Six
“Why do you always go into the office so early?” Leaving the house at seven a.m. on a summer day is criminal.
“Why do you think?” Dad’s thumbs bounce on the steering wheel in time to a horrible eighties hair band.
“I’m not in a riddle mood, Yoda.” I nibble on the granola bar I swiped on the way out of the house.
Dad chuckles and takes a sip from his coffee mug. He’s always been a morning person—just one more sign he’s from the dark side.
“Let me guess. Because you’re running the Empire and your work never stops?”
“Exactly.” He gives me an air cheers with his cup.
I grumble to myself, but softly so he can’t make out the words. Unlike yesterday, we don’t talk much on the way in. Dad listens to news on the radio and I put in my earbuds and resume my sci-fi audiobook.
Qa’hr has a plan to attack her alien captor with a metallic wall panel she’s managed to loosen, but she can’t decide when to do it. Part of me hopes a hot Captain Mal dude is going to show up and help save the day, but that’s not how this story goes; she has to save herself. I’m sure that’s important symbolism I should pay attention to in my own life, but I’d like at least one hot kissing scene before this book is over.
At the office, I make myself a cappuccino with the fancy one-cup machine and grab a donut from a box on the counter, silently thanking whoever brought them in.
Now it’s time to put my win-over-Miss-Emmaline plan into action. Last night I pondered why her animosity bugs me so much. It’s because she thinks I’m a slacker. She only busted me once last summer, but it colored her whole perception of me.
It’s bad enough worrying the interns think I’m useless; I don’t want Dad’s staff thinking that, too. Plus, she looks like a sweet little old lady from a cookie commercial. Shouldn’t she like everyone?
I approach her cautiously. She glances up but doesn’t return my smile.
“Good morning, Miss Emmaline.” I force extra enthusiasm into my voice.
“Laurel.” Her gaze sweeps over me and I wonder what she thinks.
Today I’m wearing this funky crocheted top Mom made and a swishy skirt. My sandals are strappy gladiators. I don’t think they’re against the dress code, but I guess I’ll find out. I decided not to fake it and dress like a mini-executive like Ashley. I’m going to be myself and not worry about impressing anyone. Including the guys.
“I see you found the donuts.” Miss Emmaline frowns.
A bolt of panic jolts through me. “I hope it’s okay that I took one.”
She nods. “They’re for everyone.”
“Did you bring them?”
“No, Ms. Romero did. Your dad makes sure we have them.”
Huh. Dad unleashes his sweet tooth at work, apparently. Donuts, brownies. I tuck that bit of info away for later use, then take a breath and launch phase one of my plan.
“Miss Emmaline, what do you call a pig that knows karate?”
Her frown deepens as I wait for her to play along. She doesn’t.
“A pork chop!” I laugh like this is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. A few employees crossing the lobby stare at me, but I keep the hilarity plastered on my face.
Miss Emmaline shakes her head and types on her keyboard, dismissing me. Sighing in resignation, I turn away. I take the elevator to the top floor, hoping my embarrassment at my failed joke will burn off by the time I reach my desk.
No surprise that I’m the first one in the intern wing; it’s not even eight o’clock yet. A woman in the finance area glances up and nods. I sit at my empty desk and eat my donut, allowing myself a few moments of self-pity, then I think about Qa’hr, who managed to loosen a spaceship wall panel with just her fingernails. Convincing the interns that I’m here to help should be a lot easier than that.
My computer whirs to life. I have one email, from Miss Emmaline. She’s sent it to the office distribution list, reminding everyone that next Friday is pizza day. Also, it’s a foosball tournament and people are supposed to bring desserts.
It will be painfully awkward if I’m the odd one out at the pizza party. But that’s assuming the worst––maybe by then I’ll have connected with some of the interns. I try rousing myself with a pep talk.
“Today’s a new day. Start fresh. Be the change.” I take a big bite of donut.
“Sounds noble.”
The voice startles me, and I jump, smearing chocolate icing on my face. I scrub my face with a napkin, but not fast enough. Carlos appears in front of me, that cocky grin of his firmly in place.
“Sorry I startled you.” He points to his nose. “You missed a spot.”
Fantastic. I wipe my nose with the napkin and will him to disappear into thin air, but of course he doesn’t. He’s not wearing a tie today, but he still looks…good. Really good. I remind myself of the reasons I can’t have a summer fling with an intern and add an extra reason just for him—he’s too…something. It’s a swagger, an aura he gives off like he’s got everything under control.
“Are there more donuts?” Carlos watches me warily, and I’m grateful mind reading isn’t a thing.
“Yeah. In the kitchen.”
He nods and heads for his desk. I watch as he unpacks his backpack. I shouldn’t stare but I can’t look away. He’s wearing khaki pants and a pale yellow Oxford shirt, a leather belt, and Sperrys that are worn but not trashed. He looks like he went to a prep school, yet he’s planning to attend the urban commuter college unless he wins the scholarship. An intriguing mystery.
No, I tell myself, I’m not intrigued.
“Want anything from the kitchen?” Carlos glances up and busts me staring at him.
Crud. I feel my cheeks heat as I wait for the smirk, but it stays hidden.
“Why’d you choose that desk?” I blurt.
“Why do you ask?” He crosses his arms over his chest and holds my gaze. I’m transfixed by his mouth, still hoping for the smirk. I think I spot a lip twitch, but it might be wishful imagining.
“Just making conversation.” I shrug, then blunder ahead. “It’s just…the other interns all chose prime window seats. Except you.”
This time his lips definitely twitch. “You didn’t.”
“I’m not an intern. I’m an assistant.”
His eyes widen briefly, then dart toward the windows. “Top secret,” he finally says. “You have your reasons and I have mine.”
Way to shut me down, dude. I turn back to my computer, wishing I had a hundred emails to distract me. I hear his footsteps come closer, but I ignore him, clicking the new message button. I’m typing gibberish, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Last call for another donut.” He stops in front of my desk, so close I can smell him. And he does not smell bad. The opposite, in fact.
“No thanks.” My fingers fly over the keys like the survival of my dad’s company depends on how fast I can type a nonsense string of letters. He looks ready to speak again, but he changes his mind and walks away quickly.
Even though my plan is to make friends with the interns and make myself useful, that plan sort of falls apart around Carlos.
My inbox pings with a new email from Mr. Mantoni and I spring to attention.
“Interns! Meet in the conference room at 9:00. Don’t be late.”
I take a deep breath and wish I’d asked Carlos to bring me a second donut.
…
By eight-thirty, everyone else has arrived. Today Ashley’s wearing a red dress, which only highlights her fabulous blondness. Jason can’t stop staring at her. He still looks slightly disheveled, though he’s managed to comb his hair. Elijah ratcheted his junior exec look down a notch, ditching the tie like Carlos. When they do the dude-chin-nod, I realize Jason didn’t acknowledge Carlos when he arrived. Interesting.
Trish is the last to arrive, wearing a long black skirt, a black blouse, black boots, a spider necklace, and dangling anarchy symbol earrings. I want to give her a thumbs-up, but I don’t since she’d probably slice off my thumb with a hidden switchblade. Still, I have a healthy respect for a girl who’s mastered the art of vicious compliance with dress codes.
The window-view interns focus on their computers, keyboards clacking. I wonder if they’re writing gibberish like me or surfing the internet. I glance at Carlos in the middle of the room. He’s propped his head on his hand, elbow on his desk as he reads a book. He’s polished off two donuts. Not that I’m spying.
My gaze shifts to Elijah, whose fingers flick over his phone screen. He glances up and smiles at me. Flustered, I turn back to my computer and resume typing nonsense.
There’s movement and rustling as everyone stands up. It’s almost nine o’clock. We all make our way down the stairs to the conference room, but we’re quiet. This bothers me because I don’t think Dad would want his interns to act like they’re headed to an execution. I wish he’d listened to me when I brought up my worries about the Manicotti.
We file into the conference room, taking seats around the table. Mr. Mantoni is already there. On the whiteboard is a new rule, in all caps.
8. NO FRATERNIZING!!!
Three exclamation points. This must be big. Elijah leans over and whispers to Carlos, who glances at the board with a sly grin. They fist-bump and I’m dying to know what they just said.
“Any questions, interns?” booms Mr. Mantoni, making Ashley flinch.
Jason’s hand shoots up. “By fraternizing do you mean, uh, well…what exactly do you mean?”
Ashley blushes prettily, Trish rolls her eyes, and Carlos and Elijah exchange wicked grins. I stare at Hello Kitty and start drawing whirlpools in my notebook.
“I mean no boy-girl stuff.” Mr. Mantoni points at all of us, wagging a warning finger.
“What about girl-girl stuff?” Trish asks and Elijah chuckles. My pen digs into the paper as I color in my whirlpool. I glance up in time to see the Manicotti’s neck vein bulge.
“You all know exactly what I mean. None of it on the premises.”
Ashley tosses her hair over her shoulder. “But off-premises is okay? After work’s over?”
I can’t look at any of the guys because I know their eyes are bugging out. Other body parts might be, too, and I definitely don’t want to know about that.
Mr. Mantoni folds his bulging arms, reminding me of a sumo wrestler. “Look, it’s clear what I mean. No funny stuff on the job.” He glances at me and I wonder if this new rule is because of Dad seeing Jason and me talking after work yesterday. Ugh.
“Our full-time employees have the same rule,” Mr. Mantoni continues. “We don’t allow romantic relationships between people in unequal power positions. For instance, a supervisor and his or her underling.”
“Gross,” Trish says. “No one here is interested in that, since you’re the supervisor.” Ashley’s eyes widen in horror and Carlos does his cough-laugh.
I’m stuck on the word “underling.” Who says that in real life?
“Part of working together is forming bonds,” the Manicotti continues, ignoring Trish. “Teaming up on projects. But everything needs to stay professional, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I mutter under my breath.
I don’t have to worry about this stupid rule, but Ashley does; I’m sure all the guys want to fraternize with her. I draw a girl with a giant F on her chest, yelling, “Help! I was caught fraternizing!” I smile to myself as I doodle. When I glance up, Carlos is watching me with an inscrutable look. He points to my notebook and gestures like he wants to see it.
No freaking way. I shake my head. We’re across the table from each other so my doodles are safe from his prying eyes, but still…I shoot him a slit-eyed warning glare. Laughter dances in his eyes, eliciting butterfly swirls in my stomach. Evidently the butterflies are now on Team Carlos.
“We’re starting with a brief presentation by our marketing director today.” Mr. Mantoni scribbles Marketing on the whiteboard. “She’ll go over a few of our popular campaigns and talk about how we came up with them. Then we’re going to turn you loose on a test project.”
Everyone sits up straighter, except for Trish, who lounges in her chair, snapping gum. Carlos catches my eye again, a quizzical look in his eyes. I turn away.
A light knock sounds on the door, then it opens, and a tall, slim woman enters. She reminds me of Halle Berry, and I recognize her from past holiday parties at our house.
“Hello everyone, I’m Katherine Simmons. Please call me Ms. Simmons.” She smiles around the table and nods with recognition when her gaze lands on me. Trish sighs in annoyance.
Ms. Simmons sets her laptop on the table and picks up a remote. Cheesy music wafts from the ceiling speakers. Mr. Mantoni leaves, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“This is a presentation we use for prospective clients,” Ms. Simmons says. “It’s an overview of some of our most successful ad campaigns and gives a glimpse into our employee culture.” She dims the overhead lights and we all focus on the screen.
“Where’s the popcorn?” Elijah whispers. Ms. Simmons cocks a disapproving eyebrow in his direction, but a contradictory smile curves her lips.
We watch a slick mini-movie that includes my dad being pithy, Ms. Simmons talking about branding, and a few people I don’t recognize extolling the awesomeness of Emergent Enterprises. Interspersed with these nuggets of wisdom are shots of magazine ads, social media ads, a couple of TV spots, and photos from events.
“Product launches,” Ms. Simmons says as we study images from a fancy foodie event and a packed floor of trade booths at the convention center. The last few photos are from charity events—Emergent employees at the Race for the Cure, serving a holiday dinner at a homeless shelter, wrapping toys in Christmas paper.
I have to admit the propaganda movie makes my dad’s company look cool…and him, too. An unexpected pulse of pride strums through me.
Ms. Simmons turns the lights back on and we all blink at each other.
“First, you’re all going to work as a team. I want you to come up with a product launch campaign. Figure out your target audience, stay within a budget, and give me your best idea.”
Ashley’s grin is wide, her lips red and glossy to match her dress. Jason chews his lip, a nervous habit he’s had since forever. Trish studies Ms. Simmons, actually looking interested, which surprises me. Elijah and Carlos take notes on their laptops.
Carlos looks up from his laptop. “Is this a real product or a fake one?”
“It’s real, but not for a company we represent. It’s a warm-up activity for you.”
Ashley clears her throat. “What about each of us working on our own project? I thought we got to do that.”
Ms. Simmons’s responding smile is tight. “You will, eventually.” She glances at me. “Don’t forget that Laurel is part of your team, too. She’ll be happy to assist however you need.”
Whoa. Who told her to say that? I bet it was Dad. Ugh. Everyone glances at me, but no one smiles.
“Now, for the product,” Ms. Simmons says dramatically. She reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a plain white box. Everyone shifts in their chairs, leaning forward. I fantasize about an oversized jack-in-the-box sprouting a maniacal clown.
But when Ms. Simmons opens the box, she pulls out…a miniature Death Star. We all look at each other––correction, they all look at each other. In my excitement, I try to make eye contact with someone, anyone. I wonder if this is my dad’s private message to me. That would be epic, but I don’t think he’s that clever.
“What is that?” Carlos asks, frowning.
“You don’t recognize it?” I’m disappointed. Even non-geeks should know it on sight.
“I know it’s the Death Star.” The smirk flashes. “But what does it do?”
Jason picks it up. “I think it’s a speaker.” He flips it over. “Yeah, Bluetooth connection.”
“Let me see it.” Ashley holds out her hand and Jason slides it toward her. She studies it like she’s never seen the Death Star. I bet she hasn’t ever seen Star Wars. I wonder if she’s one of those people who dismisses all things geeky. “Is this for kids?”
Ms. Simmons shrugs. “That’s for you all to figure out.”
“Dude.” Elijah glowers at Ashley. “Star Wars is for everyone. Not just kids.”
Is Elijah part of my secret tribe? He must feel my worshipful stare because he graces me with a grin.
“What’s our fake budget?” Carlos asks.
“Three thousand. It’s a small start-up company,” Ms. Simmons says. “Let’s pretend they’re based in a tiny town in North Dakota and this is their first product. They’re passionate about it, but don’t have money. They’ve set up a website but haven’t sold much.”
“Hey, this is a real thing.” Jason waves his phone at us. “It’s on Amazon for fifty bucks.”
Note to self: buy Death Star speaker with first paycheck.
“Ah,” says Ms. Simmons, “that reminds me. For this exercise I want you to pretend Amazon doesn’t exist.”
“What?” Jason yelps.
“I know it seems unfair.” Ms. Simmons smiles apologetically. “Selling this on Amazon is the easy way out. I want to see how creative you can be without using the retail gorilla.”
Carlos runs a hand over his mouth, hiding a smirk. I wonder why he finds this so amusing. He seems to find a lot of things amusing. Our gazes meet across the table and hold until I look away, my breathing coming faster than normal.
“Just sell it at Comic Con,” Trish says, finally chiming in. “Travel around the country to all the comic cons.”
“Genius,” Elijah whispers, putting out his hand for a fist-bump. Trish complies, smug and triumphant.
I have to admit it’s a great idea. I love Comic Con. Denver’s is the third biggest in the country and I go every year. I’m almost done making my Qa’hr costume for this year.
“Interesting idea.” Ms. Simmons closes her laptop and slides it into her tote bag. “Remember, the fake company is in the middle of nowhere, not close to any big comic con cities.” She slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. I look forward to your presentation.” She hands me a stack of papers. “Laurel, please make copies of this for everyone.”
I nod, even as my face burns. Copies. Snacks. Great. But I’m the one who offered to work as an assistant. I shouldn’t complain. The room is quiet until she leaves, but as soon as she closes the door, everyone starts talking at once.
“This is dumb,” Jason complains. “If we can’t sell it on Amazon what are we supposed to do?”
“She’s treating us like children,” Ashley complains. “It’s a toy, for goodness sake.” She slides it down the table to Elijah, who picks it up with the reverence it deserves.
“This is not a toy.” Elijah stares down Jason. “Dude. We’re supposed to be creative. Amazon’s too easy.”
Carlos tilts his chin at Trish. “I like your idea. Let’s see if there are any small comic cons within driving distance to Podunk, North Dakota.” His fingers fly over his keyboard.
A hot current bursts through me as Trish smiles at Carlos. Reminding myself to focus on the project, I doodle a small Death Star in my notebook, with music notes wafting out of it. I love that Elijah’s a nerd because at first glance he seems way too cool for geekdom.
I used to fantasize that Jason was secretly a geeky jock, and that someday we’d discover a shared love of dorky fandoms. But as he stares into space, his only idea to sell the speaker on Amazon, disappointment washes over me. Just because he looks like he might star on The Big Bang Theory meets Friday Night Lights doesn’t make it real. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My fantasies never come true.
As everyone chatters around me, I lean across the table to pick up the Death Star. Whoever came up with it was brilliant; I’d like to meet him or her.
“I’m sure your dad will buy you one,” Trish snarks.
The room goes quiet and I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Heat crawls up my skin. I force a smile, pretending her statement was innocent rather than an insult.
“I’ll buy it myself. After payday.” I don’t want everyone thinking what a spoiled daddy’s girl I am.
“Seriously?” Ashley asks, her perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up. “Why would you want it?”
“Because I love Star Wars. And it’s portable, which is cool.”
“How convenient,” Trish says, her voice laden with sarcasm. “You could take it out to your swimming pool. Or your horse stables.”
Apparently Trish hasn’t forgotten anything from when she visited our house. I can’t make eye contact with anyone. This is mortifying. She’s made me look like a spoiled rich girl in a room full of people who are here because they need money for college.
I take a breath and turn the speaker over in my hands, determined to ignore Trish and act normal. “Anyone want anything from the kitchen?”
Everyone shakes their heads in unison, so I set the speaker on the table, grab the stack of papers from Ms. Simmons, and leave, closing the door behind me, but not quick enough to drown out Ashley’s voice.
“She has horse stables? For real?”
I wish I was like Rey in The Force Awakens, brave and tough. Or Princess Leia, snarky and brilliant. But right now, I feel like a young Anakin Skywalker, when no one thought he was capable of piloting his own Podracer, let alone winning a race.
…
The copier is in the supply room next to the kitchen. A couple of people stand around talking, but they don’t pay any attention to me as I try to decipher the copier’s touch screen.
“Need any help?”
I glance up, meeting the curious blue eyes of a guy who looks to be in his late twenties with curly red hair and a friendly smile.
“Uh, yeah.” I return his smile, grateful for his offer. “I need to collate and staple this stuff.”
He touches the screen and walks me through the steps, making me feel like an idiot because it’s so simple.
“You one of the summer interns?” He leans against a large metal filing cabinet, watching me with friendly curiosity.
I shake my head and stare at the copier as it spits out papers. “No. I’m…assisting them, sort of.” I glance at him, and he frowns. Then his expression clears.
“Oh, wait a minute,” he says. “You’re Mr. K’s daughter, right?”
“Yeah, I’m Laurel.”
The guy holds out his hand. “I’m Brian.”
It takes me a second to realize I’m supposed to shake his hand. I do, feeling like an impostor in a world where I don’t quite belong.
“Well, good luck, Laurel. This is a cool place to work, but I guess you already know that.” He smiles again, and I feel off balance.
He’s way too old for me, obviously, but he’s friendly. I could use a friend around here. The copier continues to whir and make a weird chunking sound every time it staples a new stack of papers. Maybe I could move my desk in here and be the copy queen. Boring but safe.
“See you around, Laurel.”
“It was nice meeting you.”
He grins and flips me a wave as he leaves.
I take the elevator to the roof, hoping no one else is there. It’s my favorite place at Emergent, surrounded by potted trees and plants, with small conversation areas set up in the corners. Fortunately, no one else is here. I beeline to the farthest corner and flop into a cushioned wicker chair.
I have to figure out a way to survive. I picture Trish’s pinched face. Somewhere underneath that attitude is a girl like me. We shouldn’t be enemies. Maybe I should try talking to her, even though the thought makes my stomach twist.
I lean back in the chair and let the warm sun beat down on my upturned face. Below me, traffic hums, horns honk, and a distant siren ramps up its volume. I love being downtown, so that’s one thing I can do to cope––use my lunch break to explore. I can start shooting photos for the Faces of Denver photography contest I plan to enter. I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket but instead of texting Lexi I text my sister Kendra.
Can you talk?
What’s wrong?
Summer job from hell.
Ugh. Sorry.
How’s your job going?
Great!
I sigh as I stare at my phone. If Trish thought I led a charmed life, she should meet Kendra.
Is Dad being a pain?
Not too bad. But it’s weird with the interns. I’m supposed to be their “assistant” but I don’t think they’re going to let me.
Let’s talk tonight. Ten o’clock your time?
Sure.
She texts me a bunch of hearts and I shove my phone back in my pocket. I take the stairs down to the third floor, hoping none of the interns ever finds out about the rooftop. I’d like to have an escape pod no one else knows about.
The interns are at their desks. I drop off the copies, head down so I can avoid eye contact. When I flop into my desk chair, my Hello Kitty notebook winks up at me. Oh no; I left it on the conference table. Who brought it back? And did they look inside to see my stupid doodles and notes about everyone?
I open my notebook and discover to my horror that someone has not only read my notes but commented on them.
Note: Jason, while adorable, is not very prepared. Comment: He’s definitely not prepared. You really think he’s adorable?
Note: Does Trish like Elijah? Comment: Trish flirts with everyone.
Note: Carlos is trouble. Comment: True. Is Carlos adorable?
Note: Too little, too late, Manicotti. Comment: Who’s the pasta?
Note: Bring camera and yarn to work tomorrow. And knitting needles for self-defense. Comment: Now you’re scaring me. Do you take photos before or after you stab a person?
That one makes me laugh out loud. Who did this? I sneak glances around the room but no one’s paying any attention to me. I expel a long sigh and stash my notebook in a drawer.
Note to self: never, ever leave private items unattended.
…
During my ride home with Dad, I quiz him about the Death Star.
“Who came up with the test project?”
“Ms. Simmons. Why?”
I study his profile for any signs of lying, but it’s hard to tell since he’s watching the road instead of me.
“So, it’s just a coincidence that it’s a Star Wars product?”
“Is it?” He glances at me, surprised, then grins. My dad has a great smile, but I don’t see it very often when he’s in work mode. “What is it?”
“A Death Star Bluetooth speaker.”
He laughs, something else I don’t hear too often. “You sure it wasn’t your idea?”
“I wish.” I sound irritable and his smile evaporates.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I turn to stare out the window.
We’re quiet for a bit, then he speaks again. “Well, it’s a weird coincidence, but a good one. I’m sure you can help the interns with a lot of great ideas on how to market it.”
Oh, yeah, Dad Vader. My geekspertise is in great demand.
After more silence, Dad turns on the radio to listen to droning stock market news, so I plug in my earbuds and listen to my book. The kidnapper alien brings Qa’hr food once a day, and this time when it opens the door to her cell, she’s ready. She slices the jagged edge of the metallic wall panel across the alien’s body and when it doubles over, oozing goop, she bolts to freedom.
…
My sister Kendra calls me promptly at ten, as promised. I hear laughter and music in the background, then it fades away. I picture her leaving a party and moving to the balcony of her apartment. She lived in the dorms her first year, but now she’s living off-campus with two friends. I try not to resent her freedom.
“Hey, Laurel-bell, how are you?”
When she uses my childhood nickname, my resentment fades. I love my sister, and I miss her.
“Laurel,” she prompts, “are you okay?”
I lean back against my headboard and close my eyes. “Yeah. Just being whiny. It’s my superpower.”
She laughs in my ear. “No, it’s not. What’s up? Is working for Dad that bad?”
I sigh into the phone. “It’s not him so much as the Manicotti, and…well, you know about the scholarship, right?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome.”
“It is, but I’m sort of freaking out because Dad wants me to vote on who wins. He says I get two votes.”
“What?” Her voice pierces my eardrum. “Seriously?
“I know. It’s crazy. I mean, I offered to give him my feedback on the interns, but I don’t want responsibility for the decision.”
“No way. Besides, they probably all deserve it. What do you think of them so far?”
I pick at the crocheted afghan on my bed, made by Mom when I was five years old. “I don’t know them yet. It’s only the first week. But they all seem smart.” I blow out a breath. “Jason Riggs is one of them.”
“Ooh…you always had a thing for him, right?”
“He’s okay. Not quite what I expected, up close and personal.”
“I know just what you mean. When I dated Chris Hemsworth that’s exactly what happened. He’s not very cute with his shirt off.”
“Shut up,” I say through my laughter.
“Look,” Kendra says, her voice now serious. “Dad has you there for a reason. You’re smart, Laurel. And you read people well.”
Maybe. I’ve managed to avoid a lot of drama and general assholery in school by being very picky about who I spend time with.
“Get to know them,” Kendra continues. “Ask Dad if you can read their applications to get some insight. If you do have to make this decision, everyone should get a fair shot.”
“Thanks, Ken. You’re right, as much as I hate to admit it.” She laughs softly in my ear and I wish she was flopped on the bed next to me. “I wish I could channel your friend-making skills. You always know how to win people over.”
She huffs in my ear. “Not true. We have different styles, but people like you, too. Everyone thinks you’re funny. And you’re adorable, like I want to put you in my pocket adorable.”
“Great. So, I’m a real-life Polly Pocket doll.” I roll my eyes all the way San Diego.
“See what I mean? Funny and adorable. Use that.”
“So far it’s not working. I can’t even get Miss Emmaline to laugh at my jokes.”
“Really? I love Miss Emmy. She’s all crusty on the outside but gooey on the inside.”
“Like a pie, only filled with poison.”
Kendra chuckles in my ear. “What about the girl interns? Start with them. Work up to the guys, if they make you nervous.”
I picture scary Trish and beautiful Ashley. “Not sure that will work.”
“Oh, come on, Laurel. Working women have to stick together. You can’t believe how much sexism is still out there.”
“Sure, I can.” I tell her about Mantoni’s sexist secretary remarks and she groans.
“I’m sure you can bond with the other girls. Women always have something in common with each other, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first.”
I close my eyes and burrow into my giant pile of pillows. Kendra always finds a way to bond with other girls, but it’s not as easy for me. Not everyone appreciates my goofy ways when I try to be funny, or when I reveal too much of my nerdiness.
“I’ll try.”
“Good girl,” Kendra says. “Report back to me later this week.”
“Roger that.”
“Over and out, sister.”
We disconnect, and I stare at the ceiling, wishing I could channel even an ounce of my sister’s charisma.