Welcome, Caller, This Is Chloe (30 page)

“Yes, I’m ready.” With a sharp nod, I walked up the stage steps and positioned myself in the center of the spotlight. I didn’t need the easels or projection screen, because I hadn’t brought any display boards or a PowerPoint presentation. I set my bag on the podium.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Repeat. Four times.

As I opened my mouth, footsteps clattered down the aisle.

When you’re onstage in the spotlight, you can’t see into the audience. I squinted and shaded my face with my hands.

Grams! The smile froze halfway to my lips. Had she stolen a car?

A shape shifted behind Grams. I squinted, and something gently tugged at the center of my chest. Merce. The smart one. This time, she stopped what she was doing and gave Grams a ride. I wanted to rush off the stage and hug her. The door opened again, and a group shuffled into seats in the shadowy middle section: Clementine, followed by Haley, Taysom, Frick, and Frack.

I steadied my hands on the podium to keep from pumping them in the air. No one, not even the vilest of villainesses, deserved to be alone for her oral JISP presentation. My throat swelled, and I couldn’t speak. I silently ticked off the rules for natural-sounding delivery Clem pounded into my head all those weeks ago. Breathe between units of thought. Don’t look down at notes, because it’ll close airways. Imagine I’m talking to a friend.

I focused on that shadowy middle place in the center of the auditorium. “Sometimes change sneaks up on you, carried in on the breath of spring, sliding through the sun-soaked waves of summer, breezing along the whisper and crackle of fall. Other times change prefers a more direct route. It comes down fast and hard.” I reached into my bag and took out my lone prop.
Wham!
“Like a ginormous hammer . . .”

As I walked away from the stage, Ms. Lungren was purring with delight, and Grams met me in the aisle.

“I’m glad you could make it,” I said with a giant hug.

“Thank Mercedes,” Grams said. “She called me this morning to find out when your JISP was scheduled, and when she discovered I didn’t have a ride, she offered in a heartbeat.”

Merce stepped out from the shadows.

The radio staffers hadn’t left their seats. They were giving me private time with Merce.

This afternoon Merce didn’t look agitated like the day she’d been searching for Brie. She looked at peace and happy, like she had at the bonfire the night of the Tardeada. “So why’d you come?” I asked.

Her mouth quirked in a half smile. “You make me laugh.”

So simple and true. I spent much of last year trying to put a smile on Merce’s face after her mother died.

“And I need to tell you . . .” Merce reached into her backpack and took out a bag of Twizzlers. “I’m sorry.”

Two simple words with the power to change worlds. I took the bag and broke open the plastic.

“At first I bought into Brie’s anger, because it was everywhere. I couldn’t get out of it. And when she fell into that funk and started missing school, you’d already started hanging out with your radio friends, and I found myself a social mutant, like in elementary school, all alone.”

A strange, awed expression replaced her pinched features. “But being alone ended up being a good thing. I learned I wasn’t the social zero I’d been in sixth grade. Somewhere over the past few years I learned how to be a friend, and I found some people,
some great people, who wanted to be friends with me. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was living in anyone’s shadow.” Her head shook in a series of slow wags. “You and Brie, you both cast pretty long shadows. Sometimes it was a very dark place to be. It’s hard to be number three.”

“You were never number three.” I handed her a Twizzler. “At least I never thought so.”

“No, but I did, and that’s what counted. And that’s what I needed to change.” Merce tucked her Twizzler into her pocket. “It was a great JISP, Chloe. Congratulations. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I peeked at the radio staffers. Clem frowned. Haley held a giant sucker, a rainbow-swirled one on a half-inch-wide stick. Frick and Frack thumb-wrestled. Taysom was carrying a skunk. Why was Taysom carrying a skunk? I wanted to find out because these were my people, my clan.

“Maybe,” I told Merce before she walked away.

One by one the staffers left their seats. Haley handed me the sucker. “You may want to save it until after we eat.”

“Clem made reservations for all of us at Dos Hermanas,” Taysom said as we jostled out of the auditorium.

Every inch of my body, from my pin curls to my Grecian pumps, jiggled in a happy dance. “Celebrating the world’s most wonderful JISP?” I asked with a waggle of my eyebrows.

Clementine rolled her eyes and fell in step beside me, letting the others go ahead. Her nose ring wriggled a few times before she sliced the air with her outstretched palm and said,
“Whooooosh!”

“And that sound effect signifies . . .”

“Your freakin’ royal roller skates.” Clem’s curls bounced as she shook her head. “The radio station gets torched, but you crank out a freakin’ amazing JISP, and you get a do-gooder guidance counselor on our side who thinks she can change the world, which she probably freakin’ can.”

I bent in a deep bow. “I aim to freakin’ please.”

Clem yanked none too softly on my arm. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

Beyond Clem’s dragon snarl, Frick and Frack bickered, while Taysom hummed some tune to Grams, and Haley made a raspberry sound. The sound of my clan. Something light and feathery flicked inside my chest as I followed Clem into the parking lot. “Seriously, Clem, did you plan a get-together at Dos Hermanas to celebrate my JISP?”

“No, Queenie, we’re celebrating justice.” That light in her eyes, the one she wore when she was tracking or writing her news stories, blazed. “You remember Brad, the love scribe? He visited me last week. He’s kind of shy and quiet, but it’s clear he felt horrible about the station fire. After I finally got him to open up, Brad told me about the girl he was crushing on, and it seems she has a boyfriend, but not a very nice one. The guy’s ultra-possessive, severely hot headed, and has had run-ins with the boys with badges.”

“Are you saying Brad’s crush’s
boyfriend
set the station on fire?”

“I told Investigator Cargill, and he’s looking into it, but the boyfriend doesn’t sound nice.”

Definitely not nice. Not like Duncan. Who was loyal to those he cared about. I knew if he could, he would have been here.

We reached the others, who were already waiting around Clem’s old station wagon. “You want a ride to Dos Hermanas?” Clementine asked.

Even though I had my car, I was about to hop in Clem’s dragon mobile when I heard a soft squeak that blotted out every other noise, smell, and vision. I turned as a bike with mismatched pedals and a duct-taped seat jangled to a stop behind me.

“Did I miss it?” Duncan asked in a winded rush, his nubby scarf hanging off one shoulder.

I grabbed the handlebars to keep from throwing myself at him. “Miss what?” I asked with a quirk of my eyebrow. I wanted to hear his voice, which I hadn’t heard in far too long. That’s another thing about starting to fall in love, that person’s voice was everything. A soothing lullaby, a cause for celebration.

“Your JISP. Wasn’t it today? Clem sent me an e-mail that your JISP oral presentation was scheduled for April first?” That vertical line striped his forehead. “Hey, is this a joke?”

This time I reached out and smoothed the line, then trailed my fingers along his cheek and to the center of his chest, where I grabbed his scarf. “Nope, it was today, and, yes, you missed it.” I pulled him closer. “But I can give you a command performance later if you want.”

Duncan made a wonderful, low, rumbly sound at the back of his throat. “I, uh, want.” He nuzzled his cheek along my hair.

“How’s your mom?” Hardly romantic, but important.

“Not fixed, but good enough for me to take off. I got off the bus an hour ago, but my chain slipped. I fixed it, then had a flat tire and a loose gear shifter. When I got that fixed, I—”

I placed a hand on either side of his face. “Duncan.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

He did. Long enough to kiss me. It felt even better than I remembered.

“Come on, people,” Taysom yelled from the middle seat of Clem’s dragon mobile. “Haley’s starving, and she’s going to start gnawing on the seats if you don’t get in gear.”

Duncan and I reluctantly parted. As he locked his bike to the bike rack, I remembered something I’d been carrying around for weeks.

I took out the orange-and-white-striped scarf that matched the ones I made for Grams, Zach, Sam, Max, Jeremy, Luke, Ana, Josie, Mom, Dad, Grams’s neighbor Noreen, and Ms. Lungren. I slipped it around his neck. It was even nubbier than Duncan’s mom’s, and the heart at the bottom looked more like a seagull. “It’s too late for Valentine’s Day, so we’ll call it an April Fool’s Day present.”

Duncan rubbed his cheek along the uneven stitches. As we ran to Clem’s dragon mobile, my 1890s Grecian pumps didn’t touch the ground.

Special thanks to Douglas Potter, Tara Bulleigh, and the students of 98.7 KWXL Radio at Pueblo Magnet High School in Tucson for allowing me into your fascinating corner of the radio world, and to the faculty, staff, and my comrades at the Walter Cronkite School of Journalism and Mass Communication for nurturing my love of words and quest for truth. I raise my inkwell to the smart, talented women of Romance Writers of America who have been my compass on this journey and to
Chloe’s
early readers: Susan Colebank, Diana Davidson, Anastasia Foxe, Susan Lanier, Paula Slone, and R. R. Smythe. Hugs to Maggie Lehrman and the wonderful team at Amulet Books for their wisdom and creativity and for believing in a girl with a big heart and great shoes. Smoochies to agent Jill Corcoran for enthusiasm and support that leave me humbled. Buckets of love to Kelsey, Kate, and Catherine for helping me fall in love with young adult books all over again and for letting me be a fly on your walls. Finally, my heart to Lee, for putting your dream on hold so I could pursue mine.

Young adult author Shelley Coriell writes stories about teens on the edge of love, life-changing moments, and a little bit of crazy. A six-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist, Shelley lives in Arizona with her family and the world’s neediest rescue Weimaraner. When she’s not writing, she bakes high-calorie, high-fat desserts and gives speeches and workshops about the joys and business of writing.
Welcome, Caller, This Is Chloe
is her debut novel. You can find Shelley online at
www.shelleycoriell.com
.

The print version of this book was designed by Maria T. Middleton. Its production was overseen by Erin Vandeveer.

Jacket Photograph by Jonathan Beckerman
Jacket Design by Maria T. Middleton

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