I was a ball of nervous energy over the next few days, and my mind bounced from one thought to another. What if I didn't get the job? What if I couldn't make next week's rent. I couldn't keep relying on the boys to help me. Should I be packing right now? Preparing myself to be kicked to the curb?
But then again, what if I did get the job?
Or what if I got the job, but then couldn't handle it, and then they fired me? I mean, that was definitely a possibility, considering my resume had been pretty exaggerated. Sure, I had a viral fluke once, but that didn't make me a social media marketing goddess!
I found myself wishing that hadn't used up all my mobile data watching YouTube videos, because I could have used it to research marketing tactics instead. But thankfully, being jobless gave me a surprising amount of free time, so I was able to find a spot of free Wi-Fi at a shabby café a few blocks down from my apartment.
Of course, I could have just gone to the library, but that would require spending money on transport, and it was cheaper to just buy a coffee.
It had been nearly a week since I'd gotten fired, and my presence as an internet meme was well and truly doing the rounds. I definitely got noticed on the street on my way down to the café, and as someone who didn't exactly go out of their way to steal the spotlight, it was a strange sensation. One that nearly had me running back to my apartment, locking the door, and hiding under the blankets for the rest of the day.
But once I'd made it to the café, it hadn't been so bad. There was a tiny nook right at the back, and I decided it would be the perfect spot to hide away from the world for a few hours. I ordered my ordinary, almond milk latte— this café wasn't as spectacular as Starbucks, so the options were a little limited— and then turned to go sit at my chosen spot.
Only to find it now occupied.
Scanning the room, I grimaced, as the only other spot that seemed to be available was at the bench running along the wide, spacious windows looking out at the street. Grudgingly, I made my way over and sat down on the tiny, wooden stool. For a brief moment, I was too self-conscious to pull out my phone, and just sat there twiddling my thumbs. But eventually, I drew up enough confidence, and convinced myself that nobody would recognise me just sitting here— or care enough to judge me. I mean, what would they even judge me about?
I guess it just felt like I was a loner, sitting here with no friends, trying desperately to educate myself so I could get another job. Which was the reality, but no one else needed to know that.
"It's... Wren, right?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin, spinning around. Standing there was... Wesley, I think? If I recalled correctly. He was holding that giant duffel bag again, slugging it off his shoulder and dumping it at his feet.
"Uh—um yeah," I stammered quickly, regaining my composure. He sort of grimaced, but it was enough for me to realise he was trying to be friendly.
"What brings you to a place like this?" he mused, fiddling absently with the bag, and pulling out various lenses and a camera. He pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat down, so we were almost eye level.
"A place like this?" I asked, slightly confused. "You mean... like, a coffee shop?"
He actually laughed at that, while screwing a lens onto the camera.
"No, I mean the slums of LA. Not exactly safe for a young girl like yourself. And especially not someone who's gaining fame and popularity by the day. Even if it's just from a meme."
YOU ARE READING
Life of WrenTeen Fiction
It started with a Starbucks drink, and it ended in a viral meme. Nineteen-year-old Wren Robinson had it all- the perfect boyfriend, an architecture degree, and a life of comfort and luxury- until she threw it all away to chase a dream of living in L...