“I’m sorry, Collin.” I say, the weight of the hammer increasing in my hand as I stand up. Memories of my mom handing Collin to me rush to my mind, save up and buy something nice. I stare at my other hand glumly, my life’s savings: two dollars in dimes, is all that was left of my piggy bank, Collin. “Or not.” I mutter, walking into the kitchen. My parents must have taken the majority of it back when I lived with them; they had a habit of spending any money they “found.” Sighing I hand my brother the coins and try to look cute.
“Caitlin. If you can’t come up with the rest by the end of the month I’m kicking you out.” He stares off absentmindedly as he speaks, and puts the dimes in his pocket. I nod lacking enthusiasm although he has already walked away. Why do I have to be so unlucky with money? I guess I should explain: I live in an apartment with my brother, since one day, at the beginning of the summer, I walked home to find my parents’ house had been repossessed by the bank. Nick, unlike our parents, is very stingy and says I can only live with him if I can pay my rent. But I can’t argue with him or I’ll get stuck in child protective services, yikes. Unfortunately this means, at the moment, I’m ridiculously poor. The only good thing about my parents running off is that at least I don’t have to worry about them withdrawing my scholarship money to buy lottery tickets or gas. Speaking of school, I’m late. I pull my shoes on and grabbing my backpack I run out the door.
School is basically the only thing I’m good at, which I have recently learned has no meaning in the real world. Yes, you can solve math equations and write history papers but that doesn’t mean they’re going to hire you to wait tables or flip burgers. What I needed was an intellectual job that pays really well. I laugh to myself as I open the front door of the school, we used to have a doorman but he quit after one kid locked him outside on the coldest day of the year. I skid past the lockers, my feet barely reaching the marked up tile, and slide through the doorway of my homeroom class. The bell rings as I open the door and the rest of the overachieving class looks up.
“Just barely making it again missy.” My teacher, Mr. Wallis gives me the formal disapproving glare as I clank and clutter to my seat in the last row. I don’t bother to answer him. Being late is part of my usual day since I can’t pay for the bus and have to run ten blocks. Let me be clear I’m not complaining about running; it’s good exercise to run with ten pounds on your back. I’m being sarcastic of course.
After class I walk by the bulletin board, sometimes there are odd jobs listed there. I notice the first few, which all look pretty bad, but today one catches my eye. “Dangerous and Thrilling Job: need female willing to get dirty. Price: at the request of the employee.” I look at the rest of the jobs quickly but decide on that one. Being a maid was way better then a dog-walker or a librarian’s assistant, and I actually enjoy cleaning since it doesn’t involve any real skill, plus I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone while dusting. Apparently there’s an interview, but that shouldn’t be a problem since I would just say; “I like to wash, shine, and mop.” I scrawl down the room number quickly on my hand and head to the cafe for lunch.
Luckily, I was smart enough to bring the leftovers from dinner last night. I usually end up eating in history class, which is after lunch. I make dinner for my brother and me, but I always end up making too much since Nick never comes home. Or when he does, he won’t eat what I make. So today’s lunch is risotto, peas, and shrimp. I can’t say I’m a great cook, but the concept seemed like a good idea at the time. Well at least before I added a cup and a half of mayonnaise and maybe a few too many spices that I don’t know the names, or purposes, of. Anyway, as I walk into history class, my lunch still bubbling from the microwave, I notice something. The teacher isn’t here yet, they only get ten minutes for lunch but whenever they’re late, the class can get really riled up.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Just as I am thinking about this, a guy shoots up in the third row. “You cheated! There’s no way you could win with that hand!” He is yelling loudly, but most of the class ignores him, I think his name is Kyle. I crane my neck, interested in what is happening, and then I see who he’s talking to. Emery Wilde is the most notorious person in our school. People say that he beat up everyone on the track team while getting the highest SAT score ever recorded in the school’s history. I’ve never had to talk to him, but I make a point to avoid him in the halls.
Emery is probably gambling with Kyle, who looks dumb enough to bet actual money even when playing someone who would have beaten him with one finger. Kyle is definitely a dumb person, but I already feel sorry for him.
“Of course I didn’t cheat, you’re not smart enough for me to need to.” Emery says wearily interlacing his fingers under his chin, “I would have been more challenged beating a toddler.” Kyle, apparently dumb and stupid, picks up his Practical Mathematics textbook and throws it, ungainly, at Emery’s head. The door to the classroom opens and somehow Emery doesn’t even have to stand up. The textbook, which isn’t particularly dense, suddenly explodes before it reaches his desk. As papers flutter around the floor Emery calmly, crosses his legs on the table and leans back in his chair, “Hey Teach, you’re late.”
Remember how I said our doorman quit because of that person who locked him out? Well we are all pretty sure that person was Emery. If I had a list of things I wanted to avoid, Emery would be right under being kicked out of the apartment. Luckily, the rest of history class goes normally, I’m even able to eat my lunch.
“Hey Caitlin, did you hear who’s transferring to our school?” A barely muted squeal comes from behind me, its source: Vicky. Vicky is this excessively outgoing girl who unfortunately is assigned to the seat behind me. I shrug, not interested in starting a conversation with her, but I guess she doesn't notice that we are in class because she starts talking. “You don’t know?” She spits out in surprise, so loud I’m forced to turn around and shake my head. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard that Rohan Spade is coming to this school.” Vicky says a little quieter, after saying his name she gazes off dreamily. I shrug again and turn back around. I honestly have no idea who she’s talking about, but the name is vaguely familiar. The bell rings and I don’t bother to ask her. I grab my stuff and check the room number of the interview one more time, this time for sure I am going to get a job.
I run around the corner, my worn down sneakers leaving streaks on the linoleum floor. I find the room on the second floor and quickly go in. For a moment I hesitate; I’m ten minutes early after all. I check the wall clock in the room just to be sure and sit down at a desk. No one else is here. A thought crosses my mind: am I too early? Just as I am about to get up to check the hall the door opens again and in comes Emery Wilde. I freeze to my seat; I am definitely too early. Emery sits down without looking at me and pulls out a laptop. I spend a minute wondering if I’m about to die, before breathing again. Even though I am worrying, a part of me wants to know why Emery is here, isn’t this job for girls only? I glance over at him for a second unable to stay quiet. Damn my curiosity!
“Isn’t this job for girls?” I stammer with an embarrassed glance, back and forth between the tabletop and him. Emery turns his head and looks at me,
“Of course it is.” He puts his hand under his chin and smirks. I bite my lip, what’s going on?
“Why –um, are you here?” I stutter. I don’t like this situation, but somehow running away is out of the question. Emery leans in, and I don’t know why, but he looks at me like he is solving a four-piece puzzle.
“You are?”
“Caitlin. We have history class together. You didn’t answer my question.” I say.
“Why are you here?” He inquires, and I can see him putting the puzzle together.
“Well I’m applying for the job” I study the carpet.
“But why are you, here?”
“I need a job. Since –um, I have to pay rent and –uh I’m not very good at anything else...” Why is no one else showing up? Emery finishes his puzzle; he sits back in his chair and stares at the ceiling.
“Alright I’ve decided,” He looks at me with a malevolent grin, “I’ll hire you.” I blink a couple times my mouth falls open. Why?
“Wait, what? You’re going to hire me?” I say my head spinning, “This was your ad? What do you want me to clean?” Emery smirks at me.
“No, I don’t want you to clean. It’s too bad you’re not sexier though, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.” I gape at him, what in the world is he talking about.
“What exactly am I doing then?” I say. Emery looks at me amused.
“A ‘dangerous and thrilling’ job.”
“Yeah, ‘willing to get dirty’ sounds like a cleaner.”
“Not exactly. The job description is: heartbreaker.” At this point I should have turned around and ran away. Unfortunately I don’t. I look at Emery like he has lost his mind.
“You want me to do what?” I yelp.
“It’s really very simple,” He says his face turning serious, “I just want to make Rohan Spade fall in love with you, so that you can dump him and ruin his career.” Still trying to separate reality from fantasy I don’t reply, and he keeps speaking. “So, how much do you want?” To my horror Emery pulls out a large case full of money. “As a bonus, I can set up monthly transfers after the preliminary investment.” My alarm fades; I spend a minute to take in the cash sitting across from me. Forty thousand dollars. This isn’t real I try telling myself. He can’t possibly be serious. Emery’s obviously joking. He’s making fun of me.
“That’s a lot of money.” I say, the thought of fresh groceries and clean dishes passing through my mind. “Are you really going to give it away?”
“I’m not giving it away, you’re earning it.” I hesitate, I really needed the money, but did I really want to do this? Emery smiles, he thinks I’m already on board. “You poor people are all the same, the lower your income is the higher your morales are. But it doesn’t matter” The words strike a low blow, I twitch and grit my teeth. He looks at me with a knowing smirk. “you see a couple grand and you’ll roll over just like any other dog.” That’s all I can take, I shoot up on my feet and tell him off.
“Go to hell! I don’t need a job that badly.” Maybe I was poor but that didn’t mean he could poke fun at it. I hated being poor, in the world I was as important as a slug on the bottom of some rich man’s shoe. Clinging to my morals to protect my empty pockets well at least they weren’t covered in slime. Emery stands, pausing, I watch him go through the conversation in his head to see what went wrong, than he shrugs.
“Didn’t you just say you needed a job?” He’s so nonchalant now, like he knows I’m already hooked. “Besides once I’ve made up my mind,” He leans in closer. “I won’t let you leave so easily.” I freeze for a moment, terrified that I’m going to be swallowed by his overwhelming presence. I stubble back a few steps.
“That’s too bad, because I’m never working for you.” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I start walking away. When I reach the door I turn around and yell. “I’m not that desperate, go find some other lowlife to play with. I promise, I’ll find a real job!” My feet hit the tile hard as I run down the corridor the door slams behind me. I am so angry I don’t even see where I’m going and my cheeks are burning from shame. “Even I can get a job”, I tell myself lividly. “I don’t care if I have to work for the rest of my life.” In my head the most important thing was; I couldn’t let anyone call me poor, not ever again.