“Olivia Delaney,” I repeat.
I hear the shuffle of papers before Dr. Haught speaks again. “Ah yes, I have your information here. I’m sorry to tell you Ms. Delaney that we will not be moving forward with your application.”
I feel my shoulders droop as heaviness settles into all the joints of my body. “Oh, I see. May I ask why not?” I lower myself to sit on the scratchy wooden bench that doubles as storage for the life vests.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I wipe my sweaty palm against my shorts as I wait.
“Ms. Delaney, we at Virtus Academy Austin have high standards and expectations for our employees as well as our students. We have a specific protocol for employment applications, and we provide detailed instructions for candidates to follow to meet that protocol. You did not follow those detailed instructions when you applied.”
Yeah, the instructions weredetailedall right. Three single-spaced pages of written directions that I tried my hardest to follow. “I didn’t?”
“No, Ms. Delaney. The directions clearly stated that applications should be sent as a single PDF file that includes a candidate’s letter of interest, résumé, and references all together. You sent three separate files.”
“Oh.” My lungs and heart deflate simultaneously, taking away my breath and my hope in one fell swoop.
I want to violently press theendbutton on the call, but Headmaster Snooty Pants is still talking.
“We simply cannot hire instructors who don’t show the commitment to excellence that we demand of our pupils, who can’t follow simple instructions. Sloppy work is not tolerated at Virtus Academy Austin.”
“I understand. Thank you,” I say, and then I hang up, but my anger has already shifted to defeat.
I can feel my pulse in my throat, a steady, emptythud, thud, thud. Hot tears well behind my eyelids as his words echo between my ears, confirming what I already know to be true.Can’t follow simple instructions. Sloppy work.
Dumb. Stupid. Illiterate.
Being the sporty, fun, cool girl worked for me in high school and college, but out here in the real world, those qualities don’t count for much.
I can’t evenapplyfor jobs correctly, so how can I expect to be successful in them?
Warring thoughts fight for attention as the tears spring free and roll down my cheeks.
You’ll never be good enough.
You don’t want to work for that pretentious school anyway.
It’s not you, it’s them—the application process was unfair.
But loudest of all is—Gage deserves to be with someone better. Someone smarter.
I know it’s true. It was true five years ago, and it’s true now. We’ve talked about some beautiful possibilities lately—dates at the Wildflower Center and celebrating Gage and Annie’s birthday together. Possibilities for a future together back in Austin once camp is over.
But there can’t be a future beyond this summer fling for us because he deserves more than what I can offer. I lost sight of that these last few weeks, gave into hope and the sheer selfishness of what I wanted.
If nothing else, Icando the right thing by Gage this summer and set him free. The decision rolls around in my stomach, threatening to dislodge my pancake breakfast from this morning.
The sound of laughter and high-pitched voices filters through the open door of the boathouse. My next group of campers are coming down the trail for their free-swim time.
I swallow hard. I swipe my hand across my eyes and rub the tears from my cheeks. Pasting on a smile, I walk to the doorway, ready to greet the kids.
I stumble my way through the rest of Thursday and most of the day Friday. By the time Skit Night is over, and the kids are loaded into minivans and pickup trucks for their drives home, I’ve sunken so far into myself that I’ll need a ladder to get out.
Unlike on previous Friday nights, this final one is special. All the staff stay at camp overnight to help with final cleanup on Saturday, and Linda hosts a closing campfire for us to celebrate the end of the summer. Rob and Stephanie, the camp cooks, grill hamburgers and hot dogs, and Troy sets up a table laden with s’mores fixings.
My coworkers from the past three months are a rowdy group tonight. They sing camp songs and recount memories. No one needs the sharing stick because everyone talks over each other. Laughter is the predominant sound.
But through it all, I barely register what’s going on around me. I’m in my head.
For me, the last night of camp isn’t a celebration; it’s a death knell.
