He backtracked so he stood in my open doorway.
“Do you have any ideas for a podcast?” I asked him.
He thought for a second. “Hmm. Gaming? Comics?”
“Any mainstream ideas?”
“Lots of people like both those things,” he argued.
“I know, but the show has to have mass appeal.” Actually, maybe that didn’t matter. Ms. Lyon didn’t say it had to appeal to a wide audience. She just said it had to be original. “Maybe I should suggest lake myths. Or lake sports.”
Max shrugged and walked on.
I threw my swimsuit on my bed, pulled out my laptop, then logged on to the website for Ms. Lyon’s class.
I was surprised to see that there was a list of ideas already there. People had beaten me to it! And I was even more surprised to see that one idea listed was: lake stories. I growled. Had Frank submitted that? Was there someone else from Lakesprings in the class? The entries were anonymous on the site (only Ms. Lyon could see who had entered what). If I wrote in lake sports, would that be too close to lake stories?
Liza came barreling back into my room and flung herself on my bed. “She said no!”
“What?”
“My mom. She says tutoring is nonnegotiable for at least the first quarter of school. I even told her you would tutor me.”
I frowned. “Why did you tell her that?”
“Because the other thing Alana told me to say wasn’t working.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I start next week,” Liza said glumly.
“I’m sorry, Liza. But it won’t be that bad, right?”
“My mom walking me to my weekly tutoring session?”
“I can take you.”
Liza scrunched her nose up like she hadn’t thought of that idea and wasn’t sure if it was a good one. “Okay. Yeah … sure. You’re a junior now, after all. That makes you at least cooler than my mom.”
“Thanks … I think.”
“This might work!” And just like that, she was gone again. That girl was a ball of energy.
I scanned the list of topics once more. Not only was lake stories taken, but comics, music, and fashion were on there, too. Someone had even submitted the suggestion my mom had given, about exposés of high school life. And this was the first day! There’d be nothing left if I waited.
I tapped my fingers lightly on the keyboard. I just had to think of an idea. It wasn’t like it would actually get used when the whole class had to vote. Maybe I could call Alana back and get her advice.
Advice.
The thing Alana had wanted about Diego. The thing Liza had wanted about tutoring. Wasn’t that something teens were always looking for? Whether from their friends or parents or teachers? An advice show could totally work.
I typed in my idea. It was a solid one. Or at least original enough to count. I hurried into the kitchen to tell Mom I’d submitted my topic, and she gave me a thumbs-up. Within seconds, I’d changed into my swimsuit and was on my way to the lake.
The next day, at lunch, Alana and I discussed my topic choice.
“I like it,” Alana said as we sat side by side on our usual bench outside. “The Ask Alana Advice Show.” She placed each word in the air with her hand. “Triple A.”
“That might be copyrighted,” I said, sticking a straw into my smoothie.
“Either way, I’m voting for your idea.”
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I know. I want to. It would be fun to hear people call in with their problems.”
I shoved her shoulder. “Be nice.”
“Was that mean?” Alana asked as she unwrapped her sandwich.
I ignored her question because I was pretty sure she was joking and asked, “Have you thought of a topic yet?”
She let out an exaggerated groan. “No. Do you have any other ideas in that brilliant brain of yours that I can have?”
“I had a hard enough time coming up with mine!”
Alana’s attention was drawn across the commons, her eyes locked onto a target. I followed her gaze to see Diego talking to a group of guys. He held a can of Pepsi and a sandwich.
“How about Stalking 101?” I said. “How to get and hold the attention of your crush.”
Alana smirked. “Don’t tempt me. I’d be an excellent host for that topic as well.”
“So if that was your topic, step one would be: Drag your friend to stare at him in the hall. Step two: Stare at him while he eats his lunch. What is step three, Alana?”
“You think I’m all talk and no game? Is that it?”
“I know you are far from no game. I’ve seen you in action. I’m just wondering how this particular one is going to play out.”
“Step three, my doubting friend, is to make him think he’s the one with the crush on me.”
“And how is that accomplished?”
“Watch and learn.”
Alana left me on our lunch bench with my smoothie. I watched her dig her phone out of her pocket. As she walked, she stared at the screen until she walked herself right into Diego. She jumped back, her hand flying to her chest as if startled. He reached out to steady her from the impact. She said something and he smiled and dropped his hand to his side. Then she started talking to another guy in the group. That guy shrugged. Alana said something else to the other guy, kicked his shoe playfully, and turned around and walked back to me.
“And that’s how it’s done,” she said, sitting back down.
“I have no idea what just happened.”
“I made my presence known but then made it clear I hadn’t been walking over there to talk to him.”
“Who was that other guy?” I asked.
“Bennett. You don’t know Bennett?”
“I’ve heard of him. Never met him.”
“Back to my city versus lake theory.”
It wasn’t that I wasn’t social … well, okay, it was a little bit that.
“I blame this all on Hunter,” Alana continued, taking a bite of her sandwich. “He hoarded you to himself for nine months and then had the audacity to move.”
I played with my straw. “He didn’t want to move. He had to because, you know, his whole family was moving and without them he was kind of homeless. But I’m over Hunter. That was last year. Why are you bringing up things that are in the past?” I asked.
That might have sounded a little defensive considering I had been checking Hunter’s online statuses all day—a pic of him eating popcorn for breakfast; a pic of a sign that said Everything is bigger in Texas; and a pic of a stack of textbooks.
“Because Hunter is the most recent thing I can bring up,” Alana pointed out. “Your love life has been as dry as these pine needles.” She kicked a pile of rust-colored pine needles by our feet.
I put down my smoothie. “I haven’t found anyone as interesting as Hunter.”
“As interesting as Hunter?” Alana smirked. “That guy could put babies to sleep just by sitting there.”
I bristled. I didn’t think Hunter was boring. He was mellow. And quiet. “I like mellow and quiet.”
“How is this mellow, quiet guy going to find you is the question,” Alana said, raising her eyebrows. “You post just enough online to prove you exist but are vague enough that nobody ever gets to know who you are.”
I was private. There was nothing wrong with that. “I don’t know, there’s a thing called talking,” I pointed out.