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“I’m five four,” I explain, knowing what’s next.
“Perfect,” she says again. “And your weight?”
Twisting my lips, I try to think of a clever way to avoid answering the question I’ve hated since I was ten years old. That’s when I learned my thighs were too thick. Other girls didn’t have to worry about wearing shorts to school, but my teacher once told my mom, kindly but firmly, that my bottom was too big for daisy dukes.
“Your weight, miss?” the smooth voice repeats.
“Um, about one fifty,” I lie.
There’s merely silence on the phone as her pen scratches my number. I feel terrible for my fib, and immediately decide to come clean.
“It’s one sixty,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry, I got confused.”
The woman doesn’t even miss a beat.
“It’s no problem, honey. And thank you for being honest. You wouldn’t believe how many women come in who’ve understated their weight by a hundred pounds.”
A hundred pounds? That’s a lot, but I can see why they did it. After all, I just fell down that same hole, right? But Karen moves on.
“These stats sound great. By the way, I didn’t catch your name the first time around. I’m Karen. And you are …?”
“Trina,” I mumble.
“Great, Trina. Would it be possible to come in for an interview tomorrow? Would noon work for you?” She asks as if it’s more of a formality than an actual interview.
“Um, I’m not sure …,” I begin to tell her it’s not a good time for me. I have school, and there’s no way I can get away without Nana knowing. She’s on my teachers’ speed dial and will surely hear about me playing hooky. But Karen’s too fast for me.
“Perfect. Noon it is then. See you then!” And with that, the woman hangs up before I can tell her that time won’t work for me.
I sit there, completely stunned. What just happened? Am I really interviewing for a companion position? Staring at the phone, I wonder how I can possibly pull this off. But now that I’ve secured the interview, there’s no way I’m turning back. My job search has lasted weeks, and none have gone so far as even a phone interview, much less an in-person meeting. This is the next step, and hopefully the last one standing between me and gainful employment.
My phone rings again, startling me from my thoughts. I look down to see a picture of Christina and me posing at a football game. She’s wearing her cheerleading uniform, hugging my hip while we both stick our tongues out. She took the picture, and her arm is slightly visible on the right side of the photo.
“Hey Chris,” I say.
“Trina! What’s up?” my best friend chimes into the phone.
“Nothing much. Finishing up homework,” I say, not wanting to tell her about my new job opportunity just yet.
“Are you stuck on Mr. Johnson’s assignment?” she asks sympathetically, referring to our chemistry teacher.
“Oh no, I finished that in class.”
Christina knows I always complete my chemistry homework first because it’s my favorite. Some things come easy to people, and for me that’s science. Something about the natural world intrigues me, and I can’t quite explain what it is. In fact, I’ve always said that if I did go to college, I’d study botany so I can work with plants.
And my grandma supports me in my dreams. Nana keeps plants scattered all around her tiny apartment, and I’ve got a name and special routine for each of them, learning how to keep them alive and nurture them through the seasons. Mickey says it’s an old person’s hobby, but I don’t care.
“Of course you finished our chem worksheet,” Christina giggles. “And I’ll be copying that in homeroom, thanks.”
I can only laugh because she’s been copying my science homework every day for a while now, and it’s pretty much routine. Christina is a math whiz, but I don’t use her homework. In the long run, I’ll need to know everything on my own, and copying her work will only put me at a disadvantage if I do ever find myself in college, although it’s unlikely.
“And don’t forget, we need to go to the internship fair this weekend. We can catch the train and make it to the city if we leave as soon as school is out,” Christina says. But I tune her out before she even starts her second sentence.
“Yes, of course,” I murmur. “Um Chris? I gotta go,” I say in a rushed voice. “See you tomorrow?”
“But—”
It’s too late because I’ve already clicked off. The internship fair is really just a pipe dream, anyways. I can’t afford to volunteer or work for free. That’s for kids from rich families, but for me, it’s not even a choice. So taking a deep breath, I walk over to my overpacked closet and survey its contents before picking out the cream silk blouse Nana gave me for my last birthday. She said it was time I become a lady, but I’d held off wearing it because it felt too mature for school.
