of your voice.”

“Then why don’t I ever win the tickets?”

“I mean, I can’t give tickets away to every girl whose voice I like.”

My mom made a sound like eughfhfh and hung up.





34.


I LISTENED TO THE TAPE again the next day. And the day after that. It was just the one exchange—the Supercut in the title made me think maybe there would be more, but I fast-forwarded through, stopping to play periodically, and there was nothing but silence.

I was listening to it again in the library on Tuesday during my free period when my phone buzzed with a message from Sasha in the Sounds of the Nineties group chat.

We need to meet up was all it said.

So we met at the student gallery after school.

Sasha wore an odd expression as she sat down on the bench along the wall. “So … we kind of have a problem,” she said.

“Is it Jamie’s face?” Joydeep replied.

Jamie looked hurt. “Hey!”

“Sorry.” Joydeep grimaced. “Instinct. Vikrant will get me if I don’t get him first.”

Sasha ignored the exchange. “Basically, they think that Existential Dead is our mystery guest.”

“What? Why?” I said. “Who’s they?”

“The Deadnoughts.”

“The what now?”

“It’s what their fans call themselves.”

“Dead not? Like, not dead?”

“Dead N-O-U-G-H-T, like a ship, a dreadnought.”

“It’s like a play on words,” Jamie said.

“Oh, great,” Joydeep replied. “I know how horny you guys are for wordplay.”

“Why would they think that?” I said, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

“Because we keep playing their songs, for one thing,” Sasha said.

Jamie frowned. “That was a listenership strategy.”

“Yeah, well, it worked. We got a bunch of people who love Existential Dead to listen, and now they think we’re delivering them the band live on the air.”

“Just because we played them a few times? That’s stupid.”

“Also, because there are some, uh … similarities, based on the facts that we gave about Nina’s dad.”

“What do you mean, similarities?”

“So I started looking into it once we started getting messages about it, and not a whole lot is known about these guys. Apparently they were really cryptic and under the radar or whatever back in the day, and that was a part of the appeal for their fandom. There aren’t a ton of fans these days since they never really got huge in the first place, but they’ve had kind of a resurgence online in the last few years. Like, there are Tumblrs dedicated to Tyler Bright and stuff, all this Oh, I was born in the wrong decade, heart eyes kind of stan stuff. But anyway, he’s originally from Indiana. Like your dad.”

“So?” I said. “Lots of people are originally from Indiana. We’re all originally from Indiana.”

“Actually, I lived in Illinois until middle school,” Sasha replied.

Jamie nodded. “I was born in Michigan.”

“Really?” I said.

“And I was born in India, we moved here when I was three, thanks for asking,” Joydeep said. “I win for traveling the farthest, and the prize is getting to tell Nina she’s wrong.”