“Ohmygod, look at you, Livi. My baby’s all grown up.”
I felt myself blush a deep red as the blond, blue-eyed bombshell who’d raised me since I was seven snapped another picture of me.
“Auntie Kay.” I muttered, dragging out her name in embarrassment and letting my eyes drop to the floor.
She chuckled softly and I felt her finger under my chin, lifting my face up so I was looking into the full length mirror that stood before me.
I stared back at myself. About five foot five, I'm not particularly tall or short, which suits me just fine; I like blending into the crowd. With auburn hair and ivory skin peppered with the occasional freckle, my green eyes are the only thing about me that stands out. They aren’t a pale green, or a grey green, or an I’m-kind-of-green-depending-on-the-weather-green. They are a BOOM-IN-YOUR-FACE-GREEN. They’re always the first thing people comment on when they see me.
“Oh my god, your eyes are so green!” “Are those contacts? They can’t be real!” I’d actually considered getting contacts once, just to get people to shut up about it. But I’m a total baby about anything going near my eyes. Auntie Kay had to literally pin me down just to put mascara on me this morning. So, the contacts plan was scrapped and now I just awkwardly stare at the floor and mumble a quiet ‘thanks’ when anyone feels the need to remind me that my eyes are, yes, green.
I focused my attention back on my reflection and gulped. I looked like a grown-up. I mean, technically I am an "adult" since I’d turned eighteen last Wednesday. Yet even then, I’d still felt like my scrawny, girlish self. But now, in my new black business suit, leather briefcase in hand, I looked like I was somebody. Well, I mean of course I'm somebody. But somebody important, you know?
I shook my head quickly, having successfully confused myself.
“I just want to remember this moment forever. My baby’s first job. And at the fricken New York Times, too.”
I smiled up at her. “It’s an internship. Not a real job. They only give me a stipend for travel and stuff—not even a real paycheck.”
My aunt waved me away with her hand. “Details, details,” she grinned. “Remind me how many people applied for this internship?”
I looked down and shuffled my feet, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a big ol’ grin on my face.
“Ahem,” she coughed, raising her eyebrows at me.
“A few,” I muttered sheepishly.
She rolled her eyes at me. “I think twenty-five thousand applicants counts as more than a few. And how many were selected?” She asked, poking me in the stomach.
I squealed and jumped away. That bully—she knows that’s my weak spot.
“How many?” She asked again, before breaking out into the annoying sing-song voice she uses whenever she wants to rile me up. “I can’t hear you, Livi. How many?”
Her finger was coming at me again, so I laughed and threw my hands up in mock defeat. “Okay, okay. Three people. Three people were selected.”
“Uh huh,” she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “So don’t tell me this isn’t a big deal. Now let me get one more look at you.”
She took a step back, looking me over and cocking her head to the side as she examined me from head to toe. If anyone else had looked at me like she was now, I’d have felt violated and would have probably turned about the shade of a tomato. But Auntie Kay had been there through everything; she was my best friend.
“You almost look too snazzy to be a journalist. Shouldn’t you have a coffee stain on your shirt or something?” She frowned.
I rolled my eyes, but stepped away. Knowing her, she’d probably purposefully stain my new silk shirt for “artistic effect.”
She smiled at my retreat. “Never mind. Knowing you, there will be all kinds of stains on your shirt by the end of the day.”
“Hey!” I protested, pretending to be offended, but I let it slide, because, well it was true. I was just about the biggest klutz on the planet.
I looked back at Auntie Kay, who was staring at me thoughtfully, her eyes glazing over as if she were somewhere else. “Auntie Kay?” I asked quietly, wondering what was wrong.
She closed her eyes for a moment as if she were fighting back tears. “It’s just,” she paused and let out a shaky breath. “You look so much like her right now. It’s crazy.”
I felt myself tense up, knowing exactly who she was talking about, but didn’t say anything. The grainy pattern of the wooden floor was suddenly fascinating.
“I’m sorry,” Auntie Kay said hurriedly. “I know you don’t like talking about her. It’s just, moments like these, I really wish she was here to see you.”
“It’s fine.” I smiled gently at her, letting her know I was okay. There was an awkward moment of silence before I stole a glance at the clock. It was five to nine.
“Well, I’d probably better get going,” I said, moving to the front door.
Auntie Kay finally snapped out of her trance and gave me a cheeky grin. “Don’t be silly. No real journalist shows up on time. If you show up on time AND without a coffee stain, no one’s going to take you seriously.”
I laughed and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m sure I’ll have some kind of stain on my shirt by the time I get there. Don’t you worry.” She pulled me into a hug and gave me a tight squeeze, before pushing me out the door with a slap on the butt.
“Hey! Watch it!” I winked. She winked back and I let out a giggle as I bounded down the stairs.
New York Times. Here I come!
Just kidding. More like giant puddle of rain water, here I come.
"Are you okay, miss?" A man, about forty years old, asked worriedly, peering down at me as I lay sprawled out across the sidewalk.
Ugh. I knew I couldn’t pull off heels.
“Yeah, thanks.” I mumbled, blushing bright red and allowing him to help me up.
“You be more careful, okay?” He said slowly, as if he were talking to someone really dense before giving me a pat on the head like I was a little kid.
I gave him a weak smile as he turned away, before letting out a huff, and blowing the wisps of hair that had fallen into my face out of my eyes. So much for being a grown-up.
I hurried down into the Subway station and was waiting in line to put my ticket through when I heard the thundering noise of my train’s arrival.
“Oh nooo!” I cried, glancing, panicked, at the five or so people who were ahead of me in line. There was no way I was going to make it. Sure enough, I listened with dread as my train pulled away, the squeals of its wheels echoing back through the tunnel as if they were mocking me. The next one wouldn’t be here for fifteen minutes. I was so going to be late.
“At least, now you’re a real journalist,” I muttered bitterly to myself as I pushed my ticket into the slot and walked out onto the platform.
I was putting my train card back in my wallet when all of a sudden I heard someone cry “Watch out!” and turned just in time to have three Starbucks coffees come flying at me as the guy who had been holding them fell to the ground. I looked down in horror at my new outfit, drenched in someone’s non-fat, vanilla latte.
Okay, I have no idea what kind of drink it was. But it was all over me.
“I am soo sorry,” the young man said, scrambling to his feet and pulling a roll of paper towels out of his backpack.
I cocked my head in confusion. Who carries around a roll of paper towels?
“I have to get my boss her coffee but I forgot if she likes non-fat or skim or sugar-free so I just got one of each and I was late so I wasn’t looking where I’m going and oh god, she’s going to kill me…” he spluttered as he hurriedly patted my chest down with his paper towels.
It was awkward to say the least but I felt genuinely bad for the guy, and brushed his hands away with a smile.
“It’s fine,” I told him, bending down to gather the papers he had dropped along with all his coffee cups. “Honestly, don’t worry about it.”
He gave me a grateful smile and pulled me into a big hug. “You are an angel!” He cried before gathering his belongings and scurrying off in to the crowd.
I smiled after him, before looking down at my coffee-drenched suit. Oh well. What’s done is done. Whoa. When did I get this care-free?
I frowned at my own nonchalance, half-worrying, half-admiring (my normal tendency is to overreact about everything) and sighed in relief as my train pulled up.
After an awkward twenty minute ride next to a man having…er…a rather intimate phone call, I hurried off the train and out into New York City. Out on the street, I looked up and gasped.
There it was. The New York Times building, towering over me and shining in all its brilliance. This was my dream. And it was happening. I couldn’t believe it.
I broke from my reverie (I swear, there was a hallelujah chorus playing in my head) to steal a quick glance at my watch and reality hit. I was twenty minutes late. On my first day. Shit. I don’t curse a lot, but this really felt like an expletive-worthy moment.
Hurrying in, I did as the orientation e-mail had instructed. Wait. What had the orientation e-mail instructed?
Interns are to take the hallway in the northwest corner of the lobby to Elevator C.
Right. Northwest corner. Wait. Northwest? WHICH WAY IS NORTHWEST? Why can’t they say left or right like normal people? I let out a huff of frustration, took a random guess and darted down the narrow looking hallway at the back of the building.
After about twenty feet I reached an elevator…Elevator C!
Yes! I mentally high-fived myself before returning to the e-mail in my head. Why hadn’t I printed this out again? Auntie Kay’s words echoed through my mind (“For such a smart girl you really can be quite stupid”) and seemed truer than ever at this moment.
Okay. Breathe. You can remember this.
The elevator will require a code. The code is:
I blanked. The code is? Yes? What is the fricken code? JESUS. I was pacing back and forth now. It started with a B. No. There was number. B22. Nonono. That’s not it. AHH.
Suddenly, a cough from behind made me freeze. An old man in a janitor’s uniform stared down at me. He was one of those people who has a round everything: round cheeks, a round face, a round body, round eyes and at the moment, his round mouth was smilingly knowingly at me.
“Having trouble, little miss?” He chuckled.
For a moment I just started blankly at him, struck by his resemblance to a clean-shaven Santa Clause before my embarrassment caught up with me and I looked down at the floor, blushing and mumbling something incoherent. He just gave another laugh before patting me kindly on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, hon. Everyone forgets. I still write it on my hand.” Sure enough, he stuck out his hand, on which in a sharpie he had written the code “D12.” I gave him a grateful smile, mumbled a quick thanks, and punched in the code before stepping into the elevator.
The doors closed and I was surrounded by elevator music. What is this? Smooth jazz? Yuck. No, Liv. Now is not the time to be thinking about the elevator music. I breathed in and out, trying to steady my nerves. It wasn’t working and I was just about to collapse to the floor in defeat when that terrifying ‘bing’ went off and the doors opened jerkily.
Shyly, I stepped out into a huge, brightly lit room where dozens of people were talking loudly on phones or typing away on their computers. This is where things get done, I thought, allowing myself a brief moment of awe before realizing that I was now 25 minutes late.
Crap.
I hurried over to the conference room (first door on your left) that the e-mail had mentioned and, took a deep breath before turning the handle and stepping into a spacious office. Running down the middle of the room was a long, mahogany table at which two other young people (one guy and one girl…presumably the other interns) were sitting.
Another man sat at the head of the table, about forty years old, his brown hair graying and his laugh lines showing. He gave me a warm smile, and something about him immediately calmed my nerves.
“Miss Liv Mirdeen, I presume?” He asked, standing up to shake my hand. “Our third and final intern. Welcome to the team. I’m Bob, an editor here at the Times and the boring guy in the suit whom you’ll be reporting to.”
He let out a hearty chuckle before turning to face the guy and the girl sitting at the table.
“Here are our two other interns. Jerry,” he pointed to the tall, blond-haired guy who flashed me a winning smile, “and Sally,” he beckoned to a rather pudgy, redheaded girl who was staring at me, transfixed.
“Uh, hi.” I smiled nervously.
There was a moment of awkward silence that always accompanies introductions for me, which the redhead quickly broke.
“You have the greenest eyes!” She blurted out.
“Yeah,” I frowned and mumbled, to myself, “so I’ve heard,” before smiling at her, not wanting to be rude.
“So, I was just getting everyone acquainted with what they’re going to do. Today’s going to be kind of a slow day, being your first and all, but don’t worry, we’ll have you working like crazy in no time.” Bob smiled at me.
“Can’t wait,” I grinned.
“She’s late.” A deep voice from the back rang out, startling me. I jumped and turned around to see, sitting at the far end of the table, the most gorgeous guy I had ever laid eyes on.
He had chiseled cheek bones and a strong jaw, with short jet black hair that spiked up subtly as the top. With a five o'clock shadow and a sharp, angular nose, there was something mysterious about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on. And at the moment, he was glaring at me with his piercing blue eyes.
I gulped and began to apologize, but Bob’s voice cut through from behind me. “Simon, be nice please. It’s the first day.”
Simon snorted, before tearing his eyes from me to give Bob a dubious look.
“This is the most competitive internship in the country. If you can’t get here on time, or figure out how to drink a cup of coffee with your mouth, not your suit,” he gave a pointed glance at my coffee-soaked suit, “then you shouldn’t be here.”
I opened my mouth to explain, but again Bob spoke. “Well, considering you’re the one who insisted that we chose Miss Mirdeen to help you with your project, perhaps you should give her a second chance.”
Simon’s eyes widened momentarily and he glanced at me, more carefully this time, looking me over from head to toe in a way that had my cheeks burning.
“This is the application I read?”
“Yes,” Bob said curtly before turning to me, and smiling apologetically.
There was an awkward pause which I was about to break by saying something sure to be stupid, but Simon raised his hand to stop me, his eyes boring into mine. Okay. Now I understood why people always comment on my eyes. His were blinding.
“You wrote the story on the Lakeview school?”
I nodded, surprised. I was proudest of that piece, but it usually wasn’t considered my most polished work by others.
He frowned, obviously not expecting me to have impressed him.
“It wasn’t bad.” He shrugged, and looked away.
“Thanks,” I mumbled quietly, completely humiliated by this entire exchange and praying to god that a sandpit would appear before me and swallow me up.
Hesitantly, I turned back to Bob and gave him a cautious smile.
“I’m so sorry I was late this morning. I had a little bit of train trouble and a…er…bit of an incident with a coffee cup or two, but I promise it won’t happen again. I can’t wait to get started working with you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth as I hurried to get them out, wanting nothing more than for this conversation to be over.
“Not to worry,” Bob replied cheerfully and immediately I felt more relaxed. “But you won’t be working with me. You actually won’t be working with the other interns at all. Simon’s working on a very special piece for the Times and could use a research assistant. I didn’t think I could find anybody who’d meet his standards, but he was so impressed with your application that he agreed to take you on. You’ll be working for him and him alone. It’s a big honor, Miss Mirdeen. You should be very proud of yourself.”
I felt my stomach sink to the ground as a feeling of dread washed over me. An honor? What? More like a nightmare. Slowly, I turned my head back to face Simon, whose brow was furrowed as if he were thinking very hard about something.
Suddenly, he turned to Bob. “I suppose she’ll do.”
Bob smiled, looking very pleased with how things had turned out, and gave me a pat on the back. I, on the other hand, was less than ecstatic.
“But she better not be late again.” Simon said as he rose from his chair.
“She’s right here,” I muttered to myself, as I bent down to gather my briefcase which I had lain on the floor. I didn’t think anyone could hear me, but Simon must have bionic hearing, because he shot me a scathing glare.
I sighed. This was not going to be fun.
I stood there stupidly as Simon made his way to the door, his walk graceful and confident, almost predatory, and wondered if I was supposed to follow. Apparently, I was because once Simon reached the door, he turned and shot me a what-are-you-waiting-for look, beckoning me over with his hand. I sighed and made my way after him, but of course hadn’t made two steps before I tripped over my own two feet like the spaz I am. I would’ve fallen to the ground, had not two, very strong, ivory arms caught me.
I looked up at Simon, whose arms were wrapped around my waist, his blue eyes boring into mine. Shocked by the shiver that was running down my spine at the contact, I just barely managed to breathe out a “Thank you,” before he released me, his hands brushing against my waist as he pulled back and eliciting another involuntary shiver. What was wrong with me?
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve already figured out you’re not a rocket scientist, Liv, but I do expect you to have the basics, like walking, down.”
I frowned, and muttered that I was sorry. Yeah right. Sorry my ass. What a jerk.
But as Simon turned away from me, I could swear he was holding back a smile.
And all I could think about was how good my name had sounded when he said it.