Who Never Had Dreams When We Were Young?

Part 8

I inserted the tiny key into the lock and turned. A quiet yet satisfying 'click' sounded. I lifted the rusty cover up and sifted through the pile of envelopes and flyers inside.

A stack of phone bills dating back to three months ago. Last month's utilities bill. A letter from the landlady demanding an explanation for the recent 'supernatural activities'. A flyer for the nearby supermarket mega sale. I folded the flyer neatly before pocketing it.

The last envelope bore the logo of the local examination board. I raised my eyebrows. Did they finally reject her application? I tore open the envelope and glanced through the letter. I was wrong—unfortunately. I should have expected this to happen after that conservation in the taxi last month.

"Where did you get the money from?" I asked, setting the letter on the table. "There's no way you have two hundred dollars just lying about."

"Of course not." Rachel looked away. "I used the 'tips' you received with my help to pay your registration fees."

"But that money is supposed to—"

"Which is why I found another part-time job in the day for you." She grinned as she held up a newspaper. "You should hurry up and finish your breakfast. Your interview is at 8."

I took a closer look at the newspaper. "A convenience store cashier?"

She nodded her head proudly. "$6 per hour, 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., with a one-hour lunch break in between. We can raise enough money in a week."

"You really want me to die of exhaustion, don't you?"

"That's not a bad idea, honestly." She pointed a finger at me and grinned. "You better not mess up the interview-or else I'll haunt you till you die."

What does she mean by 'not mess up'? I shifted slightly in my chair and tapped my foot on the floor discreetly. The lack of air-conditioning in the cramped office only added to my misery.

"Handle cash transactions, keep the store clean, stock the shelves regularly and above all, provide good customer service." The middle-aged manager raised his eyebrow. "Are you able to commit to all these duties?"

I nodded my head slightly. "I'll do my best."

He glanced at my short, handwritten resume. "It says here that you have a diploma in interior design. Why did you choose this job instead?"

That was unexpected. I hesitated. Should I answer honestly or give a politically correct answer?

"I need money to pay for the university entrance exam," I mumbled before I could stop myself.

Well, that's it. I officially blew my chance at passing this interview.

"A daring answer, young man." He gave a curt nod. "I'll show you around the store. If possible, you can start work today. I shall monitor your progress."

"What?" I almost forgot to thank the manager as he strode out of the office.

A hint of a smile flickered in his stern eyes. "Work hard for your future, young man."