Free The Voice on the Radio by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

I’ve made a decision. I won’t do another janie.
    The music was fading out. Derek Himself talked over the last chords. Reeve hated that, when they cut out the final lyrics in order to have more time for their own voices. He wasn’t going to be that kind of deejay.
    Derek surprised Reeve by giving him a janie cue, swinging the adjustable arm of the mike into Reeve’s face.
    The air was empty and waiting.
    I won’t say a janie, he ordered himself.
    He didn’t.
    He swung the mike back to Derek and walked out of the broadcast room.
    There. For Janie’s sake, he’d quit.
    He was proud of himself. He felt tall and strong and good for people. Maybe he’d run for President.

    In the big Dodge coming back from Home Depot, Jodie needed to be private, so she let Brian have the front seat with Mom and she sat way in the back, slumped down, her face hidden by the middle seats.
    Unbelievable. Her mother was going to allow it! Jodie would be permitted choice, and independence, and risk.
    Risk.
    It had never been allowed in the Spring family since Jennie had vanished.
    Stephen, out there in Colorado, told them nothing when they were on the phone with him.
Nothing
. Was he being dull and good, going to class, getting eight hours of sleep, being friends with suitable people?
    Or was he taking risks? Hitchhiking? Skydiving?
    Jodie hoped he was taking risks.
    Jodie, like the rest of the family, had hair that glinted red and gold. But unlike Janie, whose chaotic curls were airborne in the humidity of New England, Jodie’s was thin and straight. She wore it in a soccer cut.
    If she went to college in Boston, she’d probably dye it blue. Shave some off. Have earrings in her scalp. Scare normal people by sitting down next to them. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d wear long black skirts and vests with a zillion glitter beads. Or she might rip down the city streets on her Roller-blades, with her leather jacket and her gang bandanna.
    What do I want from life, thought Jodie, now that I have choices?
    Well, I don’t want a family. That’s more risk than I’m willing to touch. I don’t have daydreams with little kids in them. I don’t want babies I could lose.
    I’m going to have money, and answering machines, and a staff to order around, and jets, and travel, and great clothes. After my shaved-skull-and-earrings stage, that is.
    And Jodie was happy, thinking: It’s over.

    It was cold out, the kind of cold Reeve liked. He was in shirtsleeves, but the cold felt good. He loved his bare arms in winter.
    Reeve often rehearsed the janies in the dark. In front of people, he couldn’t even rehearse inside his head. Alone in the dark, he could move his lips, or even whisper, getting the flow.
    I have to stop that, too, he thought. I’m doing this for Janie and I don’t even get to tell her what a great guy I am. No fair making sacrifices when the sacrificed-for doesn’t know.
    His physics professor walked by.
    The science building was next door to the administration building, but still, this late—Reeve was a little surprised. “Hi, Dr. Brookner.”
    “Reeve,” said the professor with pleasure.
    Considering there were five hundred students in the lecture, the labs were run by assistants, and tests were corrected by grad students, it was remarkable that Dr. Brookner knew who Reeve was. “Doing a janie tonight?” asked the professor. “My wife and I have been fascinated by those.”
    Adult listeners? Professors? Reeve was stunned and pleased. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of station,” said Reeve.
    “We put up with so-called music from losers like Visionary Assassins so that we can hear the janies. I admit I’m confused. I hope one of these days you’ll clarify how the whole thing happened. My wife has a chart by the radio so we can keep track of the tidbits you dole out.”
    So his master plan was working. The delivery of overlapping stories, out of order, had hooked the audience.
    I’ll do just one more, he thought. I owe it