Two
“So, what am I doing for the Empire this summer? Plotting the destruction of peaceful planets like Alderaan?” I thought a Star Wars joke might be a fun way to start our first morning as coworkers, but Dad Vader doesn’t look amused.
“I’m not the enemy, Laurel,” Dad snaps. “Also, I’m your boss, so watch it.”
Mom slides us both plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon as we sit at the kitchen counter. Well, I sit. Dad stands, glancing at his watch anxiously.
“Have some breakfast, Rhett,” Mom insists.
“No time to eat.” Dad slaps together the eggs and bacon inside the toast and gestures for me to do the same. He’s in conquer-the-universe mode, so I decide to knock off the jokes, for now.
“You’re okay with me eating in your car? What if I spill?” Dad’s car is immaculate, unlike Mom’s and mine.
He scowls as he yanks a paper towel from the roll, handing me one and wrapping his makeshift sandwich with the other. “We need to go, Laurel. Kristoffs are never late. And they don’t spill.”
Mom and I share a smirk, but fortunately he doesn’t bust us.
“Try not to kill each other today,” Mom says cheerfully. She takes a sip of coffee from her “I’m a knotty hooker” mug patterned with colorful skeins of yarn.
“For my part, I promise a homicide-free day.”
“No one’s going to die,” Dad grumbles, grabbing his briefcase.
“In case he’s wrong, tell Kendra I love her,” I stage-whisper to Mom, who snort-laughs.
Dad’s dark eyebrows bunch together, but when Mom stands on tiptoe to kiss him goodbye, he reciprocates way too enthusiastically for this early in the morning.
“Kristoffs don’t have time for PDA,” I call over my shoulder, grabbing the messenger bag Mom made for me from vintage Star Wars fabric.
Five minutes later I’m a captive in my dad’s spaceship (AKA Mercedes SUV) as we begin the stressful rush-hour drive from our faux ranch outside of Castle Rock into downtown Denver.
Dad passes a slow-moving minivan, then side-eyes me. “I’m not a villain like Vader, you know. I prefer to think of myself as Yoda.”
“Really? You see yourself as a––”
“Wise warrior? Yes, I do.”
Dad returns his focus to the road as I stifle a laugh. He’s the most un-Yoda person I know. As he passes another slow-moving car, I wonder if he’s pretending to levitate all the other cars with the Force and fly us straight to his LoDo office.
“I’m excited about the job, Dad. Thanks for giving me a chance.” I clear my throat. “What exactly am I going to do?”
“Help out the interns.” Dad’s frowny face returns. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Even though I pushed him hard for this opportunity, I’m getting that Han Solo feeling, as in, I have a bad feeling about this. I’m worried he’s a corporate dictator, an unyielding Scrooge to a cowering army of Bob Cratchits.
What if my dad really is like Darth Vader and the interns end up hating me by association? Then again, with a huge scholarship on the line they’ll probably put up with a lot. That thought makes me even more uncomfortable.
Dad sighs like he just read my mind. “You won’t have to foil any secret plots to destroy innocent planets, Princess Laurel. Contrary to your overactive imagination, I don’t run an evil empire. Ewok’s honor.” Dad raises three fingers in the air. “No enemies to take down, either.”
Ewok’s honor was something he made up when I was eight years old and scared to play soccer with girls more experienced than me. Dad swore on my stuffed Ewok I’d have a great season. I hadn’t, but then he’d created a new family motto: Kristoffs Never Quit. Almost ten years later, I’ve proven his point by earning a spot on the varsity soccer team.
“Let’s hope you’re right,” I say. “My saber skills are rusty from lack of practice.”
Dad sighs. “I’m one of the good guys. My company is full of them.”
“We shall see,” I say dramatically.
We don’t argue for the rest of the drive. By the time he pulls into the underground parking garage, I dare to hope this summer will be what I wish for––the chance to reconnect with my dad.
“A New Hope,” I whisper, cracking myself up with a nerdy joke.
“Ready, princess?” Dad’s eyes meet mine.
“Take me to your Death Star, Vader.”
His gaze narrows but I spot a flicker of amusement in his gray eyes. “I hope your opinion of my business changes by the end of the summer, Laurel.”
I hope so, too, but I’d bet my Carrie Fisher autograph that it won’t.
…
The reception lobby of Emergent Enterprises is urban and trendy, with exposed brick walls covered with canvas prints and metal wall sculptures from local artists. Steel beams crisscross overhead, wrapped in plastic tube lights. The building used to be a paint factory back in the horse-and-buggy days, but now it’s one of the trendier buildings on Market Street, close to the baseball stadium and hipster bars and restaurants.
“Laurel Kristoff!” A voice booms across the lobby as a determined figure bears down on us. His shiny bald head glows under the lights and his body practically bursts out of his clothes, like the Pillsbury Doughboy stuffed into a too-small suit.
It’s Mr. Mantoni, one of Dad Vader’s lieutenants. I remember him vividly from last summer. He pumps my hand. I’m embarrassed by his enthusiastic welcome.
“Hi Mr. Manic—um, Mr. Mantoni.” My dad’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. I’d nicknamed Mr. Mantoni the Manly Manicotti last summer and made the mistake of sharing the joke at dinner one night. Mom had laughed, but Dad wasn’t amused.
Mr. Mantoni’s sweaty hand releases mine. “So glad you’re back with us!” His voice is stabbing my eardrums. “We’re looking forward to you helping out the interns this summer.” He lowers his voice. “Great idea, having you vote on the scholarship winner.”
What’s he talking about? Apprehension skitters up my spine.
“Get Laurel settled, Tom,” Dad says. “I’ll stop in later to meet the interns and lay down the law.” Dad squeezes my shoulder, then strides away, abandoning me to the Manicotti.
“Vote?” My voice squeaks when I finally speak. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Manicotti puts a finger to his lips, then glances suspiciously at a couple of employees heading our way. Once they pass, he claps his hand on my back and steers me past Miss Emmaline, ferociously guarding the front desk.
In an office like this, you’d expect a multi-pierced hipster at the front desk, but Dad has Miss Emmaline, who looks one hundred and two years old but doesn’t miss a thing. I learned that last summer when she busted me Snapchatting in the bathroom, taking an extra-long break with a pile of free snacks from the kitchen.
Miss Emmaline squints as I pass her desk. I wave, trying to look sweet and innocent, but her scowl doesn’t waver. Mission number one: make her laugh before the summer is over.
“You know how this scholarship contest works, right?” The Manicotti steers me down a narrow hallway of more exposed brick walls lined with framed magazine covers featuring Dad’s company. “Four contestants. No mercy! Only one can be victorious!”
I’ve always wondered why my dad hired the Manicotti. If my dad had served in a war, I’d assume the Manicotti saved his life and Dad owed him, but that’s not the case.
We pause outside a conference room with a closed door. “I’m keeping them waiting,” he says, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Made ’em show up at seven. Round one: the elimination. One of them still isn’t here, so he’s off the island even if he does show up.”
“Wow. That’s, um…intense.” It seems unfair, too, since all of the interns need the salary from the summer job, not to mention a shot at the scholarship. Maybe I need to worry more about the Manicotti than Dad Vader.
“That’s how I like things. Intense.” His beady eyes gleam behind his rimless glasses. He grins in a way that makes me wish I had pepper spray. “We’re counting on you for inside information, Laurel.”
“You are?” Imaginary warning bells clang in my mind.
He nods, sweat gleaming on his forehead. “Yep.” He glances around the hallway like we’re hiding behind enemy lines, then drops his voice to a whisper. “Your dad says your vote counts twice.”
“Vote?”
He blinks rapidly, like a cartoon. “On who wins the scholarship, of course!”
Stunned, I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, he throws open the door and pushes me inside. I stumble, then compose myself to take in the sea of faces around the conference table.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it’s not this. Somehow “underprivileged” had converged in my mind with…unpresentable. And that couldn’t be further than the truth. I feel myself blushing at my awkward entrance and my unfair assumptions.
As I take another hesitant step into the room, I catch the eye of one of the guys. His shaggy dark hair could stand a haircut, but he’s wearing the right suck-up clothes, including a tie that looks like a casual afterthought. His deep chocolate brown eyes lock onto mine, his wide mouth briefly curving in a smile that could easily slide into smirk territory. My heart does a little kick start as I take in his angular good looks and self-assured demeanor, but then I remember last year’s winter dance debacle, in which a guy like this humiliated me in front of the entire school.
I turn away, my gaze landing on a pretty blond girl, who may as well be a supermodel compared to me. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a brain hiding under all the pretty. Sitting next to her is a guy with close-cropped curls and smooth brown skin wearing a suit. He’s even more beautiful than the supermodel. He flashes me a quick grin that may or may not be genuine. I hope it is.
A disgusted snort startles me, and I turn around. Snorting girl leans against the doorjamb, chewing gum like it’s her mortal enemy. She has vampire skin—pale and translucent—spiky neon blue hair, and a glittering nose stud. She’s definitely not dressed for success, wearing ripped jeans and a black T-shirt with the anarchy symbol. She’s riveting, in a scary way.
“Well, look who’s here. Daddy’s girl.” Her slit-eyed glare makes me wish for a disappearing cloak.
My cheeks heat as I sink into the nearest chair. I didn’t want to reveal who my dad is, but she’s just blown my cover.
“Patricia, that’s enough,” Mr. Mantoni snaps, and the puzzle pieces rearrange themselves in my sputtering brain.
Mr. Mantoni has a daughter who just finished her first year of college. Trish—that’s what Mom calls her when she and Dad talk about work people. She used to attend the company holiday parties at our house, but I haven’t seen her in a few years. Last time I saw her she didn’t have blue hair, though she did have the attitude.
“Whatevs.” Trish flings a hand dismissively, then saunters around the table and plops into a chair next to Suit Guy. She arches an eyebrow and runs the tip of her tongue around her lips, eyeing him like he’s a delicious snack and she’s ravenous. Even though I suspect she’s going to make my life miserable, I’m in awe of her brazen technique––especially in front of her dad.
“Interns of Emergent Enterprises!” booms Mr. Mantoni. “Welcome to your own version of Survivor.” Tiny drops of spittle fly from his mouth, making me flinch. “May the best intern win!”
A cough sounds behind us and everyone turns to stare.
Especially me, because framed in the doorway like a dream come to life is Jason Riggs, a guy for whom I’ve long harbored a secret, pointless crush. Me and half the girls I know. It’s cliché, crushing on the quarterback, but I think it’s a high school requirement, like taking U.S. History.
“Sorry I’m late.” Jason’s gaze darts around the room, then lands back on Mr. Mantoni. “My car broke down and I had to run for the—”
“Off the island!” Mr. Mantoni points a finger in the air. “Tardiness will not be tolerated.”
Jason takes a step back, his green eyes wide. “B-but I—”
“Do you know what the world needs less of, young man? Excuses, that’s what. Your car breaks down, you have a plan B. Your flight gets canceled on the way to close a deal, you have a plan B.”
Mr. Mantoni wipes a hand across his sweaty brow. I study the other interns, all of whom look as shocked as Jason—except Trish, who’s aimed her tongue skills at the fresh meat hovering nervously in the doorway.
I can’t believe this is how the interns are being welcomed. I feel awful for Jason. He’s one of the few scholarship students at my school; rumor is he got a full ride because of his stunning athletic abilities. I have no doubt his ancient clunker broke down.
“Aw, come on, Mr. Mantoni,” Trish says, smacking her lips. “Cut the guy a break. It’s the first day.”
Crud. I wish I’d said that, especially when Jason gives her a dimpling, grateful smile. Instead, I covertly ogle Jason from under lowered lashes. That’s my technique, honed with years of practice.
“Interns!” Mr. Mantoni booms, jarring me out of my Jason trance. “I will put this to a vote. Who believes we should give this young man a second chance and allow him to stay?”
The interns stare at each other as I sneak another glance at Jason, who looks like he wants to bolt. His wavy blond hair needs combing and his blue dress shirt is half-untucked from his khakis. His tie looks like he borrowed it from his grandpa. In spite of, or maybe because of all this, he’s adorable.
“Show of hands!” Manicotti’s voice thunders. “If you think he should stay, raise your hand.”
Supermodel raises her hand tentatively. Surprised, I revise my snarky first impression of her. It was brave of her to do that. Suit Guy narrows his eyes suspiciously at Jason, while Chocolate Eyes shrugs and leans back in his chair like he doesn’t care one way or the other, but he doesn’t raise his hand. Guys are such competitive jerks, never giving each other a break.
I stare hard at Trish. Come on, I will her with my Jedi mind control, raise your hand. You’re the one who practically licked him by osmosis. Her gaze locks onto mine and her eyes narrow, but I don’t look away. Slowly, like it’s killing her to do it, her hand creeps into the air.
Mr. Mantoni huffs. “Two against two. A split decision can make or break a man.” He whirls on me. “It’s up to you, Laurel. Let him stay or cast him back into the ocean without a lifeboat?”
I don’t have to think twice. I raise my hand without hesitation and smile at Jason, who blinks and swallows, then graces me with a gorgeous grin, his gaze fully connecting with mine, sending my heart rate into the stratosphere.
Supermodel smiles at me, Trish rolls her eyes, Suit Guy frowns…and Chocolate Eyes? He studies me with an unnerving intensity that jolts me right out of my fuzzy Jason daydream. I blink and turn away from him.
A girl’s gotta take what she can get, and so I do, focusing on Jason’s sweet face because I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before this summer job blows up just like Alderaan.