Yeah.
To make matters worse, he is lookingunfairlygood for a Sunday morning in fitted black jeans and a t-shirt that shows off his tanned, toned arms. He’s jogging up the geology building steps, heading to the research lab where he’s going to be based all summer.
“Do you know him?” one of them asks, still mid-giggle fest. “I wonder ifhedoes tours.”
“I’d let him take me on a ride,” says another.
They all break out into a fit of fresh giggles.
My mind flashes traitorously to Friday night. To his hands gripping my waist, the firmness of his chest under my palms. It was a stupid night, one of those nights where everything spirals out of control. But it’s been two days and none of us have heard anything about the...sprinkler incident. So, I think we’ve managed to get away with it.
“Uh, sort of,” I manage, my voice higher than usual. I clear my throat, trying to sound normal. “He’s a geology student. Very serious. All about rocks and... stuff.”
The girls exchange knowing looks at my obvious fluster. I’m saved from further interrogation by Professor Bam’s voice.
“Miss Hawkins, I see you’ve found some strays.”
Thank God.
I spin to find her watching us, coffee cup from CC’s in hand, looking like she can’t decide whether to be impressed or concerned. She’s been my favorite professor since freshman year - one of the few who doesn’t seem to mind when I get overexcited about random scientific tangents in class.
“They were lost!” I protest. “I was helping them find the admissions office.” And possibly with a few facts about our carbon footprint reduction. And maybe one brief interlude about the growth chambers in our research labs.
“Well,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee, “since you’re already playing tour guide, you might want to tell them about the secret tunnel system under the library. The official tours always skip the best parts.”
I grin.Thisis why she’s my favorite.
Renewed with a story from my favorite professor, I continue to procrastinate. All my problems will be fixed once the Luzia email comes in.
Maybe.
After sayinggoodbye to the teens touring campus, I pull my phone out, checking it for the hundredth time today. Still nothing. The supermarket on 8th Street glows through the summer dusk. I might as well pick up ingredients for dinner, something to celebrate with when (if?) the email from Luzia comes in. Alex always says I’m being optimistic, but I prefer to think of it as manifestingsuccess.
I’m debating between actual pasta and instant ramen (I’m a college student; don’t judge) when my phone buzzes. My heart leaps into my throat when I see the sender:Luzia Management.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!” I whisper excitedly, nearly dropping both boxes. The elderly woman examining the pasta selection gives me a concerned look that suggests she’s questioning both my sanity and her choice of grocery store.
I set the boxes down with trembling hands and open the email:
Dear Ms. Hawkins,We are pleased to offer you a position as bartender at Luzia, starting this week…
“YES!” I actually jump up and down, causing the pasta boxes to rattle. The elderly woman hurries to the next aisle, wondering if this is what’s wrong with young people these days.
I scan the rest of the email, grinning so hard my face hurts. They want me to start Thursday! My first real job, at the fanciest club in Mountain Springs. Not some safe campus position, not some carefully arranged opportunity, but something I got all on my own.
I grab both boxes of pasta and some totally out-of-budget ingredients—because screw it, this is a celebration—and float to the register. The cashier raises an eyebrow at my enormous smile, wondering what could possibly be this exciting about spaghetti.
I could call Alex, but she’s still settling into her fancy internship. I could call Troy, but I already know exactlyhow that conversation would go - lectures aboutsafetyandresponsibilityand how that tour guide position he arranged is still available.
No. This moment is only for me. Proof that I can make my own way, forge my own path.
My phone buzzes again with a text from James, my new manager.
James Kelley
Can’t wait to have you on the team! Bring your I-9 docs tomorrow for paperwork.
I do a little shimmy right there on the sidewalk, almost falling over my own feet. A man walking by grins and gives me a thumbs up; my happiness is that infectious.
