The Voice on 3.33 MHz

The summer Maya Sharma turned sixteen, Cedar Creek smelled like cut grass and distant rain. It was the kind of small town where the loudest sound at night was usually the freight train rolling through the valley at eleven-forty, and where the biggest mystery anyone could remember was who kept stealing the plastic flamingos from Mrs. Abernathy's lawn. Maya had lived there her whole life, and she had long ago decided that nothing interesting would ever happen in Cedar Creek.…