Begin Again(38)

Shay pulls up her sleeve so she can dampen a laugh with it. I grin back, and some of the spell is broken. For a moment it really does feel like it’s just the two of us having a conversation, just like she said.

“‘Call-in Friday,’” she prompts me.

I nod vigorously. Then remember, of course, that none of them can see me. “I’m, um—I’m also the person who’s been answering your emails asking for advice, so if you have anything to ask, go ahead and give us a ring when we get to the call-in section of today’s broadcast.” My voice is still wavering, but it could be worse. “But first—the latest.”

I take another breath and it feels like I’m breathing in my own fear, like I’m swallowing it before it can swallow me.

“The construction on Main Street is, much to nobody’s surprise, taking longer to finish than a triple major in their fifth year, so you’re going to have to avoid that area between two and six today.” I’m not great with the pacing, saying some of it too fast. I take another breath, half channeling my mom, and half channeling Milo. “But if you’d like to make use of the time you’re taking the long way around, you might want devise a talent act for the annual Blue Ridge Talent Show, because signups for individuals and groups are opening up on the student portal starting today. And if you happen to be near the literary arts building today, congrats! You’re about to get front-row seats to the bloodbath of freshmen trying to get ribbons for the next round of the Knights’ Tour trivia tonight at five P.M.”

Shay gives me a thumbs-up, but it’s short-lived. The soundboard is lighting up. We have a caller.

“Looks like we already have someone ringing in for ‘Call-in Friday,’” I say, so nervous at the idea that I am trying to reach into the back of my brain for what Milo usually says. It comes up empty. All I hear is my heart pounding in every vein in my head.

“Knights’ Watch,” I say once I hear the call connect. “What’s on your mind, friend?”

“Uh . . . well . . . wow. I guess, first I want to say thank you? Cuz if you’re the same Squire that helped my roommate with her finances, she’s like, way chiller now?”

“Oh.” My heart does this happy little thunk of a thing, and I smile at Shay again without meaning to. She’s already smirking back. “Glad to hear it.”

“Same. Which is why I was wondering if you could maybe give me some advice with my job? I signed on to be a part-time general assistant for the company, and . . . my boss is super rad and all. But she’s always asking me to do things like pick up her kids from school and get stuff for her sister. And that kind of seems like it’s not in my purview?”

“Oh, wow. Been there, navigated awkwardly through that.” It’s true. I’ve had enough part-time jobs that blurred the lines between “I just need a receptionist in the afternoons” and “actually, can you pick up my family’s groceries on your way home?” to relate. “So first, how’s your relationship with your boss?”

In the next ten minutes, we hash through the caller’s work history, make a solid plan to approach talking to their boss about it, and even form contingency plans if their boss reacts badly. After that we take two more callers, and then—much to my surprise—Shay taps an invisible watch on her wrist, letting me know to wrap it up.

“Well, you know where to reach me. Happy Friday, everyone,” I say, before panicking and ending the show with a graceless “Ta-ta!”

And then it’s over. I survived. I gave advice in real time, while actual people listened in. Sure, it was anonymous. Sure, I couldn’t actually see anyone. But the rush of it is so intense that for a moment, it doesn’t matter. For all the time I’ve spent trying to make myself fit in here, it feels like I just carved out a piece all my own.

The swell of pride lasts for approximately two seconds before I remember the train wreck of the rest of the broadcast. I wait until Shay turns off the mic, then pull up my sweater and bury my face in it.

Shay pats me on the arm. “Ta-ta?”

“Murder me,” I moan.

“I would, but then who would take my bird’s-eye-view Instagrams when my hands are busy holding books?”

I pull my face out of the bunched-up cotton to see Shay still grinning at me.

“C’mon. We’ll come up with a killer sign-off for you later. But we have a shift to get to,” she reminds me, tossing me my coat.

After it lands in my lap I extend my arms out to let my armpits breathe. “I’m sweating through several layers of clothes.”

“Precious. Please tell me more.” I open my mouth and she holds up a hand to stop me from doing just that. “Andie. You were fine.”

I will myself not to look at the picture of my mom on the wall, shrugging on my coat. I may be able to ignore the picture, but I can’t ignore that all-too-familiar seasick feeling. The kind of sick where I know I’m not going to throw up, but my stomach will still feel like it’s in a knot I can’t undo for the rest of the day.

“I should’ve been better,” I mutter.

“And you will be. Next time.” Shay cocks her head toward the door. “Now let’s get out of here before Milo shows up and figures out you poisoned the coffee supply.”

Milo does not, in fact, figure this out on his own, but is quickly informed of it an hour later. He rolls up to Bagelopolis in an oversized corduroy jacket and jeans, his eyes bright but wary, his hands in his pockets and his posture apologetic. He locks eyes on me first.