Monday, 7:42 A.M.
“I need airtime.” I barged into the television studio at top speed, almost taking out two camera guys hanging by the doors. “Sorry. Airtime. Now.” I stalked over to the stage and slung my bag under the news desk with unnecessary force. And just the slightest hint of despair.
Carlos was lounging in his director’s chair and flipping through the Trib. A glowing Bluetooth flashed in his ear. “No, he didn’t. OH NO, HE DIDN’T!”
“CARLOS! YES, HE DID!” I barked, plopping into my rolling chair. “Now get me some airtime. Please!”
“Hold up.” He rolled his eyes toward me with an irritated sigh. “Miss Thing has entered the building. I’ll have to get you back.” He yanked out his Bluetooth. “I was in the middle of breaking a story,” he snapped. “And listen. You may have rocked the house Saturday night? Fabulous cast party hair, by the way?”
“Thanks.” I pawed self-consciously at my tangled waves. I’d been in such a hurry to catch Paige that I’d forgotten to brush my hair.
“But you’re not on my rundown. And you look terrible today. Your eyes are all red.”
“I know, I know,” I protested, leaping out of my chair and hurrying around the desk. “But this is really important.” I stopped just short of calling it a matter of life and death; the turning point in my future at Marquette, in my future as a journalist. My last chance to redeem myself. Even though technically, it was all of those things.
I grabbed his clipboard and did a quick scan. Abra’s feature on the play… the lunch menu… an OpEd on the new art teacher…
“Look as hard as you want—you’re not on that schedule,” Carlos said.
The red digital clock in the back of the studio left me exactly seventy-two seconds to make my case.
“T-turkey hot d-dogs, cole slaw, and apple suss. Sauce.” To the left of the anchor desk, a sixth grader shuddered in front of the green screen. “With yogurt berry parfait, a-and a selection of a-ssorted cookies for dessert.” He gripped his script in both hands. “T-turkey hot dogs. Turkey hot dogs. Turkey hot dogs.”
“Give me the lunch menu slot,” I said forcefully. “I’ll throw it in at the end of my segment.”
The sixth grader flashed me a grateful glance.
Carlos checked his nail beds, purposely making me squirm.
Fifty seconds.
“Look at him,” I argued, my voice strained tighter than the strings on Zander’s guitar. “If he turns the same color as the green screen, he’ll disappear on camera anyway.”
“It’s t-true,” said Lunch Menu Kid. Then he pressed his first two fingers against his pursed lips like he was going to vomit. “False alarm.”
“You know I hate changing my rundown,” Carlos reminded me, re-rolling the sleeves on his button-down until they were completely symmetrical. “Unless… you had something really juicy.”
“Totally,” I said. “I was going to break it on air, but I could always stop by the Gazette office on my way to homeroom.”
“Wait!” Carlos leaned forward in his chair, his eyes flashing with fresh interest. “So we’re talking breaking news?”
I nodded. “Breaking news. Swear.”
“I will,” I said coyly, leaning back in my chair. “In fifteen seconds, when you put me on the air.”
Carlos paused for what seemed like an eternity. “Got your script?” he finally asked with a sigh.
“Don’t need it. Just need one thing, and I’m all set.” I leaned forward in my chair and reached into my messenger bag.
“You’re on in three, two—”
Time seemed to slow as I looked directly into the camera lens. Everything around me felt sharp and clear. Except for my stomach, which felt like it had been twisted into a balloon animal. “Morning, Marquette, and welcome to the final edition of Simon Says. I’m Kacey Simon, and this will be my last broadcast.”
Carlos gasped from the sidelines, but as the words left my mouth, I felt one hundred percent positive they were the right words. It didn’t matter what Carlos or anybody else thought. I wondered if this was how Zander felt when he was onstage.
“Marquette, I’d like a few minutes of your time.” As I spoke, every muscle in my body unclenched, even the tiny ones in my forehead. It was like all the anxiety, frustration, and confusion of the past week were evaporating and leaving me lighter than Sugar Daddy’s low-cal whipped cream. “This week marks our fortieth Simon Says episode. Which means I’ve been broadcasting my views on everything from relationship problems to fashion disasters for the past year.”
I glanced at the teleprompter, which had suddenly lit up with the words DON’T DO IT!
Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes at Carlos, I turned back to the camera. “And a good friend of mine pointed out that in the past year, instead of helping people with the segment, I’ve actually been hurting them.” I swallowed, wondering if Paige and Zander were watching. “There’s such a thing as being too honest. And I crossed the line between being honest and being brutal a long time ago. Maybe… maybe I never really knew where that line was.”
My voice grew stronger. “And so I just wanted to say, I’m sorry, Marquette. I’m sorry to everyone who wrote in to the show. I made you feel like it wasn’t okay to be you. And Simon Says: That is definitely not okay.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with ease, as if they’d been waiting forever for me to say them. “Before we go, I want to thank Paige Greene for being a total inspiration for this broadcast. Paige should be a role model for us all. She’s always been herself, even when it hasn’t been easy. And that’s the mark of a true leader.” I flashed my Kacey Simon Smile. “So go Greene. And vote Paige Greene for eighth-grade student body president. Also, it’s turkey hot dog day. So I’d suggest a vending machine run between classes.”
My fingers closed around the plastic frames in my lap. “In closing, if I’m asking all of you to be your real selves, that means I have to, too.” I unfolded my glasses and slid them on my nose. Over my contacts, the glasses made the entire studio go fuzzy. “I hope I’ll be back on the air someday. But until then…” I stared directly into the camera, pretending it was Zander and Paige. “Thith ith KAYTHEE THIMON. Thining off.”