Welcome, Caller, This Is Chloe (25 page)

“Chloe?”

“—know how to create blogs, and you can name every role Brad Pitt played, and you—”

“Chloe!”

“Yeah, Grams?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I . . .”

Grams cocked an eyebrow.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. “I guess I need to work on my listening skills.”

A choky laugh tumbled over her lips. The laugh shook her mouth, her face, her chest.

I hadn’t meant it as a joke. It was true. While gabbing away on the airwaves, I’d learned the importance of listening. Heedless of the photos, I scooted next to her. Her laughter rumbled along her legs and through her arms. She got to laughing so hard, she fell over. Me, too. We rolled on the floor of the Tuna Can, letting laughter work its healing magic.

“What now?” I asked when I caught my breath and struggled upright. Between the photos and the broken glass of the light, the floor was a mess.

“It’s time for a little change before I ruin anything else.” Grams steadied her hands on the coffee table. “You better give Dunc a call. He’s going to need to move my porch swing again.”

I held my breath. Grams needed to make this decision, one that made sense to both her head and heart. “Where?”

She stood, her legs steady. “The black hole. I’m moving in.”

TAMALES DE DULCE

* 2 cups masa harina

* ½ cup sugar

* ¼t. salt

* 1 ½ t. cinnamon

* 1 ½ t. baking powder

* ¼ cup margarine

* ¼ cup lard

* 1 ½ cups chicken stock

* 1 cup walnuts, chopped

* 1 cup raisins

* About 24 dried corn husks, soaked in hot water to soften

Stir together masa harina, sugar, salt, cinnamon, and baking powder. Cream margarine and lard until fluffy. Gradually beat masa harina mixture and broth into the lard mixture. Beat for 5 minutes. Stir in walnuts and raisins.

Shake excess water from the softened corn husks. Spread 2 T dough down center of each husk. Roll, turning under ends. If needed, roll in an additional husk to secure. Pack tamales into steamer and steam for 1½ to 2 hours.

Makes about 12 tamales.

I SLIPPED ON MY PLAIN WHITE KEDS.

The sneakers weren’t fashionable and they didn’t make a statement as I walked to school the next morning. With their quiet rubber soles, these shoes were made for walking. And listening.

Like spinning the knob of an old-fashioned radio dial, I tuned in to the beautiful morning: squawking seagulls, the tapping ocean, a babbling toddler being pushed by his mother in a stroller with a squeaky wheel, and somewhere far away the whisper of a siren’s wail. As the siren faded, I couldn’t help but think somewhere something had gone wrong, and someone’s life would probably change forever.

Change.

Change was inevitable, and it wore many faces. Some life-altering changes came fast and hard, like secret babies or revenge-seeking ex-wives who hit the screen during sweeps weeks. The whole thing with Brie slammed me like a Category 5
hurricane. One moment I had two of the world’s bestest friends and a fungus crown. The next I was alone. Then there were the life-altering changes that occurred with less fanfare, the ones that had been transforming quietly as the minutes ticked into hours and days and years. Over the past year, Parkinson’s nibbled away at Grams, taking away her car, her ability to open a DVD case, and ultimately the Tuna Can.

Mom and Dad had been shocked when I brought Grams home last night. Shocked, but relieved and clearly happy, even when Grams hung her life-size picture of Brad Pitt at the head of the stairs. In the morning, a group of Dad’s students from the university started packing the Tuna Can and moved Grams into the second floor of my home.

Not all changes were bad, I thought, as I continued my silent walk to school. Joining KDRS was good. Making friends with the staff, even dragon Clem, was good. And kissing Duncan? That was beyond good. My lips tingled at the memory.

Lost in my thoughts of Duncan, I forgot about the siren until I got to school. Once there I saw a fire truck pulling out of the parking lot. Wispy clouds of gray hovered over the east side of the campus, and a breath of acrid air snagged in my throat. “Smoke?”

I ran across campus to where the portables sat. My practical tennis shoes skidded to a stop in a puddle of ashy mud in front of Portable Five. Before me sat the black, smoking, hissing shell of a building that had once been the home of KDRS 88.8 The Edge.

“Duncan!” The word hitched in my throat. He’d been
sleeping in the storeroom under Frack’s Boy Scout sleeping bag with Frick’s pillow.

I scanned the crowd and at the front spotted Clementine. Elbowing my way through the press of bodies, I grabbed Clem’s arm and spun her toward me. Her nose ring was gone.

“Duncan.” I tried to keep my voice low, but I wanted to scream. “Where is he?”

“We don’t know,” someone other than Clementine said. I blinked. Next to her stood Haley and Taysom.

“Is—was—he in there?” I refused to look at the charred shell.

Taysom shook his head. “Clem got here first. She told the fire captain right away about Duncan. The firefighters checked the rubble and didn’t find anyone anywhere in the portable.”

“They’re sure?”

Haley rested her hand on my shoulder. “Positive. The fire chief told Clem he’d send the police to check Duncan’s duplex and the places where he worked.”

Duncan wasn’t in the portable when it caught fire. Good. That was good. But where was he?

“Chloe, I’m sure Duncan’s safe,” Taysom said as he unclamped my fingers from his arm. “We would have heard by now if something bad happened.”

“But his mom’s with Stu again. He has nowhere to go.” I was blathering.

Haley looped her arm around my waist. “He has us.”

Yes, he has us. I leaned into her, letting her warmth and strength rush through me. You needed one person in your corner
to lift you when you fell, to hold your hand when you were scared, and to open a few doors when your home burned to the ground. Duncan didn’t have just one person; he had all of us at KDRS.

With my heart back in my chest, I watched the firefighters poking around the building. “How do you think it started?” I asked.

“The investigators aren’t done,” Taysom said. “It’s such an old building, and we told them about the wiring issues. They’re starting there.”

When the first-period bell rang, we all turned to leave—except for Clementine. I literally had to drag her away from the charred ruins. I tried to put myself in her shoes, because somewhere while JISPing along, I’d tried to start looking at others. Did Clementine think her radio dream died in those flames? Did she feel like she was floating in turbulent seas without a life preserver? I would eventually ask, but as we walked through the hallways to first period, I respected the quiet she seemed to need. Like I respected beets. My lips twitched, but I refrained from any comments about purple, bulbous vegetables. The jokes would come later, because laughter was a great healer. I helped Merce laugh again after her mother’s death. I helped Brie laugh through her parents’ ugly battles. And I helped Grams laugh her way out of the Tuna Can.

Clementine had Ancient History first hour, and I delivered her directly to her desk. “You going to be okay?”

She said nothing.

What could I say?
Of course you’re going to be okay. This isn’t the end of your world. This isn’t the end of your radio dreams
. I knew from experience words wouldn’t help. Time would. “I need to go, Clem. I want to see if Duncan comes to first period. I’ll meet you for lunch at your locker.”

With a final shoulder squeeze, I hurried toward my first-period classroom. I pictured Duncan sitting at his desk, a soft scarf around his neck, his fingers folding a paper airplane or maybe an origami heart. I walked faster, almost running by the time I reached econ, and when I burst through the doorway, I saw his seat. Empty.

Don’t think about it
, I warned myself. Because if I thought, I’d devise a hundred different horrible scenarios with drama and intrigue and horrible villains and villainesses.

I focused on my classes until the middle of fourth period, when Ms. Lungren called me to the guidance center. My JISP. I hadn’t thought of how the fire would affect my project.

When I got to the guidance center, Ms. Lungren led me into a small room used for parent-student-counselor meetings. However, neither my parents nor Ms. Lungren sat at the table. A man with a navy blazer, light blue shirt, and a black smudge on his forehead motioned for me to take a seat across from him.

“Chloe, this is Sergeant Cargill,” Ms. Lungren said. “He’s an investigator with the Tierra del Rey Fire Department, and he wants to talk to you about the radio station.”

The question rushed over my lips before my butt hit the chair. “Duncan, he wasn’t in the fire, was he?”

“No,” the fire investigator said. “We’ve completed our search,
and I assure you, your friend was not in the building, and the police are currently trying to find him.”

“Try his neighbor, Hetta, and the thrift store where he works and the office buildings where he empties trash. He has a bike. It has mismatched pedals, and the seat’s covered in duct tape. The front wheel makes a squeaking sound, kind of like the squeaky wheel on a trash cart. You got all that?”

He gave me the kind of smile Mom gives her patients as they come out from anesthesia. “Is there anything else you need to say?”

“The Happy Trails Trailer Park. Sometimes his mom stays there with a friend named Stu. Stu. Just Stu. I don’t have a last name, but he drives a maroon Camaro. Duncan doesn’t like him, but . . . I . . . I sound like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry, Chloe, we’ll find your friend.”

My friend. And Valentine’s date. And the boy who makes my thumbs and ankles and lips and other body parts tingle.

“Chloe, I need you to focus on me,” Mr. Fire Guy said. My frenzied brain couldn’t remember his name. “Are you focusing on me?”

I nodded.

“Good. We discovered the fire started not because of faulty wiring but a liquid accelerant. We believe someone purposefully started the fire.”

A heavy sensation settled in my chest. I couldn’t believe anyone would want to burn down the station. Record numbers of listeners were tuning in. We were airing engaging, enlightening,
fun programming. Fun. Duncan. The boulder in my chest plummeted to the pit of my stomach. Fire Guy said the police were looking for Duncan. “Duncan didn’t start the fire. He wouldn’t do that kind of thing. I know him. He’s nice and—”

“Whoa, there. From what we learned from the other radio staff members and Mr. Martinez, we don’t think he started the fire, but we’re trying to find him and see if he saw anything or anyone.” Fire Guy glanced at the notepad on the table in front of him. “Last night when you left the station with the radio staff to go to Dos Hermanas, did you see anything or anyone near Portable Five?”

I still couldn’t get my head around the idea that someone would purposefully torch the station. KDRS had become a second home to me. Who could hate a home that much?

“Chloe?” Fire Guy prompted. “Did you see anyone near the radio station when you left?”

I tamped down my panic and tried to recall last night. “No, I don’t remember anyone near the building.”

“And when you left Dos Hermanas, where did Duncan go?”

Duncan had kissed me good-bye. The kiss had been longer than the peck in the radio control room, deeper, and had left me a little fuzzy brained. “I think he went in the direction of the thrift store. He works there until nine most weeknights.”

“Did you go by the school after leaving Dos Hermanas?”

“No, I went to the Tuna Can—that’s my grandmother’s trailer—and ended up helping her pack her DVD collection. She’s moving in with us.”

The Fire Guy made notes on the pad. “Now, I want you to tell me about Brad.”

A manic giggle stuck in my throat. Was Fire Guy concerned about his smokin’ hot heinie? But I wasn’t asking the questions today, I was answering them. “He was on
Another World
a long time ago, a small acting part. I don’t know what his first movie was, but I think he got a few Oscar nominations.”

Fire Guy’s forehead furrowed. “Who are you talking about?”

“Brad Pitt. Didn’t you ask me what I knew about Brad Pitt?”

He cleared his throat. “Brad, your caller, the one who burned all his love poems, the one who broke down on your show yesterday afternoon.”