Page 50 of I Saw You First

Since he unlocked the doors this morning, I’ve avoided Wil. He’s been dealing with some merchandising drama in computers, luckily, so it hasn’t been too difficult.

I’m about to wheel an empty cart back to the warehouse when Sam appears with three boxes. “These just came in,” he says. “You were asking about this one yesterday, right?”

I peer into the boxes—Everdale, a new-release fantasy PC game that’s featured in the ad and sold out three hours after we opened on Sunday. “Yes, and we have about twenty rain checks. Can you take two of the boxes up to customer service and I’ll stock the rest?”

“You got it.” He starts toward the front of the store. “Anything for you, Abs.”

“Thanks, Sam—” Wait. Anything for me? Maybe Sam could cover. “Sam, hold on!”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“Could you do me a huge, huge favor? The biggest? Could you work media for an hour, just until Kevin gets here at eleven?”

He tilts his head and frowns. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Nope! It’s better if you don’t.”

He sighs. “Fine.”

I squeal. “You’re the best. I owe you big time.”

Hopefully Bergren will be as easy to convince—and Wil won’t be around when I have to do it. At 9:18, I sprint up to customer service to clock out.

“Bergren, hey,” I say, trying to sound confident and casual. “Can you override me?”

He glances at his watch. “You’re leaving? We open soon.”

“I know, it’s fine, the department’s covered. I’ve got this—thing. I’ll be back around eleven, eleven-fifteen at the latest.”

“You’ve got a thing?”

“Yes—a thing. A—a family emergency? Sort of?” I should have thought this through and come up with something more credible than a family emergency, question mark? Sort of, question mark? Idiot.

He looks at his watch again and sighs. “Fine, but hurry up. I’ve got stuff to do. And get back as soon as you can.”

“Thank you so much!” I follow him to the time clock. He punches in his override code but doesn’t wait for me to enter my employee number before he leaves.

I speed-walk toward the front doors, pry them open, and sprint to my car. I drive to the Holiday gas station down the block and change clothes in a dingy restroom that somehow smells like both Pine Sol and urine. I’m back on the road by 9:35.

Everything’s always working out for me.

Until it isn’t.

Traffic on 35W at the Crosstown is a stop-and-go nightmare, which costs me at least seven minutes. I take some deep breaths and click the presets on my radio from station to station, searching for a song that will calm me down or pump me up, maybe even a sign that this is the right job for me. I finally settle on the station where I’ll be interviewing. They come back from a commercial break with… “Stupid Girl” by Garbage.

That’s not the kind of sign I was looking for.

Traffic’s breaking up ahead, so I grab the directions to the studio that I printed from MapQuest and glance over the steps again. A couple of minutes later, I exit the freeway and make my way through downtown, my heart racing. I hit every red light—unfortunately, because I have exactly three minutes to find a place to park and hoof it to Montgomery Tower. I turn into a ramp a block away but I don’t find a spot until level five, on the opposite side from the elevators. The wait for the elevator eats up two more minutes, so I give up and take the stairs. I push through the Montgomery Tower lobby doors at 10:08 and breathlessly ask the attendant where to find the radio station.

“Third floor,” he says, “but the elevator’s out of order, miss. Stairs are to the right.”

I arrive, still out of breath, at the station reception desk at 10:11.

“You’re late,” the woman behind the desk says. She pinches her lips together like she’s deciding what to do with me. “I’ll let Susan know you’re here.”

And that’s the best part of the interview.

I get back to the store at 10:52, sweaty, dejected, and undoubtedly rejected.