OCD
THE RADIO BOOTH
Tuesday, October 20th
12:01 P.M.
Once inside the radio booth, Alicia leaned against the soundproof steel door with all her weight, forcing it to close faster. She was desperate for the dim, recessed lighting, flickering control panel, and nubby gray-carpeted walls. The space was hers, and nothing from the outside world could take that away.
Everywhere Massie and her new friends went these days, people stared. And without Josh and the boys around to distract her, she had nothing to do but watch MAC steal her spotlight.
But inside the radio booth, at exactly 12:05 p.m., Alicia was the star.
“Ehhhhhhmagawd.” She sighed when the door finally closed. She locked it, the click soothing her like Norah Jones. Then she reached for the yellow folder that held the day’s news brief and speed-fanned herself with it, resisting the urge to sneak a peek. She never read the announcements until she was on the air. It was good practice for her career as a live television journalist. It taught her how to think on her heels.
At 12:04, she slipped on the giant headphones, pulled the announcements from their paper sleeve, and got ready to do what she did best. Her fingers flew across the glittery panel of lights, flipping switches and turning dials. Soon, the ON THE AIR sign flashed red overhead.
“Good afternoon, OCD, and welcome to your lunchtime update.” Alicia’s signature opener rolled smoothly off her tongue. “Next week marks the start of Yes, We Canned!, OCD’s first annual canned food drive.” Alicia rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the sound of the corny name that had obviously been Principal Burns’s idea. “Remember to bring two unopened canned goods to school by next Friday.”
After a brief, transitional pause, she continued. “And now onto other, more important news,” she read from her script. “For a limited time, tickets are on sale for Ho Ho Homeless, a beyond fabulous charity event to be held this Friday at 8 p.m.” She wrinkled her nose, wondering who would choose to waste their Friday night on charity work. “The catered, circus-themed event of the season will include a fashion show featuring today’s most popular model-slash-actresses, plus a VIP after-party with a band too hot to even mention.”
Alicia’s journalistic curiosity was starting to get the best of her. She read faster. “The ultra-exclusive platinum ticket package comes with backstage passes, plus the chance to be a guest model in the fashion show.”
Alicia’s heart was starting to race under her Robert Rodriguez embellished tank. How could OCD’s most trusted journalist and gossip not know about an event like this? How could she be so in the dark? Steadying her voice, she finished the announcement. “For more information, contact head board member Massie Blo—”
Suddenly, the air in the booth seem stale and hard to swallow. Somehow, Massie had managed to invade the only sacred space she had left. “ThisisAliciaRiverasigningoffand sayingIheartyou,” she gasp-finished. Ripping off her headphones, she swirled around in her chair and yanked the door open. Her mind flooded with a million thoughts at once, each worse than the next. Had Claire known about this all along? What else was she keeping from Alicia? What if the rest of the Soul-M8s would rather go to Massie’s party than hers? And what if no one showed up but Josh, and he decided she was nothing but an LBR whose only redeeming qualities were an amazing wardrobe and the trays of mini crab cakes she’d have left over from her no-show dinner party? Why not donate them to the homeless, along with the rest of her friends?
Alicia speed-walked down the hall toward the New Café. Her heart was thundering in her ears. The muffled sound reminded her of her visits to Spain and her cousin’s stereo blasting through the thin walls. She could barely hear herself think.
When she reached the entrance, she stopped to finger-comb her hair. She’d never give Massie Block the satisfaction of seeing her this disheveled. Pressing her sweaty forehead against the smoky glass doors, she squinted hard, trying to figure out what was happening on the other side. But she couldn’t see a thing. She was totally clueless. For all she knew, Dylan could be charging three tickets to Massie’s bash on Merri-Lee’s AmEx black.
Alicia shook the thought from her head, her glossy black hair whipping over her shoulders. Reaching into her slouchy Prada Mordore bag, she gripped the worn pink New York Yankees cap Josh had given her at the beginning of the year. Ever since Josh had left for Briarwood, she’d carried it everywhere. She even slept with it under her pillow. It reminded her that there was more to life than Massie Block. And she needed that reminder now more than ever.
With a deep breath, Alicia threw open the doors… and slammed right into Massie, who was bolting through from the other side.
“Hey!” Alicia smile-blurted, forgetting for a split second that they were in a fight. “Oh,” she quickly corrected, her expression and stomach sinking at the same time.
Massie rolled her eyes, adjusting her purple Envi drape top. “Thanks for the advertising.” She smirked. “But I hope you’re not here for tickets. We just sold out.”
Alicia ignored her, stuffing her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking. “I wouldn’t go to your fund-raiser if you paid me,” she said, looking Massie directly in the eye.
“What are you trying to say?” Massie squinted her amber eyes.
“I’m saying I already have plans.”
“I heard.” Massie pursed her lips. “Dinner. In your dining room. With your parents in the next room.”
Tiny beads of sweat were starting to form beneath the underwire of Alicia’s bra. How did Massie know about her party?
“Maybe I don’t have a band or models,” Alicia finally managed, knowing her face was turning a deeper shade of crimson by the second, “but I have something you won’t have.”
“What?” Massie sneered. “Tapas?”
“No!” Alicia shouted, not caring that half the New Café had stopped mid-chew to watch them. “A date with an ah-dorable eighth-grade boy!” She plunged her hand into her purse, gripping the Yankees cap so tight it made her fingers tingle.
“You’re right.” Massie blinked but didn’t miss a beat. “I won’t have an eighth-grade boy. I’ll have a high school one. So will all the models, because they’ll be escorting us down the runway.”
Alicia’s throat tightened, and she ducked into the hallway, slamming the frosted door in Massie’s face. That was it. No more letting Massie make her look like an LBR in front of the whole school. If Massie was throwing the party of the season, Alicia would throw the party of the year. She had no idea how she was going to beat models and high school boys, but she’d Tim Gunn it somehow. And if that didn’t work, she’d consider transferring to IBS. Wherever that was.