“All day. If this is how you plan to be poor, you’re doing a terrible job of it. We never get sleep.”
I glared at her.
She bounded onto the bed and sat against the back wall where a bedhead would usually be. Tommy didn’t have one, and I wasn’t sure why that always disconcerted me so much. Was there even a point to bedheads?
“So you’re sure about this?” she asked eventually. “I mean, you’ve hated the rich world for as long as I can remember, but if a fight with your grandmother is the only reason you left, then forgive me for saying that your grandmother and her friends are the best part of that bullshit parade you were born into.”
“It wasn’t. She’s the only reason I stayed so long.” I thought back to our heated conversation. “The argument was silly, really. She was on at me again to start attending functions as the up and coming face of the estate, and I just cracked. Not at her, at the… the constant feeling of being detached and outside of reality. The fight was just the tipping point. Tom, I want to live. I want to help people. Sure, I could mindlessly throw cash around. I could even try to research where that money would have the most effect. But without living this life, how can I ever truly understand what I need to do?” And who I am.
A heavy silence settled in the room.
Tommy broke it by shoving black and white pages onto my lap. I regarded them through bleary eyes. The word eventually came to me. “Newspaper.”
“Well done, grasshopper.”
I shot her another glare. “We get newspapers at the estate.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your butler delivers it on a silver platter. I was looking at the job section for you.”
That caught my attention. “Glasses.”
My bag had toppled onto the brown carpet during my sleep-nap. She scrambled to collect it and I dug around, drawing out my glasses case.
I pushed the thick black-framed specks onto my face and stared at the open newspaper. Three red circles disrupted the page.
“Those are the suitable ones,” Tommy murmured. “I rang my boss at the laundry service, but they aren’t hiring. Probably not until the uni students go back to school in two months.”
My heart sank. Working with Tom would have been the tits.
Let’s see what we’ve got here.
My eyes landed on the first one. “Tomato factory worker.” I turned accusing eyes on her.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” She reminded me.
True story. “What else have we got?” I shifted my gaze to the next page. “A newspaper run! You’re shitting me?”
She grimaced. “I was iffy on that one. I had a newspaper run when I was thirteen. Fucking sucked.”
“What about the other ones?” There were tons of jobs on the two pages.
“They all require qualifications—that you don’t have. I don’t think business lessons from your grandmother count.”
Dammit. “Someone may want me to manage their billions though.”
Tommy snorted. “We both know you have no trouble with that, but can you manage just a few dollars? I have a feeling they’re different things.”
Maybe. Surely the same principles applied.
With no small amount of trepidation, I squinted at the last circled job. “Huh! Pet shop assistant. That one isn’t so bad.”
Could I be a pet shop assistant? Cuddling kittens and puppies all day? I mean, shovelling poop wasn’t my idea of a good time, but there would be definite perks.
“I’ll take it,” I declared, jabbing at the page with my finger.
Tommy shooed me away. “Not that easy, Basi. You need to make a résumé first and there will be at least one interview.”
I rolled my eyes, scanning the other listings. “I’m not completely ignorant of life outside the estate.”
Her lips trembled. “You mean you’ve watched enough soap operas to piece us peasants together?”
“I watch Truth Ranges for the quality acting.”
“And we read Fernando’s Eighth Ab for the complex plot line.”
Sniggering, I ran my eyes over the other listings. Ugh, she was right. I certainly didn’t have a medical degree. Or an early childhood certificate.
A tiny listing shoved in the bottom left corner caught my attention, if only because the advert looked like it didn’t want to be found. “Hey, what about this one?”
Tommy peered over my shoulder.
“Realty trainee,” I read aloud. “It’s an apprenticeship thing by the looks.”
“Don’t bother,” she said dismissively. “Live Right Realty never hire outsiders. They must have a policy to advertise to the public, but they always promote and hire internally. I’ve gone for that job three times—and other people too. No one has ever been hired.”
I adjusted my glasses to read the advert again. “Really? It sounds perfect.” The pay cheque had to be larger than a pet shop assistant wage. At least a realty traineeship would have a better chance of promotion. Some of the neighbouring estates to Grandmother’s built their empires from realty origins. Not that I wanted to build my own cage when I’d just escaped one, but money was security in this world and, for the first time, I only had a minuscule amount. I needed enough to eradicate corporation corruption from the world.
My nerves came back in full force.
“I need to make a résumé,” I announced, glancing around the room for inspiration.
Tommy put the newspaper aside. “Tomorrow. We’ll need to visit the public library to use their computers and printer, and it closes at 4:00 pm. Tonight, I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“I can pay for it myself,” I replied.
“Y S I S,” Tommy quipped back, folding her arms.
I spluttered. “My snob is not showing.”
At ten years old, we’d developed a mnemonic that served as a warning. When I was with her friends, she’d say Y S I S—your snob is showing—to warn me I’d done something weird. When amongst my rich friends, I’d say Y P I S—your peasant is showing—for the same.
In this situation, when I already felt so out of my depth, I didn’t appreciate the jab. Unfortunately, my friend was immune to my scowl.
“If your snob isn’t showing, you’ll let me take you for dinner,” Tommy said, folding her arms. “Especially because my father will be back soon.”
My stomach chose that moment to remind me I hadn’t eaten since last night. And I wanted to avoid her father.
“Food,” I grumbled. “Then résumé.”
She cut me off. “Then job. Then apartment. Then destroy all the baddies. Got it.”
Someone was listening to me at last.
3
Dressed in my powder-blue silk blouse and black slacks, I slipped the newspaper into my pack and pulled out my freshly printed résumé.
I craned my neck to read the bright yellow sign. Purrfect Pets. A picture of a smiling dog and cat hugging each other completed the store’s branding.
Jesus.
I was at the right place, alright—back in Grey. After helping with my résumé, Tommy had quickly coached me on how job enquiries went down.