Page 23 of The Sound of Us

“You brought him up.” She snickered. “Or maybe not. You were kind of out of it when he brought you home, except for the sweet nothings you thought you were whispering to him, but in factwere saying out loud. Something about falling for him… and I think you wanted to lick… was it his tattoos or something else?”

“Isla!”

“Sorry. Forget about gorgeous, tattooed rock-star DJs who come for a booty call and have to leave with no booty because you’re drunk as a skunk.” She gave me a quick hug and then pushed me toward the door. “Go in there and kick some interview ass.”

I took one last breath in the quiet hallway, then opened the door to utter chaos.

People were running, papers were flying, a small drone buzzed overhead. I heard shouts, laughter, and the odd scream. Guns N’ Roses’s “Welcome to the Jungle” blasted through the speakers, and an apple came rolling across the floor.

“Five points!” A guy in a checkered flannel shirt scooped up the apple and disappeared into a maze of wooden shelving.

“Excuse me,” I called after him. “I’m here for—”

“Hi.” A woman in a short green peasant dress, her auburn hair tied up in two ponytails, greeted me with a wave. “You look lost. I’m Siobhan, the assistant manager. Are you here to volunteer?”

“No, I’m looking for Noah Cornell, the station manager. I have a—”

“Noah.” She shouted over the music. “Your lunch is here.”

“I’m not…” I trailed off when she turned and ran down the hallway.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” A short dude in a sweater vest burst out of the room beside me and hammered on a door with a flashing red light beside it. “Florida man tried to rob Target with a transparent bag on his head. I got an exclusive.”

The door opened. A hand emerged, grabbed the papers he offered, and disappeared again. The dude heaved a sigh and leaned against the door.

“I’m looking for Noah,” I said. “I have an interview.”

“He’s around here somewhere. Maybe try his office.” He looked down at his watch. “Damn. I’m late for class.”

“The office…?”

A tall thin person dressed in black leather ran past us down the hallway.Why was everyone running?

“Derek,” the dude called out. “Interviewee for Noah.”

Derek halted mid-stride and returned to join us. “Follow me. I’ll give you the grand tour along the way.”

I hurried after him, breathing in the scents of brewing coffee, singed wires, stale pizza, and old books.

“That’s the prep room,” Derek said over his shoulder as we passed a room I recognized from Haley’s pictures. It was painted bright green and filled with comfy couches, bean bag chairs, and small tables. “That’s where we interview guests and hang out. There’s a kitchen in the back.”

We worked our way down narrow hallways filled with boxes of cords and electronic equipment with Derek naming the rooms we passed: Studio A, Studio B, classroom, production, newsroom, open office, music library… We passed a few closed doors, and then stopped in front of a crowd in the hallway.

“That’s Noah.” Derek nodded toward the tall man at the center of the chaos, then brushed past me and retreated down the hallway before I could thank him.

Noah had shaggy blond hair and a barely there goatee. I guessed his age at somewhere between fifty and fifty-five and his height at around six feet, not including the two-inch heels on his black cowboy boots. He wore a faded pink shirt with a black-and-silver bolo tie and skintight GWG jeans held up with a black studded leather belt. A silver hoop earring glinted in one ear as he turned his head from side to side answering questions at dizzying speed.

“Yes. No. Run it. Move theJazz Aliveshow to nineP.M.Rock Stellarto Wednesday at sixP.M.Free Radicalshould be primetime. Find me a jacket for the board meeting. Where’s Chris? He’s live in fifteen minutes.” He looked between two people and frowned at me. “Are you from Skip?”

“I’m here for the internship interview.”

“Not Skip.” His face fell. “I guess I’ll just die of starvation.”He gestured to the open doorway beside him. “If I collapse, tell Siobhan to find Chris. The show must go on even if the station manager is dead.”

“Uh… Okay.”

“Where’s my lunch?” he called out. “Someone go see if the guy from Skip is wandering lost in the hallway. It’s almost oneP.M.I can’t hear…” He looked at me and frowned. “Name again?”

“Skye—”

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