“Did I tell you that? I think Alana told you that.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I feel like it was you, though, and that’s what matters.”

“Ha.” I looked at Max. He’d been so quiet through this whole exchange. He was generally quiet, but it seemed more so than normal. “I want to read your comic sometime.”

“Okay,” he said.

“It’s a Bailey family meeting!” Alana said, plopping down in the seat beside me and pulling a taco out of the bag she held. It smelled amazing.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you until podcasting class,” I said.

“The taco line was shorter than I anticipated.”

“You can’t eat in here,” Max said.

“I can. It’s a special rule, just for me. It’s called the Alana Does What She Wants rule. It’s a hard rule to explain, lots of nuances and sublaws, but I’m sure you get the gist of it.”

“So, the presentation?” I asked.

“Frank and I were presenting the ‘recording a podcast at the carnival’ idea to the student council,” Alana explained, taking a big bite of her taco.

“Oh. And what did they say?”

She chewed and swallowed. “Sorry. They approved it. They were even excited about it.”

The live show was happening.

“Why are you sorry?” I asked, trying to act casual. “I’m fine about it. Cool with it.”

“Do you hear your sister, Max?” Alana asked my brother. “She is so not cool with it.”

Max smiled.

Alana turned back to me, holding her taco. “Maybe it would help if you admitted your fear.”

“So you and Frank made the presentation?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I know, I know, I’m fraternizing with the enemy. But you told me to spy and I am. I’m learning lots of good stuff. Like the fact that I think he might be sincere about wanting to let go of grudges his parents have held.”

I glanced at Max and Liza. They both looked as skeptical as I felt.

“I don’t think Frank knows what sincere is,” I said. Because sincere definitely wasn’t snooping through my house and sabotaging our business.

“Don’t worry, I’m still being wary,” Alana said. “I think a mending with the Youngs can only be good for your family, though. Maybe it will start at the bottom.” She took another bite of her taco. “This is delicious.”

The smell of her taco had my stomach growling with hunger. And thinking of Frank only made me grumpy.

“Presenting the podcast reminded me how awesome this festival is going to be,” Alana went on through her mouthful. “Which reminded me that Diego still hasn’t asked me. So when he calls in to the podcast this week, tell him to ask me already, okay? I’m hoping he’ll ask at our cook-off date this Friday, but I think a little encouragement will go a long way.”

I froze. Then I widened my eyes at her and nodded toward Max and Liza.

“Oops.” A piece of stray lettuce clung to her lip and she used her finger to swipe it into her mouth. “Do they not know he calls in?” She pointed at them. “You guys are sworn to secrecy.”

Liza made an X over her heart with a finger.

Alana smiled at me. “There. All fixed.”

“Seriously, guys,” I told my brother and cousin sternly. “You can’t breathe a word.”

“We won’t,” Liza swore, and Max nodded solemnly.

I wanted to be comforted by that assurance, but uneasiness settled into my chest. Diego couldn’t find out.

The podcast that Wednesday felt off. On the surface, everything seemed normal. Victoria was doling out lots of advice, I was adding my fair share of sarcastic quips mixed with useful suggestions. Our classmates and Ms. Lyon sat on the other side of the glass making sure everything ran smoothly. But something wasn’t quite right. For one, Diego hadn’t called in yet. He’d called three weeks in a row; I assumed he’d call again. People liked him.

But he wasn’t calling, and it was getting later.

Second, it was freezing in the studio. Victoria and I sat in our chairs, shivering. The weather was cooler than normal for the end of September, but the school’s air-conditioning was still programed like it was mid-July.

And third, Alana wasn’t in the production lab anymore. The newest round of job changes switched her and Frank to Thursdays.

It all seemed like little changes, but it took me back to my first week behind the microphone, my nerves as raw as if I had never done this before. And with these feelings churning in my gut, Sarah, our new email person, spoke into our headphones.

“We have an email for you to read.”

Victoria handed me the iPad. “We have an email, listeners. And since Kat’s an excellent reader, she gets the honor.”

I scrunched my nose at her but opened up the email. “ ‘Dear hosts who probably have no idea what they’re talking about but are my only option right now.’ ” I laughed. “I like this kid.”

“We at least think we know what we’re talking about,” Victoria said. “But thanks for the confidence.”

I continued reading the email. “ ‘I have a problem. I am being bullied. Every day, I dread going to school. I am picked on relentlessly. I don’t know what to do. When I stand my ground, it gets worse. When I try to ignore it, nothing changes. I’m out of options obviously, since I’m writing you. Sincerely, Bully Magnet.’ ”

My laughter stuck in my throat. The dread that had been brewing in my stomach doubled. How had I never considered that people would present us serious problems like this? Problems beyond crushes and teacher drama … and cheese. Problems we were more than unqualified to answer.

“You’re right,” I said. “We are not experts on this. You should talk to a teacher, or parent.”

“Bullies feed off of your fear,” Victoria said as though she’d suddenly become a leading expert on the teen psyche. “You need to work on projecting confidence. Try to surround yourself with friends and support. People like the ones you’re describing are cowards. They won’t pick on groups of people. They want you to be alone and vulnerable.”

I scanned the students on the other side of the glass. Nobody seemed as alarmed as I was. “Can we get some factchecks on what we’re saying, or at least add a professional quote to the mix? I feel weird about going into this one with just our opinions,” I said, knowing this would be edited out.

Everyone’s eyes went to Ms. Lyon. “You two are doing great,” she said.

I swallowed another protest, and said into the mic, “But really. You should tell an adult you trust. We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

The email correspondence was harder than a caller. I wanted to ask questions, to get clarifications. But an email couldn’t talk back or answer any of my concerns. How come nobody else seemed as worried about this as me?

The rest of the show went on as if that email was just like any other one we’d received.

Then we were ending the show and the equipment was turned off and Victoria stood.

“You okay?” she asked me.

“What?”

“You were kind of off today,” she said.

“It was cold in here.”

“Right? I hope it warms up more for the festival.”

“Me too.”