Listen to Your Heart
Page 3

“Your assignment for this week,” Ms. Lyon continued, “is to come up with our podcast topic for the year. Each of you needs to turn in one suggestion. Check the website as the topics come in, because first posted equals first claimed. I won’t accept repeats. We will vote from the entries. My only rules? The topic can’t be something previously done and it has to be teen-centric. After all, this is the podcast for teens, by teens, and about teens.”
A hand shot up to my right.
“Yes … ?” Ms. Lyon looked at the seating chart she had filled in after we’d sat down at the beginning of class. “Mallory.”
“What were the other themes?”
“Ah, glad you asked. I’d hoped maybe you all had done your homework and caught up on previous years’ episodes, but alas, I expect too much.”
I hadn’t listened to any of the episodes, but apparently others had.
“I know all three themes from the last three years. I’ve been listening since freshman year,” a girl to my left piped up.
“Great … !” Ms. Lyon scanned the seating chart again.
“Victoria,” the girl filled in for her.
“Victoria. That’s the kind of enthusiasm I like. Why don’t you come and write the topics on the board?” She held out the dry-erase marker and I thought maybe Victoria would say she’d rather not. That’s what I would’ve said. But she stood up and took the pen with confidence. She even narrated as she wrote.
“The first year they did inventions. They researched different inventions by teens and shared them on the show. They also let teens call in to talk about things they were working on, or failed inventions, which was entertaining.” Victoria turned around and smiled. “My favorite invention from that year was the Pick Your Outfit app.” I wondered if Victoria was in Drama. She seemed perfectly comfortable standing up there like she had prepared this presentation for the class.
“I liked that one, too,” Ms. Lyon said.
“The second year was famous teens in history,” Victoria continued. “It was fun listening to stories of people our age doing interesting things in the past, like ruling nations or robbing banks. But overall that year, in my opinion, was a bit of a flop. It wasn’t interactive enough. People didn’t get to call in. It was all just talk talk talk.”
Alana let out a grunt from beside me. “I think that dry-erase marker is going to her head,” she whispered.
I was surprised that Victoria was admitting any sort of negativity about past shows to the director herself, our teacher. She had power over the gradebook, after all. Ms. Lyon’s eyebrow shot up.
Victoria continued, “But thankfully, last year’s class raised the bar with opposing opinions about controversial court cases featuring teens. People got to call in and voice their views on the cases. Did they have researchers for that one?”
Ms. Lyon nodded. “They did. You will all contribute to the show in some way, from researching to editing to sound checking to equipment. There are many aspects to recording a podcast. You will all learn them this year.”
I wondered how Ms. Lyon had learned about podcasting. She seemed older, late forties maybe. Podcasting couldn’t have been around when she was in college.
“Speaking of jobs,” Victoria said, still holding the dry-erase marker, even though she had finished writing. “I would like to be one of the hosts.”
“I’ll be assigning the appropriate people to that role, along with everyone else’s positions, next week.” Ms. Lyon held out her hand for the marker and Victoria passed it over. “The highest priority right now is finding the best possible topic.” Ms. Lyon swept her hand to the side, gesturing to the board. “These are off-limits, but everything else is fair game. Be creative, think outside the obvious. You must submit a topic by Friday.”
Several groans sounded in the room.
“I don’t need complaining about something as important as the topic,” Ms. Lyon said. “And I hope all you complainers know that the lab hour for this class is after school once a week. A third of you will be in the production lab on Wednesdays. The other two-thirds in the postproduction lab on Thursdays.” She clapped her hands twice, then tapped the board. “Did you all forget to bring notebooks on the first day? Write these topics down. Then you can take the remainder of class to brainstorm new topic ideas with your neighbor.”
The sound of backpacks being unzipped and notebooks being opened filled the room. I wrote down the off-limit topics, then turned toward Alana.
“Any ideas?” I asked.
“None,” she said.
“I kind of thought the topics were assigned.”
“Me too. I mean, what class would actually pick teens through history?” she said quietly.
“That one sounded interesting to me.”
“Really? I thought I knew you.” She wrote the word History on my blank page, then put a giant X through it.
“We should do something about the lake,” I said, drawing a stick figure riding her X like a wave. “Teen wakeboarders or lake folk tales.”
“Ah. There it is. I do know you after all.”
“It’s a good idea!” I protested.
“You really think the city kids would vote for that?”
I glanced around the room to see how many Lakesprings students were in the class. That’s when I noticed Frank Young in the back row. I scowled. Frank’s parents owned half of Lakesprings and wanted to own all of it. They’d been trying to buy the marina out from under my parents for years. It sat on prime property that they’d been eyeing for a high-end hotel. Since my parents weren’t selling, the Youngs had been attempting to force them out—conservation studies, code violation reports, the list went on and on.
“Did you see him?” I hissed.
“Yep. I’m surprised it took you this long,” Alana said.
“Did you know he was going to take this class?”
“How would I know that?”
Frank was sitting next to Victoria. He doodled in an open notebook while she talked about topics.
“I think music would be cool. That hasn’t been done before,” she was saying.
“There are a million music podcasts. Not to mention the radio stations that actually play music,” Frank responded.
“She’s taking this very seriously,” Alana said, obviously overhearing Victoria as well.
I forced the scowl off my face and took a deep breath. I wouldn’t think about Frank. Maybe we could just ignore each other in this class. That could work well.
“Probably because she wants to host,” I told Alana. “I could see caring a lot more about the topic if you have to talk about it for the next however many weeks.”
“I wouldn’t mind hosting,” Alana said.
“You’d make a good host.” It sounded like torture to me.
“What job would you want?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Research, I guess.”
“Here’s hoping we get our first picks.” She tapped her pen against mine in a writing-utensil toast.
The bell rang, and I shoved my notebook into my backpack. I stood up, and someone knocked against my shoulder as he walked by.
“Hello. Distance,” Frank said, and kept walking.
“Excuse me?”
“At least you stayed dry this time,” he threw back over his shoulder, and then exited the classroom.