by Tara Brown
“You know how he likes to add a little every year.” Hennie laughed. She knew Mr. La Croix almost as well as I did. We had spent every summer since grade eleven as interns or working here in some way. She got in through school—a scholarship student with remarkable grades. And I got in through Marcia, my bestie.
“That he does.”
“Good to see you again.” She reached in and hugged me once more, letting me linger.
“You too.” I squeezed and forced myself to let go.
Hennie was my kind of people. Nerdy, funny, smart, and down-to-earth. She was the sort of friend I enjoyed getting in some downtime with, away from Marcia and the girls. Plus, Hennie got how hard it was being average and surrounded by a bunch of rich kids. She got life. Being with her was just easy. Sometimes we didn’t even talk, just sat in relaxing silence.
“See ya in a bit.” I left her at the financial department and headed for the section I worked in, ready to devote myself to fetching coffees like a boss while everyone used my ideas and pretended they were theirs. Internship had its moments. At least Mr. La Croix saw it all. He knew.
When I got to the Monday-morning session we always had in the large conference room, Mr. La Croix was already at the head of the table, smiling wide. “Lacey, good morning.” He beamed among his group of people, all busy preparing for the morning meeting.
I forced myself to beam back. “Good morning, Mr. La Croix. Can I get you all some coffee?” I asked the same of everyone, offering smiles and waves at familiar faces.
“No, no, come and sit.” He motioned for me to take a seat across from him as everyone else got comfortable. “I wanted to talk to you this morning about a couple of ideas.”
Excitement brewed in me, lifting my mood considerably. “Okay. I’m ready when you are!”
“We have a new project this year, one we’re pretty excited about.” Mr. La Croix was bursting with his usual giddiness, something he did every time he found a new investment opportunity. “It’s a start-up by a couple of young moms in Jersey: a protein bar that helps bowel movement and provides all kinds of nutrients and actually tastes good.”
“Okay.” I wrinkled my nose when he said the word bowel and then sort of just held that expression, a little grossed out but still intrigued.
“NASA is interested.” He said it like this was really amazing.
“And you want me to help with the marketing?” I was lost.
“Right. The name the women have given the product is Mom Bars.”
“Oh.” I tried not to grimace again.
“Exactly.” He laughed, as did the handful of other people at the large table. “We’re in the midst of researching some of the other products that this bar is competing with. There’s a cereal called Holy Crap.”
“Jeez.”
“And some Bowel Buddies.”
“Oh, wow.” I sat back. “So you want me to come up with a new name that puts a different spin on the product?”
“No.” He grinned. “Not just a name.” His eyes danced and darted around the table to his other employees. “We have a few things we need you to secure on this project.”
“Okay.” I tried not to sound leery. Or at least as leery as I felt.
One of the ladies leaned in. “We need you to come up with a name, a marketing package, and an angle to appeal to your generation. There aren’t any other millennials here, but you have a finger on the pulse of the young women who could be influential in shaping the campaign.”
“You want me to manipulate my friends into eating and promoting the bars on social media?” Was I above that?
“Not in so many words . . .” Mr. La Croix laughed. “I’ve been trying to get Marcia into them; I even started serving them at the breakfast bar at the country club and a few hotels. But no one seems interested. NASA backing a product that keeps astronauts healthy just isn’t as big of a deal as it used to be. People in my day would watch the astronaut eat it and think, ‘Hey, I need that.’ Nowadays, people want the endorsement of someone just like them—someone they can relate to.”
“Yeah.” I tried to go easy on him. “Didn’t we all read that they cut funding to the space programs? And I know most of my friends, Marcia included, might not care about NASA at all. They would go for a makeup brand first.”
One of the guys grabbed something from a basket. “Which is why we need you. This product needs a rebranding. Those young moms have a sound idea, and the recipe is genius.” He slid a packaged bar across the table to me. “Try it.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to think about Holy Crap or Bowel Buddies as I lifted the little package. “I’m not really a granola-bar kind of girl. I mean, didn’t Dr. Oz say they’re all like candy bars and kids shouldn’t eat them?”
“Don’t put that on the marketing campaign,” Mr. La Croix teased, but it didn’t stop the whole room from staring and waiting. A needle dropping to the floor would have echoed in the office as they paused.
I crinkled the wrapper, noting the sound of it as I peeled back one corner. A brown bar revealed itself. “Chocolate coating.” I smiled, feeling like a hot spotlight was bearing down on me. I’d never eaten a single thing in my life under such scrutiny and pressure.
Forcing myself, I swallowed hard, trying to lube my tightened throat as I parted my lips and lifted the exposed corner to my mouth. I needed this. I needed it badly. Being part of the team that marketed and sold this would secure my place here, and it might also be my answer for the summer finances situation. If I succeeded, I could possibly convince Mr. La Croix that I could finish my last year of school later and stay on as a full-time employee.
Every set of eyes widened as I prepared to take the first bite, making me think I was being punked and the bar was going to taste terrible.
I closed my eyes, likely making a terribly unattractive expression as I placed it between my parted teeth and bit down.
The sweetness of the chocolate was nice. The bar was fudgy and soft. Coconut and something else, a nutty flavor I couldn’t place, filled my mouth. Sweat formed on my brow and upper lip as I opened my eyes and nodded. “It’s good.” The chewing wasn’t hard. My jaw didn’t tire. I didn’t lose any of my teeth or tear a gum. Best of all, it didn’t taste like crap.
“You like it?” He smiled wide, sitting back and sighing. “Good! You can’t taste the crickets?”
“What?” I asked, feeling the chocolate coating my teeth as Mr. La Croix handed me a water to wash it down.
“The crickets. They’re ground to a flour and used as a supreme protein source. Incredibly sustainable and have the added benefit of no pollution or resource demands. They’re the future, honestly.”
“What!” I asked again, this time standing up and knocking my chair to the floor. “Bugs?” I shuddered, feeling a similar tightening in my throat and souring in my cheeks. It had only been one day since I’d last tasted my own bile. Was this something I would have to get used to from now on?
Turning, I bolted from the room. I crashed into the bathroom but didn’t make it to a stall. I lost my stomach all over the linoleum floor.
What an amazing start to the workweek, puking my new job—the only obvious solution to my current problems and future success—all over the damn place. While some poor person would be forced to clean up this mess, I suddenly had a slew of others that a mop and bucket simply couldn’t cure.
Chapter Eight
BROTHERS AND BUGS
Lacey
“You okay?” Hennie entered my back-room closet that Mr. La Croix called my new office.
“Oh my God. What did you hear?”
“They tricked you into eating those stupid bug bars Mr. La Croix bought from those creepy yoga moms in the burbs. And you ruined the main floor washroom.”
I covered my eyes, groaning. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah.” She sat. “Mr. La Croix was pretty concerned; he sent me to come and make sure you’re okay.”
“Okay?” I lifted my hands. “I puked my new
project everywhere. And my new project is bug bars. What the hell am I going to do with that?”
“Don’t call them bug bars for starters.” She chuckled.
“How is this even happening?” I wiped my eyes and tried to drink a little more of the ginger ale my colleague Esme had brought me when she checked on me half an hour ago.
“Dude.” Hennie cringed. “You are having the worst week. Sick brother, obviously the worst part. No tuition money. And now this.” She sighed, feeling it with me. “At least Mr. La Croix trusts you enough to give you a project to spearhead.”
“I guess.” I burped cricket and gagged, shuddering. “Nope.” I shook my head. “I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m going to have to tell him I’m fine with fetching coffees for the rest of my life.”
“Lacey.” She leaned in. “Is there a chance he’s challenging you, and this is the moment that makes or breaks the start of your career here? I mean, is this really the opportunity you want to squander when you might need the full-time job for the year to save up for school?” Her words stung and yet rang out in my pounding head for a moment.
“You think?”
“I mean, if I wanted to test the ability and merit of some young summer intern before hiring her as a full-time member of my team, I would never dream of doing something this sick and cruel, but he would. That’s his style.”
“Oh, shit, you’re probably right. He’s seeing if I can go above and beyond with an impossible challenge.” My stomach sank. At least, what was left of the poor thing. “How can I turn that down?”
“You can’t. Not really. Especially considering the way your week’s going.”
“You’re right. And if I impress him enough, maybe he’ll let me work here while I finish my fourth year, slowly.” I sat up straighter. My insides were burnt and sore, but there was no way I was going to back down from this test. “Thanks, Hennie. You definitely put things in perspective.”
“Any time.” She beamed. “I have to get back to work, but I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.” I smiled wider and brighter as she left, and sipped the ginger ale. I knew what I had to do. I was going to crush this project . . . like a bug.
I started by googling the cricket flour, something I discovered was actually nutritionally beneficial. It made my skin crawl, and the pictures weren’t helping my constant burping, but the knowledge did help me understand the purpose of it.
Fortunately I was saved from too much cricket research by Marcia appearing like a magical genie at my office door. She leaned on the frame, looking like she was trying not to feel sorry for me.
“It was bad.” I just started the conversation, assuming her dad had texted.
“What level of bad, scale of one to ten?”
“Blew past ten and landed on a clear fifteen. Or as I like to refer to it, the seventh level of hell. I puke-sprayed the entire floor.”
“It’s his fault. He made you eat one of those dirty bars?” She wrinkled her nose.
“He didn’t tell me it was made of bugs until my mouth was full of them.” I shuddered and closed my eyes, unfortunately reliving the moment and the taste and texture.
“Oh, bro.” She sat and pulled out her hand sanitizer, offering me some. We both rubbed our hands with the cool liquid, filling the room with the smell. “I wouldn’t even taste them. Mom made Girt take them out of the house. He can’t get a single celeb to endorse them. They think they’re nasty too. We all think Dad’s lost his damn mind on this one.”
“Not technically.” I was defending him, though hating it. “The research is there. I get it.”
“Research or not, I wouldn’t put one of those things in my mouth if you paid me,” she said. “I’m going to the spa; you in for lunch?”
“Spa for lunch?” I contemplated the time it took to get there, the time it took to get back, and the time I would spend there. “I don’t get three-hour lunches.”
“Daddy dearest says you can come. He called me and asked me to take you out for the afternoon. Said you needed a bit of a break. Told me he feels badly.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Okay. Let me go see him quickly. I need to apologize and tell him I’m on board for this launch.” I didn’t want to walk down that hallway or see him or any of the other people in the office, not after my explosive performance. But I needed to see if this was real. I loved Marcia, but trusting her with my job was a bad idea. She’d sooner have me fired so she could have company at the spa and give me the money to make up the difference. Something that didn’t sit well with me.
“Fine, but hurry up.” She glanced at her phone.
My legs were a bit weak as I stood and walked to Mr. La Croix’s office, trying not to notice the looks I was getting or the heat on my cheeks.
He was in a meeting with a lady, but the moment he saw me through the glass doors, he waved me in.
I poked my head in. “Sorry, Mr. La Croix—”
“Lacey. Are you okay?” He sighed. “I am so sorry. I had no idea you would freak out like that. I never would have put you on the spot if I’d known. I just didn’t think you’d taste the bars if I told you. Marcia wouldn’t—”
“They’re delicious. And yes, the protein source is unconventional, but I understand. I’ve done some research, and I’ll have a proposal drawn up for you.”
“You still want the project?” His expression tightened.
“Yes, of course. You caught me by surprise, but I can do this.” It was a lie. Mostly.
“If you believe in the product, then I’m excited to see what you come up with. We really need a hook to get those celebs and people like Marcia to endorse.” His eyes glanced past me. “And now, as a way of repaying you for the horrible first day back, we would all—and by all, I mean me—love it if you took the afternoon off and spent it getting a bad taste out of your mouth.”
“You sure?” I asked, glancing behind me to see Marcia tapping her watch.
“I am.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, then darted back to me. “And I’m proud of you. Very. You’re a strong and resilient girl. Well done, Lacey.” He smiled. That proud, fatherly look was better than anything else at healing my wounded pride.
“Thanks.” I nodded and backed out of the office. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” I turned and left, a little bit excited to hit the spa but dreading the next ten minutes. “I just have to grab my—”
“I have it.” Marcia handed me my bag. “The girls are all waiting for us at the spa.” She texted and talked as we headed for the end of the hall.
As we entered the elevator, I gave her a look, dreading having to give her the news, and yet needing her to know. She was part of my family, and I needed to share the pain with her. I’d wanted to call or text the moment my parents told me, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to say the words until I told Hennie. And now it was time to bring my best friend into the fold.
Chapter Nine
GRAY SKIES AND FANCY LIES
Jordan
The ocean wind on my face cleared my head of at least 60 percent of the things I’d been stuck obsessing over for the last couple of days. Sailing with my grandpa tended to do that. He was demanding and daring, so most of the time I was distracted by the desperation of survival.
Today my thoughts were sticking with me, even through the spray of water and Grandpa shouting at us to change sails and sides of the boat.
The very last year of school ever was starting in a couple of months.
My summer working for Grandpa had started again with a bang: the yacht-racing kind of bang.
But none of that was occupying my mind at the moment.
I was consumed with the desire to break things off with the girl my parents had picked for me.
It wasn’t just a matter of Amy not being my type; I also resented her because she was forced on me.
I did like the chase.
I wasn’t exactly a hunter, but I enjoyed seeing something I wanted and going after it. Like the girl fro
m the boat party, Lacey. I’d had a hard time letting that one go. There was something in her eyes, and the way she smiled while she made fun of me. It was like a kick in the balls that disguised itself as something I needed. Or maybe it was just the fact that she’d run off, leaving me wanting more.
Either way, the point was that I did want more.
“We’re approaching the leeward mark!” Grandpa shouted, cutting me off from my daydreaming. “Move some asses!” he barked, sounding like a giddy schoolboy racing his paper boat on a stream, not a man midrace with twenty other boats all heading for the same tiny plot of sea. This was his favorite moment.
When I was a kid, I’d asked him if we were going to crash, and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “We all have to die sometime, kid. No point in worrying when it’s going to be. And to die sailing, what a way to go.” His eyes were crazy, like they are now, and the spray of the ocean air really exacerbated his excitement.
“Grandpa!” I shouted, pointing to the side of him.
“I saw it.” He grinned, even more alive now that a giant storm was coming toward us.
“Hope you got your shitting pants on,” Stephen shouted at me, using his new favorite line as he nudged me, breaking Grandpa’s rule on how close we were allowed to be on the boat. “Wind’s going to thirty-five knots! Yeeehaaa!”
He was Grandpa’s boy, through and through.
We broke without speaking, the entire crew rushing to our posts, ready for the turn that would feel like we were tipping, and then the final stretch: the finish line with the incoming storm chasing us down.
“Come on, boys!” Grandpa shouted from the helm. His wild eyes and crazy smile were lit. “If the ship goes down, we all go down!” His normal words for the final turns in the course. “Jibe!” He yelled it the same way every single time. And I never got tired of hearing it. While I didn’t want to die at sea, I also loved the way his passion made my spine tingle with a modicum of fear. In reality, I knew the lifeboats would be on us in a moment, and I could swim like an Olympian.
“Ready!” we screamed in the ripping wind, scrambling, going too fast for the corner that was coming.
