“You’re done with tutoring?”

“No, I think I can handle it on my own from here on out. My mom can drop me off.”

“Oh.”

She smiled, then skipped to the car. I didn’t know why I was so disappointed by this pronouncement.

Wednesday, after school, I saw Frank heading for the recording studio. I weaved my way through the crush of bodies in the hallway, trying to reach him before he got into the room. He hadn’t been in podcasting class today but he was obviously showing up for lab. He had just reached the door when I finally caught up with him.

“That’s what you call a truce?” I asked. The words had been stewing in my chest for too long now. Maybe I should’ve just confronted him after lab. I had this notion that this would be more private. It didn’t feel private, as my outburst made several heads turn.

“What do you mean?” he said calmly, reaching for the knob on the door.

I took him by the arm and dragged him around the first corner and beneath the stairs.

“If you wanted to be alone with me, Kitty Kat, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I lowered my voice. “Why did you do it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m too tired for this. I literally just got back from a five-hour bus ride,” he said. “What? What is it that I’m supposed to know?”

Even if he wasn’t involved in the actual “prank” on my marina, his family would’ve heard about the report we filed. The fact that he was playing innocent just irritated me more. “Did you think it was funny? Was it supposed to be some truce joke?”

“Oh, is this about the pictures? Talk to Alana about those.”

“The pictures?” I asked, my anger making way for confusion.

“On the website. Of you and Victoria.”

“There are pictures on the website of me and Victoria?”

“Like I said, talk to Alana.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are we done here?”

“What? No, no, we are not done here. I’m talking about the stunt you pulled at the marina Saturday morning.”

His expression was utterly clueless. He was either the world’s best actor or telling the truth. Was he telling the truth?

“Look, here’s Alana now. Take up the picture issue with her,” he said as if this was still about the pictures. He reached out and pulled Alana in to join us.

“Ooh, a secret rendezvous under the stairs,” she said. “What are we talking about?”

“Tell Kate the pictures were your idea,” Frank said.

“You told her?” Alana asked.

“She already knew,” he said.

“I did not know!” I cried. “I still don’t know.”

“Don’t kill me,” Alana said. She linked one arm through mine and one through Frank’s and led us back toward the recording studio.

“I’m not done with him.” We walked a few more steps, then I said, “Wait, what pictures?”

“We put your picture and Victoria’s picture on the website. We thought it added a personal touch.”

“Which pictures?”

“Your school picture,” Alana said.

“The world’s worst picture of me?”

“We also added a candid Frank took while you guys were recording the podcast last week.”

“Consider it our gift to you,” Frank said smugly.

“I’m kind of tired of your gifts,” I mumbled as we walked through the door.

The recording studio looked different. It took me a minute to understand why. We had all new equipment. I hadn’t realized podcasting class had the budget for that. Maybe one of the other classes had upgraded it.

Ms. Lyon clapped her hands. “Everyone, have a seat before we begin.”

We sat around the room where we could. There were only eight of us, so between the couch and the rolling chairs there were just enough seats.

“You’ll notice the upgrade to the equipment. This was donated thanks to our new sponsor.”

“Sponsor?” Victoria asked.

“Yes,” Ms. Lyon said. “Kat, I have a little ad that you will read along with your disclaimer from now on.”

“Okay, cool.”

“It’s on the iPad.” Ms. Lyon couldn’t have looked more pleased. “This just proves that our show is a hit and that businesses are recognizing that.”

That was pretty cool. Victoria and I walked through the door and shut ourselves behind it.

Victoria started off as normal. “Welcome, listeners, to another episode of Not My Problem. Another week, another set of problems. And we want to hear them. Don’t we, Kat?”

“I have nowhere else to be,” I said.

She laughed and handed me the iPad.

I took the iPad and gave the intro I knew from memory. “As I always say, we are not professionals. If you have a real problem, call 911 or refer to any of our emergency numbers listed on our website.” Then I glanced down at the words I was supposed to read. “ ‘We’d also like to thank the sponsor of our podcast, Young Industries.’ ” I coughed on the surprise of that announcement, then tried to recover so Frank didn’t gloat any more than he probably already was. “ ‘The number one leader in development and services in Lakesprings, Young Industries has been serving the community for over fifty years and thanks you for your continued support.’ ”

I refused to meet Frank’s eyes through the glass. Had he requested that I be the one to say that? Was I going to have to say that every week? Ms. Lyon had acted like some random business had recognized the quality of our podcast and come forward. But Frank’s dad wasn’t some random person. His son was in the podcasting class. This had nothing to do with our show being a hit.

“Yes, thank you, Young Industries,” Victoria said as I handed her back the iPad.

“Lots of email love for the show,” Jamie said from the other room. “Do we want to read any praise on air?”

Ms. Lyon nodded and pointed to the iPad. Victoria pulled up a waiting email. The subject line read “Love.”

“We’re going to read a few emails from our listeners now,” Victoria said. “ ‘Hello, Victoria and Kat. I love your show. I especially loved the guy who called in about the conflict he had between school responsibilities and love. He was so sweet and sincere. Where can I find a guy like that?’ ”

“Good question,” I said.

“I think it was a rhetorical question,” Victoria said.

“Was it, though?”

Victoria read through several other emails that all basically said the same thing before saying, “We completely agree with all of you. We adore Mr. Looking for Love as well.”

“Is that the name we’re going with for him?” I asked.

“I thought it was catchy,” she shot back. “Alliteration and all that.”

“Let this be a warning to you, listeners: If you don’t name yourself on our show, we get to name you … with alliteration.”

Victoria giggled. “It’s true.”

“Looks like we have some callers waiting,” I said.

Victoria nodded toward Mallory, and she clicked the first call through.

“You’re on Not My Problem, we’re listening,” Victoria said.