Claudia Kishi, Live From WSTO! (9 page)

"I don't think so," Ashley replied.
"Hey, there they are!" Mr. Bullock's voice boomed into the room. He was standing in the hallway with a handful of cassettes and CDs.
"Sorry about the lights," he said. "Max isn't here today. He's only working weekdays now. Come on in." As we walked past Mr. Bullock's office, I noticed three cardboard boxes stuffed with old vinyl records and cassettes. Mr. Bullock dropped his handful in a box. "We're clearing out some old stuff. Selling it to a collector." He exhaled. "Gosh, I hate to see some of this stuff go." Ash and I gave each other a Look. We knew why he was doing all this — cutting back Max's hours, selling old stuff. He needed to raise money for WSTO.
Either that or he'd just given up. Maybe he was going to sell the rest of the station's collection, too.
I hoped not. Bob had been running a tape of his editorial all week. His article had appeared in the Wednesday edition of the Sto-neybrook News. It was very well-written. Maybe help would soon be on the way.
"Bob, do you think we really need that third reel-to-reel machine?" Mr. Bullock called into the conference room.
Then again, maybe not.
Bob bustled into the hallway. "Hey, guys, ready for your swan song?" Huh? I didn't remember any animal acts.
"Your last show," he explained. "That's what swan song means. The song of the dying swan is supposed to be beautiful. How do you feel?" "Like a dying swan," I said. , "We're totally depressed," Ashley added.
Bob smiled. "Uh-oh. They've been bitten by the .bug. Watch out, radio world." Together we entered the studio. The engineers, as usual, grunted hello and just kept on working. I wondered if they'd even realized how important this show was to us.
Then I found out.
"Claud," Ashley said, "where'd this come from?" I looked around her and saw a gorgeous bouquet of flowers on our table. "Wow." Ash found a card tucked inside. She held it out and read it aloud. "To the most wonderful radio hosts we have ever worked with, the WSTO engineers." "Should auld acquaintance be forgot ..." Suddenly the schmaltzy old New Year's song was blaring over the studio speakers. The engineers had risen to their feet and were singing along, holding up glasses full of a clear, bubbly liquid. With a big smile, Mr. Bullock walked toward us with two glasses and a bottle of ginger ale.
I turned to Ashley. She turned to me. It was waterworks time. Tears galore.
Mr. Bullock gave us a hug. We drank our ginger ale.
At the end of the song, Mr. Bullock announced, "Okay, crew, we have a job to do!" It was hard to get back on track. But soon the guests began arriving, and we had to greet them, prepare a sequence, and do all the other million things we'd learned to do before a show.
Our first guest was (finally) Sarah Sutton, the backward talker. After that, we had four kids called the Curious Quartet, who played the banjo, the tin whistle, the Jew's harp, and the washboard. Then Rob Miller, an eighth-grader from Stoneybrook Day School, told the strangest story: every time he reached a syllable that sounded like a number, he added one to it. (Wonder became fwoder, towcan became threecan, and so on.) He began the story, "Twice upon a time, there was a twoderful garden full of blossoming threelips." Ashley's favorite part was when a character said, "Elev-ennis, anytwo?" I liked the no-structure approach to this show. It was fun. I didn't have to keep thinking of a way to tie everything together.
At five-thirty I announced, "And now, welcome to Ask Dr. Claudia . . ." "And Dr. Ashley," Ashley added.
I could see that all the lines were already lit up. I pressed line 1. "You're on the air." "Uh, hi, Claudia?" a boy's voice said.
"Yes?" "Um, do you have ..." I could hear giggling in the background, Vi- sions of Alan Gray danced through my head.
"Go on/' I said.
"Do you have . . ." More giggling. I reached for the button.
"A boyfriend?" My hand froze.
So did my voicebox. I could feel my face turning red. The engineers were cracking up.
Fortunately, the boy hung up before I had a chance to answer.
I quickly pushed line 2. "Hello?" My voice was a high-pitched squeak.
"Hi! My friends and I are taking a vote, and it's tied. Which is better, The Lion King or Aladdin?" "Aladdin," I replied.
"The Lion King," Ashley said.
"Arggggggh!" I resisted laughing.
"My name is Denise," said the next caller. "I have this little brother? And he is, like, so gross sometimes. Like yesterday, when I had three friends over? He just comes into my room and sits down and starts burping. And he doesn't leave!" "Have you tried talking to him about it?" Ashley asked.
"Yeah. He answers in, like, burp talk. It is so disgusting." "You could all stare at him," Ashley suggested, "in total silence." "He'll just keep doing it." "Fine. Let him. And just keep staring. Silently. He'll leave, and I bet he won't come back for another try." Brilliant. Ashley was brilliant. I would have told the girl to throw him out the window.
The next caller sounded as if he were about six years old. "Urn, your show is really cool." "Thanks," we answered.
Then, in a teeny, meek voice, he said, "Can both of you come to my house and baby-sit me some time?" Boy, was I glad Kristy wasn't there. She'd have started grilling him for his address and his parents' names.
Me? I was moved. I said yes and gave him the BSC phone number.
A few calls later, a woman's voice said, "Hello, Claudia and Ashley. My name is Rhonda Hewitt." "Hello," Ash and I said. The name sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure why.
"I know only children are supposed to call," the woman continued, "but as the mother of one of your callers, I thought this would be okay. My son, George, spoke to you a couple of weeks ago. You remember, the boy who was so upset about his parents separating?" Hewitt! Of course. I started to feel faint. This could be big trouble. If I remembered correctly, George had said some not-so-nice things about his mom.
"I — " I had to swallow. "I remember." I looked at the clock. Five fifty-eight. Yikes! What a way to end the last show.
"Well," Mrs. Hewitt continued, "this, as you know, has been a very difficult time for him and my daughter. But I wanted to tell you that your suggestion was wonderful. You made a huge difference in his life. I wanted to thank you personally, and on the air." Huh?
The cloud around my head was lifting. My stomach stopped slam-dancing inside my rib-cage. "Oh," I said. "Thanks! I mean, you're welcome." "I've also been hearing and reading about the station's financial trouble, and I think that's a horrible shame. So I'd like to make a donation. I found your fax number and sent you a note on it. The check will follow in the mail." "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hewitt," I said. "And I wish you the best of luck." "My pleasure, dear. I wish there were more people like you. 'Bye, now." " 'Bye." Twenty seconds left. I felt as if I were floating. "Well, that's it for now. I want to thank Mr. Bullock, Bob, and our crazy engineers for all their help — " "And all you great listeners!" Ashley said.
"Especially you," I agreed. "I hope you've enjoyed 'For Kids Only.' It's been a lot of fun for me." "Me, too," Ashley said. "And don't forget, keep listening to WSTO!" "Good night!" "Good night!" I felt a tug when that red light went off. Ashley and I stood up and gave each other a high-five. The engineers broke into applause.
Then the studio door opened, and Mr. Bullock rushed in, carrying a sheet of paper. On his face was a strange expression. "Everybody come look at this," he called out.
Ashley, Bob, one of the engineers, and I peered over his shoulder. It was the fax of Mrs. Hewitt's note.
When I saw the amount of money she pledged, my jaw nearly hit the floor.
"Who-o-oa," Bob said under his breath. "I guess she must be pretty wealthy." "That'll help the station, won't it?" Ashley asked.
Mr. Bullock nodded. "If this pledge is for real/7 he said, "it'll keep us afloat for six months." "YEEEEEAAAAA!" I screamed. (I couldn't help it.) "Yyyyyes!" Ashley shouted.
"Hallelujah!" the engineer bellowed.
Bob? He sank quietly into a chair. From the look on his face, you'd think someone had told him he could eat ice cream three times a day for the rest of his life.
Chapter 15.
"Claudia, phone for you," Mr. Bullock called out. "On my office line." I had been high-fiving staff members, helping Ashley clear our stuff out of the studio, and chatting happily about Mrs. Hewitt's pledge. I excused myself and walked down the hall to the station manager's office.
"Who is it?" I asked.
Mr. Bullock just shrugged and left the room.
I picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?" "Hi, Claudia? It's me." She didn't have to say her name. I hadn't heard the voice in a long time (too long) but I'd recognize it anywhere.
"Stacey?" I said. All these feelings — anger, surprise, happiness — were staging a big wrestling match inside of me. I didn't know what to say.
"Your show was great," Stacey remarked.
"You listened to it?" "I've been listening to every single one, Claud. I thought they were all good. Especially the one about friendship." "Oh? I ... mentioned you on that one." "Yeah. I heard." Gulp. I had said something wrong. That was why she hadn't called me until now. She'd been insulted. "I — I'm sorry, Stace." "Sorry about what?" "Well, I mean, if you thought that was, you know, too private or something." "No, no, I loved it, Claudia. Really. I was so moved, I cried." "Really?" "Well, yeah. I mean, all those things you said about friendship — they were so true. You really made me think, Claud. About all my friends and what they mean to me, who the most important people are in my life, stuff like that." "Stacey, are you trying to tell me something? You didn't break up with Robert, did you?" Stacey laughed. "No! I just, well, I just hope we can be friends again someday. You and me. That's all." "Yeah," I said quietly. "Me, too." Ashley appeared in the doorway with a stack of papers. She smiled and whispered, "When you have a chance, we need to go through these. I'll be in the studio." "Uh, Stace, I better go/' I said into the phone. "See you." "Okay. 'Bye. And congratulations." "Thanks." I walked out of the office and into the studio. The flowers were giving off the most wonderful smell. Ashley was sitting at the table, shuffling through papers with Bob. Next to her on the desk was an enormous Nestle's Crunch bar with the words For Claudia — With Love and Thanks, Ashley written on a Post-It note stuck to it.
Ashley looked over her shoulder. "For energy. We still have some work to do." I laughed. "Thanks, Ash." I picked up the Crunch bar and sat at the table. I started to rip it open, but instead I just set it back down.
I didn't need it then.
I was feeling fine without it.
About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College.
Ms. Martin lives in New York City with her cats, Mouse and Rosie. She likes ice cream and 7 Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.
Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks include Yours Turly, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters Club series.