I listen to the current song, sitting back in my seat. Then the phone rings and I stare at it for a moment. I know who it is, I may not know their name, but I know who it is. I pick it up after the song is done, "Would you like to make a request?"

"So… I called yesterday and the day before and you still haven't fulfilled my request." The low voice says very casually.

I clench my fist and struggle to keep the anger out of my voice as I reply, "For the last time, this is a classic rock station. We have neither the means nor the intention to play any song from High School Musical."

"I know you keep saying that, but- and hear me out here- how about you play 'Fabulous'?"

"Like I said," I keep my voice even, "we literally cannot play any song from High School Musical."

"Look, man, I'm not asking you to rip out your wisdom teeth with a spork. I'm just a normal guy, listening to a respectable radio station, who desperately wants to hear 'Get'cha Head in the Game'. Is that so wrong?"

"Did… did you just quote High School Musical to ask me a question?" I ask.

The other voice is silent for a long moment before replying in a hushed whisper, "Bet on it."

I hang up the phone with a groan, switching to the usual playlist of Queen, Metallica, and Led Zeppelin. For the last two weeks this guy had been calling asking the same thing- for me to play a song from High School Musical.

His rather intimate knowledge of all of the movies and their songs was terrifying, but he'd never threatened me or demanded that I do it. It was always the same calm request, like he knew I was nanometers from throwing my comfy swivel chair out a window.

I'd miss the chair, but I'd do it.

The songs cycle through and the phone rings again. This time it's a different number- thank the radio gods. I pick it up and say, "You're listening to Rock Radio, do you have a request?" I ask.

"Yeah." The all-too-familiar voice says. I'm about to hang up when he says, "No! Hold up! " He says.

"That's another reference, isn't it?"

I can almost hear the smile in his voice, "I didn't know you knew the songs that well."

I roll my eyes. "You know this is harassment, right? Like, this call is being recorded and I can take it to a court."

"Two things. One, would you seriously take me to court over 'You are the Music in Me'?"

"Yeah." I reply.

"Right, well, apart from that, the case would almost certainly be thrown out- because, you know, no judge is going to take it seriously- and I haven't threatened or intimidated you. I've always been polite, and I'm merely asking you to play a song."

"So creepy High School Musical listener knows legal jargon." I say.

"I just stick to the stuff I know," he says.

"Is this some sort of game for you? Are you trying to hear me go insane?"

"I don't want you to go insane. I just want you to play a song. Can't we work this out?"

"Yeah. You can ask me to play a song that I can actually play as opposed to calling almost every night to ask me the same stupid request." I reply.

"Fine. I want you to play 'I Want it All.'" He says.

"Wait. Are you talking about the High School Musical song or the Queen song?" I ask. He's silent for the longest time. I feel the flame of victory rising in my chest. Have I actually beat him at his own game? Did he finally slip up?

"You win this one, Dj…" His voice drifts off.

"Aelin. After all the weeks of calling this station I'm surprised you don't know that." I reply. "What's yours?" I ask.

"Rowan." Is all he says before the line beeps.

I tap my fingers on the desk, then change his name on caller ID. Better than Jackass High School Musical Freak. I take a slow, satisfied breath and play 'I Want it All' by Queen.

"Can you play 'Bop to the Top'?"

I sigh, "Look, we're a classic rock station. We play classic rock. We do not have any High School Musical songs." This was the third separate caller tonight, Rowan not being one of them oddly enough. In fact, I hadn't heard from him in about two weeks. In my little heart of hearts, I kind of missed him. As if by magic, the phone rings. I'm prepared to ignore it but I see the caller ID: Rowan. My nostalgia evolves into unbridled rage in the span of a few short seconds. I pick up and switch it to a private line while I put the Scorpions, Black Sabbath, and Johnny Cash playlist on.

"You piece of formulaic pop music!" I say immediately.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" He asks.

"Another way of saying 'crap' around here. Do you know how many people have been calling me, asking-no- begging that I play High School Musical?!" I ask. He breaks down into laughter before I finish the sentence. His laugh is deep and easy, almost infectious. "You think this is a joke?!" I ask.

"No. But who'd of ever thought that we'd both be here tonight?" He asks.

"Cute. More lyrics. Don't you have a girlfriend you can bother with this?"

Rowan's quiet for so long I actually check to see if he's still on. "Not any more," he finally says.

Well don't I feel like a dick? "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'd like to think I'm over her and what she's done." He says.

I bury my face in my palm. "Did you lie to me so you could set that up?"

"No," He replies.

Great. I change the subject. "How do you know all of these lyrics?"

"A better question would be how do you know all of these lyrics?" He asks.

I don't want to tell him that after the first few nights I'd watched all of the High School Musical movies so he couldn't get a joke past me. But I also don't want to lie to a guy who just lost his girlfriend.

But he'd also managed to make my night job a living hell.

"That's not important."

"Sure it is. You can't just keep these kinds of things to yourself," he coaxed. I'm debating whether or not to hang up when he says, "We're all in this together, Aelin."

I can only sigh. "I like to keep stuff to myself, so you'll have to get over not knowing. Besides, you were the one who started this."

He snorts. "Well, Zac Efron and his Oscar-worthy acting ability are hard to resist."

"Well, sure. That's obvious. Anyone would love a good lip-sync," I reply sarcastically.

"How dare you accuse the infallible Zac Efron and his heaven sent vocal chords of lip syncing." He says with mock offense. "But to be perfectly honest, my little sister used to love the movies. I had to sit through each one of them no less than fifty times."

"You couldn't just leave the room?" I ask.

"You try telling an eight year old with doe eyes 'no'." He says. "Anyway, I'm usually more of a Ridley Scott fan."

"Who?" I ask. He gasps as though I've spat on his newborn child.

"Ridley Scott! The man behind Alien, Blade Runner, and The Man in the High Castle, how could you not know him?!" He exclaims.

"I'm sitting in a radio station as my night shift job calling you a piece of formulaic pop. It's probably a safe bet I'm not that into movies." I reply.

"That reminds me, am I distracting you from your job? Won't you boss be mad that you're slacking off?" He asks.

"My boss left three hours ago. Told me where the shotgun was and to make sure I played Hotel California at least once."

"Sounds like you've got it pretty easy."

"I did until you started calling."

"Sounds like you miss the nights 'When There Was Me And You'."

"I will hang up this phone so fast your head will spin," I threaten.

"Does that mean you want to keep talking to me?" He asks. I can't tell if he's sarcastic or genuinely curious. I want to punch him in the face either way.

"If you quit it with the lyrics, yeah."

"Tough choice. On the one hand… High School Musical. On the other hand… it feels so right to be with you."

"That's it. I'm done."

"You're not even going to ask for my request? For old time's sake?" He asks.

I sigh and ask, "Do you have a request?"

"Everyday." He says with smugness in his tone.

"Sure, I'll play Everyday by Buddy Holly. I'll even dedicate it to you." I say, unable to contain my smile.

"Oh, you are evil."

"And you aren't just as bad?" I ask with a laugh.

He chuckles on the other line and I feel a comfort come over me… Maybe this could be the start of something new?

Oh. My. God. It's spreading.