My heart is racing, my adrenaline is soaring, and my palms are disgustingly sticky. I’m nervous. More nervous than I’ve been in a really long time.

“You doing okay?” the secretary sitting behind the desk asks while eyeballing my bouncing knee.

I nod and try to hold still. “Yeah, I’m great.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans, feeling ridiculous. Why am I so nervous? It’s just a job interview. You’ve done this before, Callie.

But you want this job really badly.

I internally sigh. I need to calm down or I’m going to mess the interview up.

The secretary offers me a sympathetic smile. “Evie should be here soon. Just try to hang in there a little longer, okay?” He winks at me then redirects his attention to the computer on his desk.

I’m not sure what to make of his wink, since secretaries usually don’t wink at potential new employees. Then again, nothing about this place resembles a typical business office.

Take the secretary. He looks maybe a few years older than me with messy blond hair and a couple of piercings in his lips and brow. He’s wearing a shirt with a skull on it and an array of leather bands ornament his wrists. And when he got up to get something from the printer earlier, I noticed he didn’t have on any shoes.

When I first walked into the office and saw him sitting behind the desk, frantically digging through the desk drawer, I thought maybe he had snuck in and was about to steal something. But then he greeted me with a friendly smile and asked me if I had an appointment. That’s when I realized I judged him simply on his looks and felt terrible about it. That’s also when I realized just how untypical this office is.

That revelation sent a bit of relief through me. I had decided to quit my last job of writing articles for an online website because it was boring and kind of repetitious. I’ve always loved writing but that job sucked the enjoyment out of it. Still, it was a job and paid decently, at least for a junior in college. But a year after I first started, and rounding into the start of my senior year, I craved a change. I wanted to be able to wake up in the morning and be pumped to go to work. And yeah, I realize a lot of people don’t love their jobs. But, for me, writing sometimes feels like creating art. And forcing art usually doesn’t work very well. And in my case it didn’t. Sure, the articles I wrote were decent enough, but not great. And I wanted—want—to do something great.

I just needed to figure out what that was.

So, after running the idea of changing jobs by Kayden—which of course, he supported—I made the choice to start applying for jobs that sounded appealing. A handful of applications and callbacks later, and here I am, at the untraditional The Offbeat Go Daily, waiting for an interview.

I’m not going to lie, the name of the place was what drew me in. Usually, I’m more of a traditional sort of person, but the name screams adventurous and I’ve been wanting that lately. Then I started reading some of their published articles and columns and wow, just wow, I really want to write for them. Not only do they cover tough, unconventional topics, but their writers are extremely detailed, as if they experienced the event firsthand. It sounded like the complete opposite of my old job, which preferred that I list only the basic facts and never write pieces that would offend people, even though that isn’t possible—someone will always be offended no matter how careful I am with my words.

“You want a sucker?” The secretary interrupts my thoughts.

I blink up from the floor and find him leaning over his desk with a huge jar of suckers in his hand.

Definitely the first time I’ve been offered a sucker at a job interview.

“Um, sure.” I push to my feet, dig out a pink one, and peel off the wrapper. “Thanks.” I pop the sucker into my mouth and grind my teeth against it, trying to alleviate my stress.

“Suckers are awesome stress relievers, right?” He sets the jar down on the cluttered desk.

I nod, removing the sucker from my mouth. “Is it that obvious how nervous I am?” I bite down on my tongue. It might not be the smartest move to tell the secretary at the place you’re hoping to get hired at that you’re nervous.

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and popping a sucker into his mouth. “All the potential newbies usually are, so don’t sweat it.” He swivels the chair from side to side, the sucker clanking against his teeth. “A little advice. Evie’s pretty chill. She’ll probably ask you a few questions about your last jobs and your experience. But mostly, she’ll just ask you about your life and then come to a decision on whether or not she likes you.”

“But how will she know if I’m a good writer then?”

“She’s already read some of your work. If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Oh.” My palms begin to sweat again as my nerves begin to grow.

He smiles. “That’s a good thing, Callie. It means she likes your work.”

“Right.” I nod, pretending I’m more relaxed than I am. Really, I’m a nervous wreck.

This place is so different from what I’m used to but I guess that’s what I’m looking for, right?

I sure hope so.

You’ll be fine, Callie. You can do this. You have the qualifications, you’ve done your research, and you wore your lucky outfit.

My lucky outfit consists of a black button top, pinstriped pants, and black heels with white stripes over the toes. It’s the same outfit I wore when I got my first job and the one after that.

Of course, my confidence flies right out the window when a woman rushes into the office, wearing holey jeans, a black t-shirt, a studded belt, and a pair of clunky boots. She looks as though she was just at a concert and at first I wonder if she’s a journalist here, but then the secretary calls her Evie.

That’s Evie?

I think I may have overdressed…

No, you’re fine. You look professional and tidy.

I mentally shake my head at myself. Take a look around you, Callie. This place isn’t looking for professional and tidy.

The secretary grins as Evie rushes in red faced and out of breath. “You’re late.”

She tosses her bag into the open door to an office then combs her fingers through her purple and black hair. “I know. I know. But my car wouldn’t start and then I got an email from…” Her gaze lands on me. “You don’t work for me, do you?”

I shift in my seat. “Um, no. I’m Callie Lawrence. I’m here for the job interview.”

“It’s your three o’clock,” the secretary adds, reaching for a coffee mug.

She glances at him and he raises his brows with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, right. My three o’clock.” She eyeballs me over. From the unimpressed look in her eyes, I’m betting my lucky outfit is going to be no longer lucky. “Well, why don’t you come into my office so we can get this started.”

Nodding, I rise to my feet and follow her inside the office that consists of a cluttered desk, a computer, and a window with a view of the parking lot. A typical office except for the hundreds of newspaper clippings, articles, and photos taped to the walls.

“It’s how I keep my research organized,” she clarifies when she notes me staring at her walls. “I know it looks pretty chaotic, but I swear there’s a system to it. Well, if you can call chaos a system.” The corners of her lips quirk as she plops down into a chair.

The trace of a smile gives me a drop of hope that perhaps I haven’t completely failed the interview yet.

“Go ahead, have a seat. “She gestures at a chair in front of me. “And tell me a little bit about yourself and why you want to work here.”

I toss the sucker into a trashcan then sink down into the chair and discreetly wipe my damp palms on my legs for the tenth time. “My name’s Callie Lawrence, which you already know. I’m a senior at UW and will be graduating in the fall with my bachelor degree in English—”

She holds up her hand, cutting me off, and my nerves skyrocket.

“I know your credentials—I read the resume you sent in. I’m not looking to hear a repeat of it. What I want to know is what makes you unique in the sea of journalists out there. Because The Offbeat Go Daily is all about unique. We pride ourselves on interesting stories no one else is reporting and different angles. A lot of our projects require our journalists to do a bit of undercover work and some of the jobs can be sketchy sometimes and require a lot of thinking outside the box. But I can’t figure out if you’re the type of person who fits that profile just based upon a resume.” She rests her arms on her desk. “So tell me a little bit about yourself that I didn’t already read about on your resume—tell me your life story, the good and the bad.” She slants forward. “Tell me how you became the Callie Lawrence that’s sitting in front of me today.”

Seriously?

I resist the urge to bite my fingernails, even though I desperately want to. “Um, well, where do I start?”

“How about from the beginning?” she suggests, reclining back in her chair. “And don’t leave out the good or difficult parts. It’s those that are going to make you stand out.”

So, she wants to know my story. Like my life story. The good and the bad. Do I have the guts to do it? Tell her all the important facts that made me who I am today. About how the last few years I’ve lived a pretty ordinary, but lovely life. How on my twelfth birthday my brother’s best friend stole my good life away and shattered me when he raped me. How I locked the secret up and it ate me away inside, nearly destroying me. How I lost all my friends. Was called a freak. Was bullied. How I slinked in the shadows, wishing I was invisible until the day I coincidently crossed paths with Kayden Owens while his dad was beating him. How that night would change my life forever in the best way possible. How when I went to college, I started to heal. How I fell in love. How I finally told my secret.

How I became Callie Lawrence, one day in the future Callie Lawrence-Owens, a soon to be college graduate who dreams of writing articles and pieces that will help others who are stuck in the darkness.

I take a deep breath. “Well, I was born in…”