“Oh, okay. That makes sense.”
“All right, I’m going to place you on hold.”
I quickly typed Monica’s information into the computer that transmitted the info to the DJs in the other room. Anything I typed would show up on the screen in front of them.
“Monica, age 22—first date with a guy who was using her just to get to her roommate! asshole!”
Peering through the window that divided the on-air booth from the control room where I sat most mornings, I was excited to watch the guys talk to her. This kind of call was right up their alley. Tom read the screen first before glancing out at me, and made a funny face. I threw my hands up in the air in response and made a disgusted face, signaling that Monica’s date was a complete tool.
“Cammie! Cammie, get in here.”
Hearing my name, I snapped my gaze from the notepad I was currently doodling on. I looked through the window and into the booth where Tom and John sat staring at me. They did this to me on most mornings, included me in the show. The guys constantly needed material and I usually took the bait, volunteering to do crazy stunts, taking embarrassing photos for blog fodder, talking about the fact that I was still single, which was something they loved to bring up every chance they got. They tried to marry me off to practically every guest that stopped by. It never helped that the majority of them were musicians and singers, which meant we tended to be mutually not interested in each other.
“She’s not moving,” John said into the microphone, and his voice echoed in the speakers that surrounded me.
“I think she hates us,” Tom added with a smirk.
“She definitely hates us. Cammie, why do you hate us? Get in here!” John yelled again, and I begrudgingly pushed away from the desk and walked into the messy room.
Empty cans of soda and coffee cups were scattered over the tables and desks. A whiteboard was covered with scribbled notes of daily contests and upcoming guests that each DJ was to promote during their show, surrounded by opened bags of cookies and half-eaten doughnuts. It was a disaster area, to say the least, a place clearly run by men. Or not enough women.
Reaching for the spare pair of headphones, I slipped them over my ears and sat down at the lone microphone across from the guys that was usually reserved for guests. I found myself sitting there far too often.
“Hi, Cammie,” John said, trying to sound sweet, as if he hadn’t brought me in here to humiliate me.
“Hi, John.” I rolled my eyes and wondered exactly what they had been talking about before calling me in. I suddenly wished I’d been paying better attention.
“We were just wondering if you had a horrible first date story?”
It was all I could do not to sigh with relief that they were still on this topic. Not that I had a story, but this topic was a lot tamer than most conversations they included me in. I only had one hard-and-fast rule for the show: my family was off limits. The guys weren’t allowed to talk about my mom or my dad unless I offered, which I never planned to. Everything else in my life and my past was up for radio fodder if they wanted.
“Actually, I don’t,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t be upset with me later for being so boring. “I think all my first dates were pretty normal.”
To be honest, this was the only part of my job that made me uncomfortable. I didn’t mind being put on the spot occasionally, but I hated when I honestly had nothing to contribute and they expected me to make something up. Tom and John often encouraged me to lie, to wing it for the sake of the show, but I had always been a terrible liar, and we quickly found out that I couldn’t do it when they tried to force me. I would stumble and forget what I had just said. Basically, I was a disaster, and it didn’t make for good radio.
“Fine,” John said with an evil smile. “If you won’t tell us about a bad first date, then we’ll talk about high school.”
I almost choked on my own spit. “High school? What about it?” Heat filled my entire body as I attempted to fight back the rush of pure adrenaline that always came from speaking live to the hundreds of thousands of people who listened each morning.
Tom nodded, his eyes gleaming. “A little birdie told us that your ten-year reunion is happening this weekend. Are you going?”
Damn it. How’d they find out about that?
My mind instantly flashed to the two guys I associated with my high school days, my father and Dalton, and my stomach turned at the thought of them both but for different reasons. As I silently wondered which of my coworkers had ratted me out, John cleared his throat impatiently, forcing me to answer.
“Yeah, I’m going. Of course,” I said, as if there was any other choice in the matter.
They both oohed and aahed like immature teenage boys. “Hoping to see a special someone, Cammie?” Tom asked, his over-whitened teeth practically blinding me as he smiled.
My cheeks warmed and I knew I was blushing. I wished I could stop it because the moment they saw that happening, they’d attack me like sharks circling their prey. Anything for a good show, especially if it meant embarrassing me.
“Oh, she’s blushing! Look at her cheeks!” Tom yelled as John jumped in. “Okay, Cammie, no one turns that shade of red if there isn’t a story to tell. Tell us! Who is he?”
“Am I red? I’m not red, am I?” I sputtered, attempting to bullshit my way out of this uncomfortable topic. “I’m just excited to see everyone! I swear,” I lied, and prayed they wouldn’t call me on it.