About this book:

In the hallways of St. Jude's High, silence isn't golden—it's policy. Surveillance cameras blink from every corner, student gatherings are capped at four, and the only music permitted is a corporate drone piped through cafeteria speakers. Maeve Lin has mastered the art of disappearing: neutral colors, averted eyes, a backpack that never draws attention. But beneath the school, in a decommissioned boiler room, she's wired her late uncle's home-built transmitter to the ventilation shaft. Five watts. Four blocks. One dead frequency: 88.5 FM.

Her first broadcast is a whisper into static: *Is anyone listening?* The answer comes in ways she never expected—anonymous requests slipped into her locker, a teacher who remembers what journalism looked like, a student body starving for anything real. As Maeve's nocturnal transmissions evolve from music to confessions to something dangerously close to truth, the administration's grip tightens. Vice Principal Halloway hunts for a phantom signal while the student newspaper withers into a four-page propaganda sheet. Every broadcast risks expulsion—or worse—but the microphone has become the only place Maeve doesn't have to pretend.

*The Boiler Room Broadcast* is a love letter to analog rebellion in a digital panopticon, where a girl with a soldering iron and a dead frequency becomes the voice of a generation told to stay quiet. For anyone who's ever felt the weight of enforced silence, who's ever built something in the dark just to hear it work, this novel crackles with the electric thrill of a signal breaking through.