The station smells like burnt coffee and old carpet.
Trey's hand sits on my lower back like he's steering a shopping cart.
Trey: Relax, lido girl. Nobody gives a shit about your face. It's radio.
The booth is a glass box with two mics and one red light.
Trey: Merrivale, you know the lido? The pretty one with the cracked tiles?
Trey: That's my girlfriend who fixes them.
My stomach drops through the chair.
Trey: Kira. Get over here and say hi to my people.
Through the glass, the producer gives me a thumbs up and a fake smile.
I lean into the mic and my voice comes out too high and too small.
Kira: Hi. I'm Kira.
Trey: She's shy. Paint on her hands, salt in her hair. That's the lido girl.
Trey's fingers slide up the back of my neck.
He turns my face to his and kisses me, live, with the mic right there.
His mouth is warm and sure and completely wrong, same as it was at the donor night.
I kiss him back. My body sells me out every time.
Trey: See that? She's mine, Merrivale.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. Once. Twice. Three times.
Nobody texts me three times except Malcolm.
I turn the phone over in my lap and read it under the desk.
Malcolm: You're live. I'm listening.
Malcolm: Play along. Smile like you mean it.
Heat climbs up my neck and sits in my ears.
Malcolm: Or the rent stops. The tuition. That little apprenticeship you love so much.
I can hear his voice in the words. Cold. Patient. Sure of me.
I put the phone away and smile into the mic like a good girl.
Kira: Trey's really sweet to me.
The lie tastes like pennies.
Trey: Sweet? She's mean to me. I love it.
The producer laughs through the glass. So does the guy on the sound board.
I laugh too, because that's what playing along looks like.
The red light goes off. Trey runs to the bathroom.
Malcolm is standing at the end of the hall in his navy suit, like he came straight from a boardroom.
Malcolm: Don't look so shocked. I said I was listening.
He takes my arm above the elbow and pulls me into the stairwell.
His grip is hard enough to leave a mark.
Malcolm: You looked at that mic like it was a gun. That's not playing along.
Kira: Let go of me.
Malcolm: I don't give a fuck if you like him. That's not the job.
Malcolm: The job is smiling. Holding his hand. Saying yes when he asks you something stupid on air.
Malcolm: Say no, and your whole little life here is finished. You understand me?
Kira: Why do you care who I date?
Malcolm: Because I pay for you, and I don't like surprises.
His thumb rubs the inside of my elbow. Soft. That's worse than the hard grip.
Malcolm: Fix your face. Go back in there and be his girl.
He lets go and straightens his cuff like nothing happened.
The mark on my arm is already turning red. Bastard.
Trey is back in his chair with his headphones half on.
Trey: Where'd you go? We're on in thirty seconds.
I sit down and put the smile back on. It fits better than it should.
Kira: I'm right here.
Trey: She's staying, Merrivale. She's my girl.
The red light is on me and I hold still under it.
Through the glass, Malcolm watches with his hands in his pockets.
Trey's arm is warm around my shoulder.
The mark under my sleeve burns hotter, and it feels like a leash.