Today is my second day of work, a job I've been looking forward to.
After last night's "incident" with the heels, Carly and I ended up heading home because of the storm that rolled in. Nothing new, just my bad luck reminding me who runs my life. Convincing her to postpone our night of drinking until we mistook street lamps for celebrities, taking selfies with them, and posting them all over our social media with the caption "OMG, I finally met a star, so excited!"—only to be mocked for eternity—was a challenge.
Basically, it was going to be a fantastic evening.
We spent the rest of the night watching Pretty Little Liars and gaining at least ten pounds from all the junk food we devoured together.
I grab one of my completed sketchbooks and put it in my bag. I don't have a preferred subject or style; my sketchbooks contain drawings of animals, landscapes, portraits of people, abstract subjects, plants. Watercolors, charcoal, and pencils alternate. Everything that inspires me ends up in one of my sketchbooks.
On one hand, I'm excited to show my "lovely" boss some of my drawings because I'm proud of what I've put into each of my sketchbooks. On the other hand, I'm terrified of putting myself out there, of being judged. Art isn't for everyone.
I started drawing mainly out of boredom. I was in that fangirl phase obsessed with Harry Potter, convinced that soon a owl would fly through my window to deliver my Hogwarts letter. I didn't know how to pass the time, so I decided to try drawing Hedwig, and that's when I discovered I was incredibly good at it.
I put the sketchbook into a backpack and head to work.
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As soon as I open the door, I hear the sound of something hitting the floor—the phone of the girl I haven't met yet.
Paul looks at me, bewildered. "So, it really is a curse."
I ignore what he said and look at the girl. I plead with her. "Tell me it's not broken and I don't have to replace it, even though technically it wouldn't be my fault. Like the painting," I emphasize, looking at my boss.
He doesn't keep me waiting long before he replies. "If it wasn't your fault, you wouldn't be here."
I raise an eyebrow. "It's not my fault. That painting could have fallen at any time and with anyone." Even though it happened to me. The Lesters aren't known for their luck.
Paul sighs. "Did you bring any drawings?"
I nod slightly. I pull out my sketchbook and hand it to him with trembling hands.
And here comes my sarcasm on a coffee break, and in comes anxiety, that little bastard.
As he looks carefully at each drawing and its details, I can almost hear the annoying ticking of a clock.
Every time he turns a page, I hold my breath, almost afraid he'll exclaim, "This drawing is awful" and give me the task of cleaning. And, for heaven's sake, I have nothing against those who do this job, but if my mom doesn't trust me with a vacuum cleaner because the last time I managed to burn out an electrical circuit and doesn't even let me wash the floors because the last time, while cleaning the stairs, I dumped the bucket of water directly onto the steps, and Dad slipped because they were still wet after an hour, then if my mom doesn't trust me to clean the house, how can Paul trust me to clean the shop?
Simple, he can't.
When he finishes flipping through the sketchbook, he closes it and hands it back to me, and I put it back in my bag.
Paul still hasn't said a word, and I don't know whether I should worry or be scared.
Then he does something unexpected. He smiles.
I mean, does he know how to smile?
And then he does something even more unexpected. He gives me a compliment. "Brianna, let me tell you, you have talent in this, at least."
I blink, surprised and disconcerted. "He can smile," I say, incredulous. "And he knows what compliments are. And he just gave me one. Incredible."
He suddenly turns serious again. "Don't get used to it; it won't happen again. And now, everyone get to work," and he disappears into his office.
The girl from before approaches me and extends her hand. "Hi, I'm Skyler, but call me Sky."
I shake her hand. "Brianna."
A customer walks into the store.
After a quarter of an hour of the lady going off on an absurd tangent just to tell me I needed to draw two stylized children, a boy and a girl, with their initials under them, I've already decided that I'll throw myself under a car on the way out. I'm not cut out for working with the public.
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Several customers later, I can say that I no longer feel the pulse in my right hand. Paul and Skyler have gone on their lunch break, leaving just James and me. The words exchanged have been about my supposed insanity and my curse. To get back at him, I even opened the front door while his back was turned, so he tripped over the chair and fell to the ground. When I burst out laughing, he turned to look at me, noticing me near the door. I hope this place has cameras and I can get a snapshot of his face.
As we tidy up the last things before James can close the store, he approaches, sighing. "Listen, Brianna, I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday. It was a 'bad day' and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have and didn't want to. Can we start over?" he offers.
I look at him, confused. "Are you trying to trick me into not being a victim of my curse anymore?" I ask. "Because asking me for a truce without offering any food isn't the right way."
James smiles at me. "Do you have plans now?" he asks.
I look at him, confused. "No, why?"
"Let's go, I'll treat you to ice cream."
I try to suppress a smile. "I'm coming only because I'm hungry, just so you know."
I swing open the wooden door leading to the kitchen, grab one of the chairs around the table, and turn it to sit astride it. I look up to meet my parents' gaze, which was already fixed on me. "I need money," I start.My father raises an eyebrow. "How much?"I look at him. This is the moment he's going to kill me. "A little money..." I take a moment while he waits for my answer. "Something like a hundred or two hundred-"My father interrupts immediately with, "I'm broke." He returns to reading the newspaper he had left on the table during my entrance.My mother hasn't said a word yet. She continues to stare at me, and I must admit it's becoming unsettling. "Did you get yourself into trouble with some drug dealer and owe them money?" she asks.I roll my eyes. "No, but-"Before I can finish, she interrupts me. "Are you in trouble in general?""No m-" I'm interrupted again."Are you risking your life if we don't give you this money?" she continues.Oh God, this conversation will never end
Before heading home, I stopped at the small supermarket a couple of blocks from my house.As soon as I walked in, the air conditioning hit me like a blast of cold air from the North Pole.I get it—summer, heat, and all that—but turning a supermarket into a freezer in mid-June seems a bit excessive, doesn't it? What are they going to do in August? Try to freeze themselves to escape "heat depression"?I didn't even grab a cart since I only needed one thing: ice cream. My parents love ice cream.I ponder which flavors to get. My dad's favorite is cookie, while my mom's is mint. I grab one tub of each flavor, and while I'm at it, I also pick up my favorite—coconut. I head to the checkout, pay, and ask for one of those insulated bags to keep the ice cream from turning into a milkshake on the way home.I return home, open the door, and close it behind me, placing the keys on the table next to the door.No sign of my parents.I take the ice cream tubs to the kitchen and put them in the freez
A deafening sound interrupts my beautiful dream. It takes me a moment to realize that the sound is coming from that infernal contraption more commonly known as an alarm clock.I want to throw it against the wall, but my mother would do the same to me, and that idea doesn't thrill me at all.I turn off the alarm and roll over, hoping to fall back asleep. Then I remember what day it is.Shit, today is Monday. It's my first day at work.I jump out of bed and grab some clothes at random from the chair, which has become my new wardrobe.I just hope the shirt isn't dirty.I dash down the stairs and head to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I see my mom already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands."Why didn't you wake me up earlier knowing I start work today?" I ask her.She looks at me and raises an eyebrow perfectly drawn with an eyebrow pencil.It's my mom, and she does her makeup better than I do, damn it."You said you were becoming responsible, Brianna. So it's a
The ringtone of my phone interrupts the silence of my room. I look at the screen and see that it's Carly, my best friend.I swipe the green icon to answer the call.I don't even get a chance to say "hello" before she starts talking."Tonight you and I are going dancing. I want to see you in a dress and heels. We'll get ready at my place and then walk to the Hunter so we can drink since we won't need to drive. No arguments. I'll pick you up at nine," and she hangs up.I couldn't have found a stranger best friend.I put the phone back where it was before, that is, thrown somewhere on my bed. As far as my first day went, it wasn't too bad, aside from James and the fact that I wasn't even looking for a job. I'm tempted to prepare some fake medical documents stating my insanity or that I have an extremely contagious and deadly disease, then bring them to work and leave them sticking out of my bag and wait for James to read them. Just to pass the time and get some revenge. Yesterday, he gav