Page 22 of The Sound of Us

I took the flyer and quickly skimmed over the details. An internship/scholarship in broadcast journalism at WJPK radio was being offered as a full-credit course for the school year. Not only would I be paid for my time, but the scholarship would cover my tuition fees and most of my living expenses. It was a dream come true.

I felt a flicker of elation but as quickly as it came, the tiny spark died under a deluge of fear and doubt. I couldn’t apply because applying meant hoping and hoping meant facing the possibility ofbeing crushed under the weight of another dream turned nightmare.

“I can’t.” Better to stay in the shadow of fear, where at least the familiar pain was a known entity, than to risk yet again being what my father had called me seconds before he died—a complete and utter failure.

“The deadline is Wednesday,” Haley said, talking over me. “That’s tomorrow so you need to get started…” She trailed off and frowned. “Wait. What? What do you mean you can’t? Why are your eyes wet? Are you crying?”

“I think it’s the cleaning fumes.” I dabbed at my eyes with my sleeve. “I can’t apply, Haley. I can’t fail again. I’ve got nothing left. I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Seriously?” Haley grabbed the break sign and slammed it down on the counter, calling out to the customers in line that we had to take a five-minute break to fix the espresso machine.

“You’ll get fired,” I protested as she pushed me into the small storage room where we took our breaks.

“I can get another job. You can’t get another opportunity like this.”

“It’s broadcast journalism,” I said, scrambling for an excuse. “I want to do print.”

Haley snatched the paper from my hand. “Are you kidding me? This is perfect for you. Did you even read what’s involved? Pitching story ideas, writing news stories, conducting interviews, booking guests, writing and structuring daily scripts, press release research, social media assistance, investigative reporting… all things they do in print journalism. All things you’re good at and love to do.”

“It also says radio reporting, conducting a radio show, and voice-over talent. The idea of going live makes me sick. What if I mess up? There could be hundreds of thousands of people listening.”

“How is that different from playing a basketball game in front of an audience and missing a throw, or tripping and falling?” she demanded.

“Because you’re part of a team. With this, the failure would be all mine.”

“That’s not how radio works,” she said. “Newbies don’t do their shows alone. They have someone in the next room handling the sound board and ready to step in and catch you if you fall. And so what if you fail? We all fail and get up, and we fail and we get up. That’s what it means to be human. But each time we emerge a little bit stronger. I know you’ve been through hell and it must have been devastating to be cut from the team, but you can’t let fear stop you from getting up again, especially when fate is giving you a helping hand.”

“I’ve already got a plane ticket, Haley. I’ve packed my bags. Mentally, I’ve already gone. It’s easier this way.”

Haley pulled out her phone and waved it in front of me. “If you don’t agree to fill in that application, I’m going to have to pull out the big guns.”

“No. Don’t tell Isla…” I stared at her in horror. There was no resisting Isla. She was a force of nature. The second she found out about the scholarship it would all be over. Knowing her, she’d run home, unpack my bags, fill in the application herself and cancel my flight. I had no doubt she’d even go so far as to show up at the interview and pretend to be me.

“It would be better if the decision came from you,” Haley said in mock sympathy. “But I will not hesitate to resort to dirty warfare.”

“Can I have a minute?”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll cover for you.” Haley left me alone and I pulled out my phone. She’d sent me six increasingly frantic messages about the scholarship as well as a link to the station website, and pictures from the station—a cozy lounge; Haley in front of a fluffy microphone with headphones over her ears in front of a wall painted to look like the cover of Pink Floyd’sThe Wall; a sound booth with a board full of switches; a library filled with old records, CDs, and 8-track tapes; and hallways covered in band posters. On their website, the schedule showed a wide variety of programming, but the predominant theme was… music.

I pulled up the playlist I’d saved from Dante’s show about fear and listened to my favorite tracks—“The Arena” by Lindsey Stirling, “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus, “Roar” by Katy Perry, “Unstoppable” by Sia, and “Brave” by Sara Bareilles. I liked that he’d chosen songs by female singers, but even more I liked the way they made me feel. Unstoppable. Empowered. Brave. Strong.

I could do this.

I owed it to myself to try.

“Breathe.” Isla made a sweeping gesture with her arms outside the door to the campus radio station, located in the basement of the student center. I’d managed to get my application in just before the deadline and my interview was in five minutes.

“Big breath in,” Isla continued. “Hold it. Big breath out.”

“I know how to breathe, Iz.” My hands shook, my body vibrating with nervous energy. “I’m good. I’ve had interviews before.”

“It was for me,” she said. “I’m more nervous than you are. I have a vested interest in your success. I could easily find another roommate, but she’s not going to send me fake emergency texts to help me escape bad Tinder or OkCupid dates, or calm me down when I’m wired, or knock on my bedroom door and shout ‘fire’ to get rid of a hookup who has overstayed his welcome.”

Her comments reminded me of the frat party and I groaned. “What if Dante’s there? That night at the frat party was utterly humiliating.”

“It’s been six days since the party and he hasn’t been in touch, so I’m sure he’s moved on,” she assured me. “I thought it was actually very sweet how he insisted on coming with us in the Uber and carrying you to bed. It could have been much worse. You could have puked on him instead of all over the lawn.”

I glared at her. “This isn’t helping me relax before the interview.”

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