Part 8 (1/2)

Bob bustled into the hallway. ”Hey, guys, ready for your swan song?” Huh? I didn't remember any animal acts.

”Your last show,” he explained. ”That's what swan song means. The song of the dying swan is supposed to be beautiful. How do you feel?” ”Like a dying swan,” I said. , ”We're totally depressed,” Ashley added.

Bob smiled. ”Uh-oh. They've been bitten by the .bug. Watch out, radio world.” Together we entered the studio. The engineers, as usual, grunted h.e.l.lo and just kept on working. I wondered if they'd even realized how important this show was to us.

Then I found out.

”Claud,” Ashley said, ”where'd this come from?” I looked around her and saw a gorgeous bouquet of flowers on our table. ”Wow.” Ash found a card tucked inside. She held it out and read it aloud. ”To the most wonderful radio hosts we have ever worked with, the WSTO engineers.” ”Should auld acquaintance be forgot ...” Suddenly the schmaltzy old New Year's song was blaring over the studio speakers. The engineers had risen to their feet and were singing along, holding up gla.s.ses full of a clear, bubbly liquid. With a big smile, Mr. Bullock walked toward us with two gla.s.ses and a bottle of ginger ale.

I turned to Ashley. She turned to me. It was waterworks time. Tears galore.

Mr. Bullock gave us a hug. We drank our ginger ale.

At the end of the song, Mr. Bullock announced, ”Okay, crew, we have a job to do!” It was hard to get back on track. But soon the guests began arriving, and we had to greet them, prepare a sequence, and do all the other million things we'd learned to do before a show.

Our first guest was (finally) Sarah Sutton, the backward talker. After that, we had four kids called the Curious Quartet, who played the banjo, the tin whistle, the Jew's harp, and the washboard. Then Rob Miller, an eighth-grader from Stoneybrook Day School, told the strangest story: every time he reached a syllable that sounded like a number, he added one to it. (Wonder became fwoder, towcan became threecan, and so on.) He began the story, ”Twice upon a time, there was a twoderful garden full of blossoming threelips.” Ashley's favorite part was when a character said, ”Elev-ennis, anytwo?” I liked the no-structure approach to this show. It was fun. I didn't have to keep thinking of a way to tie everything together.

At five-thirty I announced, ”And now, welcome to Ask Dr. Claudia . . .” ”And Dr. Ashley,” Ashley added.

I could see that all the lines were already lit up. I pressed line 1. ”You're on the air.” ”Uh, hi, Claudia?” a boy's voice said.

”Yes?” ”Um, do you have ...” I could hear giggling in the background, Vi- sions of Alan Gray danced through my head.

”Go on/' I said.

”Do you have . . .” More giggling. I reached for the b.u.t.ton.

”A boyfriend?” My hand froze.

So did my voicebox. I could feel my face turning red. The engineers were cracking up.

Fortunately, the boy hung up before I had a chance to answer.

I quickly pushed line 2. ”h.e.l.lo?” My voice was a high-pitched squeak.

”Hi! My friends and I are taking a vote, and it's tied. Which is better, The Lion King or Aladdin?” ”Aladdin,” I replied.

”The Lion King,” Ashley said.

”Arggggggh!” I resisted laughing.

”My name is Denise,” said the next caller. ”I have this little brother? And he is, like, so gross sometimes. Like yesterday, when I had three friends over? He just comes into my room and sits down and starts burping. And he doesn't leave!” ”Have you tried talking to him about it?” Ashley asked.

”Yeah. He answers in, like, burp talk. It is so disgusting.” ”You could all stare at him,” Ashley suggested, ”in total silence.” ”He'll just keep doing it.” ”Fine. Let him. And just keep staring. Silently. He'll leave, and I bet he won't come back for another try.” Brilliant. Ashley was brilliant. I would have told the girl to throw him out the window.

The next caller sounded as if he were about six years old. ”Urn, your show is really cool.” ”Thanks,” we answered.

Then, in a teeny, meek voice, he said, ”Can both of you come to my house and baby-sit me some time?” Boy, was I glad Kristy wasn't there. She'd have started grilling him for his address and his parents' names.

Me? I was moved. I said yes and gave him the BSC phone number.

A few calls later, a woman's voice said, ”h.e.l.lo, Claudia and Ashley. My name is Rhonda Hewitt.” ”h.e.l.lo,” Ash and I said. The name sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure why.