by Brianna Cash
I have my first ever write-up.
Sure, it’s only a verbal, but there’s now a mark on my record. I may not be an enthusiastic employee, but I’m a good employee, dammit! And because of some prissy bitch and a judgmental fuck-wad, I’ve now got a big old frowny face on my perfectly good and happy record.
That’s still not all.
Terry, my wonderful, chipper roommate, finally got kicked out. Great news, right? Except it’s not great, because she took some of my shit with her! She stole my TV, my couch, and my coffee maker. Bitch is just asking for trouble, making it so I can’t have my daily dose of caffeine first thing in the fucking morning! And her phone got shut off, so I can’t even call her and demand it back.
Think that’s it? Nope. Not for this lovely week. When it rains, it motherfucking pours. Literally in my mother’s basement, and figuratively for me.
Olivia called.
Now, Alena and Olivia have always been well-off. They don’t flaunt it like some other assholes do, but it’s well-known that they have money. I’ve never been well-off. In fact, with my mom working two jobs when I was growing up, we barely scraped by. But we usually made it work. And since I didn’t want to go into massive debt taking out loans to attempt to go to college to probably wind up needing to take most of my classes twice, I’m still not well-off. Or even close to it. I never will be, and that’s fine. I’ve made peace with that. I don’t need to be rich; I only need to be able to make ends meet and have some savings in the bank to take care of emergencies when they arise.
But Olivia wants me to spend my emergency money on something that is definitely not an emergency.
She talked Alena into having her bachelorette weekend in the Caribbean.
The fucking Caribbean!
At a Goddamned adults-only, all-inclusive, five-star resort!
That shit ain’t cheap!
Everyone else in the bridal party has already given the green light. I’m the only one who hasn’t been hunky dory with the idea, and that’s because I’m the only one who isn’t rolling in dough! The bridesmaid’s dress and the money I had to chip in for Alena’s gift—which hasn’t even been bought yet, but was decided on by Olivia herself, so that was obnoxiously priced as well—have already made my budget uncomfortably tight this month. And now, they want me to throw away thousands of dollars to party in the Caribbean for five days and four nights, because one of my best friends is getting married?
I don’t have a yard, but maybe they think I have a money tree stashed away somewhere. Why else would they imagine this is a feasible thing for me?
Right, yes, I know! It’s about the bride, and what she wants. Fuck that, too. It’s my Goddamned money. I worked hard for it, and I’ll spend it on what I want to spend it on!
So, yeah. Fuck. This. Week.
Olivia needs a decision by next Friday.
I need a new life by tomorrow.
I can’t even curl up on my couch and watch depressing movies to cry myself to sleep, because Terry stole my fucking furniture and TV!
Fuck. My. Life.
Chapter 10
Assignment #6
List 10 rules you’ve broken. Why did you break them?
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Assignment #6. Is this for real?
Curfew
Pulling the fire alarm
Happy Birthday
Underage Drinking
Nametag
Skipping school
Lying
Fights
Vandalism
Theft
My curfew in high school was set at eleven pm. Eleven! What sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen-year-old girl wants to be home by eleven? I would normally tell my mom I was staying at a friend’s, and then I would say we’d had a fight, or I couldn’t sleep, and I came home at whatever time I wanted. She had to have known, but what could she do? My friends always backed up my lies.
Pulling the fire alarm. Everyone wants to do it, right? I fantasized about it almost every time I had a test I knew I wouldn’t do well on. So, basically, at least once a week. One time, I actually did it but, contrary to popular belief, I didn’t mean to do it. I was leaning against the wall, and something in my backpack got wedged underneath the handle. When I started walking away for class, it got pulled by accident.
The happy birthday thing. So, ya know my last assignment, when I made up a character who was a singer? That’s so far from me it’s not funny. I’m a horrible singer. HORRIBLE. When it comes time for everyone to sing that song, I mouth the words and act like I’m singing, but don’t utter a single note. It’s better that way. For everyone.
Underage drinking. Who hasn’t done it? ‘Nuff said.
I don’t wear a nametag at work. Sometimes I have to deal with creepy people. I don’t want them to know my full name. I don’t want them stalking me on social media, or in real life on the streets outside of work. It’s a basic safety feature. The boss can suck it.
Skipping school. My best friend’s mom allowed her to take mental health days from school. Totally not fair that my mom wasn’t as cool as that! Every adult I know takes a mental health day now and then, why can’t you do it when you’re in high school, too? Everyone occasionally needs a day to hit the reset button. To take a step away, so you’re better able to focus on the bigger picture. When I was in high school, it totally wasn’t about that, though. It was about sleeping off my hangover, smoking that pack of cigarettes Roxy had scored from her old man (or the weed, if her brother came home from college and was in a sharing mood), or hanging out with my friends at an undisclosed location where we’d never be found.
I might be ninety-two years old, but I still lie. To my mom, to my co-workers, to my roommate, and occasionally to my friends. No one needs to know my whereabouts twenty-four hours a day or what I’m doing for those twenty-four hours. No one except me.
Who hasn’t gotten into a fight, right? Ok, I know a lot of people can say that they’ve never been in a physical altercation, but I kind of looked for trouble as a kid. I got into a lot of fights with girls. Mostly over guys. I won most, but lost a couple, and was suspended from school so many times I had to be really careful my senior year or I wouldn’t graduate.
Vandalism. This wasn’t a one-time thing for me, either. I may have gotten caught keying the car of the owner of our town’s version of a dollar store. He deserved it. He was hitting on one of his employees and got a little pushy with her. She happened to be my best friend. There were no cameras in the parking lot of our small-town dollar store, but unfortunately for me, there were two witnesses. The guy’s kid and one of my ex-boyfriends who didn’t like that I didn’t want to fuck him anymore. They turned me in, the bastards.
Also, I may have gone a little crazy one Halloween night and spray painted some nasty words on the front of the school, implying that the principal and the football coach were fucking. They were. At least until after my masterpiece’s debut. That’s when the rumors started. They quietly tucked their dicks between their legs and went back to their devoted wives who never questioned anything before that cold crisp morning. They’re both now divorced and openly gay.
You’re welcome, assholes.
Last, but not least, let’s talk about theft. It started young, with candy, or the small toy. I was a poor kid and I hardly ever got what I wanted, so don’t judge me yet. When I was older, it moved to makeup and sexy underwear. Because it was easy, and when you start showing your underwear to the opposite sex, you want it to be something other than the boring, cotton, granny panties your mom insists you need.
Billy, the first guy to ever see my undergarments, really appreciated my shoplifting tendencies. He occasionally helped me do some panty shopping. It was addictive, fun, I never got caught, and the reward was monstrously pleasant.
When my mom got hurt at work and couldn’t afford the supplies she needed to take care of herself, let alone me, I got a job at the pharmac
y and stole what she needed. Unethical? Sure. But we all do what we have to do. I got fired a couple months later, but we already had what my mom needed then. It was the only time I got caught, but I don’t steal anymore. I realized the things I had been stealing before were things I didn’t need.
I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. But that doesn’t make me a bad person. I might’ve been a bad kid, but I’ve grown up and learned a lot of things along the way. It’s about the journey, not the destination, right? My journey’s not over. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for all the things I’ve done in my past.
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Assignment #6 List 10 rules you’ve broken. Why did you break them?
Just to warn you, this is going to be a pathetic list.
Lied
Shoplifted
Snitched
Cheated on a test
Lied again
Used dirty tactics in a debate
Speeding
Communicating with my writing partner when I’m not supposed to
Lusting after someone I know very little about
When I was seven, I had the chickenpox. My sister had it first, and she gave it to me. My mom suspected I had it, but when she asked if I had any spots that were itchy, I lied. I told her I didn’t have anything like what Christine had, because I wanted to go to school. I liked going to school. I liked my teacher and I loved learning. I went to school and all my classmates who hadn’t had it yet were sick within a week.
When I was eight, my dad was working on a tree house for my older brother. I was their runner, and whenever they needed something, I was the one who would run to the garage to get it. For some reason, in my small mind, I thought if I stole a few screws from the store, and kept them in my pocket, it would save me a trip back to the garage. Dad caught me and made me not only put them back, but also tell the manager what I did. I never thought about stealing anything again.
When my sister started dating, I caught her sneaking out her window. I told on her five minutes after I found out. She’s never forgiven me.
My freshman year at high school, I was out for four days with the flu. If you read number 1, you already know I love to learn, but even better than learning was proving I was listening, doing the work, and remembering it the way I was supposed to. The day I came back, we had a test in history. I was too sick to study when I was off, so I had no idea what the answers were. I snuck the multiple-choice answers off the kid next to me, who usually got decent grades. I passed but felt sick to my stomach every time I walked by that room.
When I was asked to prom my senior year, my older brother taunted me relentlessly. I had a date but was still a virgin. I told him I wasn’t. He knew I was lying, but I never admitted it.
I was on the debate team in high school. I was decent. Not great, definitely not a natural, but I worked hard. One match, there was no way I was going to win. I overheard my opponent talking in the hallway before it started and listened to her worrying about her weak points to her best friend. I used every one to my advantage and won the match. I told myself I deserved to still be a virgin when I graduated, since I was such a cheat.
Everyone speeds, right? Do I even need a reason as to why? Sometimes, it’s necessary. Sometimes, if you don’t, you’re a danger to those around you. It happens. It’s a rule that everyone’s broken, but I’m running out of things to list, so it’s here.
The rules of this course were very simple. One of the major ones was not to communicate with your partner outside of the assignments. I do that on a regular basis. I’m blaming this one entirely on her. She never finishes the story. She always leaves me with so many questions. And I love how she words things. She’s creative, interesting, a touch crazy, and much more of a rule-breaker than I ever was. She’s quickly corrupting me, and while part of me still can’t believe I’m doing it, I secretly love it. And I won’t stop. I want to find out more about her. I want to hear the end to all the stories she’s started, but not finished.
Because of my intriguing writing partner, I’m also having very inappropriate thoughts about a woman I’ve only met once. Is it a rule I’m breaking? Definitely not in this day and age. But it’s still something new to me, something I find…morally wrong. There’s this girl, this woman, that I’ve kissed. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the advice of someone much freer in her sexual life than I am, and I can’t stop thinking about her. The girl I kissed. Sometimes the girl who gave me the advice, too. I want to kiss the girl I kissed again. I want to do more than kiss her. A lot more. And I don’t even know her name.
I don’t have anything else. I like rules. I usually adhere to all of them. Like I said, I’m being corrupted. Ask me again at the end of this class, I’m sure by then I’ll have at least one more to add.
Owen
Is there anything this girl hasn’t done?
She sounds like my complete opposite. She got caught vandalizing a car! She got caught and fired for stealing! The worst things I’ve ever done were cheat on a test and play dirty to win a debate, which meant nothing in the scheme of things. And I almost got sick afterward.
How does she live with herself?
Or, how did she? Sounds like she’s cleaned up her act quite a bit. She’s still doing her best to corrupt me and, against my better judgement, I’m loving every minute of it.
But she didn’t text me last night.
It’s the first time we haven’t had some form of communication after our assignment. I was able to get to work on time today, so her answer must’ve been enough to keep me from going through withdrawal. I didn’t feel like I missed a dose of her brand of crazy.
I’ll text her at some point today. Last night, I was hoping she’d text me first.
Alice storms out of her office, and I keep my head down as I hide my phone in my desk. Why did I have it out while I was on the clock? It’s not allowed. Calls are constantly coming in, I should be talking to a cardholder. Instead, I’m offline and reading an email I got last night, while absentmindedly pushing my stapler around.
Correction. I’m reading an email I got last night, again. For probably the seventh time. Maybe the twelfth—who’s counting? And my stapler is getting pushed out of place, by me, then returned to its original position. Which is now seeming like a very odd place for it to be.
“Owen, the new girl we hired is here to sign paperwork, but I’m headed out to a damn conference I can’t miss. I know you’re currently doing everything you can to not go downstairs, but can you bring her up and take her to Linda’s office? When she’s done with the paperwork, she can sit with you if she wants to get a few hours in.”
Fantastic. Doing my best to keep a smile on my face, I check the time, needing a reason to stop looking in her eyes. Maybe I should add slacking off at work to my list of broken rules. “Of course. What’s her name?”
Alice flies back into her office to find the new girl’s name, before rushing out the door and into the elevator. I let her go first, not wanting to spend any more time in her presence when I’ve been slacking so hard today.
Plus, I’m definitely avoiding going downstairs. Sadie the slut is down there with Silicone Barbie. Going down to the lobby is no longer a pleasant break. Now it’s a pain in the ass. I don’t even look in their direction when I enter the building.
I shove my phone in my pocket, hoping for a text from SD, and head for the elevator.
No text by the time I get to the lobby and find the new girl. She’s pretty. Black hair, like mine, green eyes that make me think of a green and gold mask, but the color’s off by a few shades. She’s short, a petite little thing that seems shy and nervous. She’s going to get run over by our callers if she doesn’t gain some assertiveness.
“Owen!”
Sarah’s waving me toward her with a limp hand and bright red nails. She’s never spoken to me before, not by choice. What does she want now?
&nbs
p; “Sarah,” I offer once I’m close enough I don’t need to yell. “Everything ok?”
She looks around, her eyes darting all over the lobby before settling on mine. I’m not going to like whatever she’s going to say. I want to walk away right now and not look back. But I’m not that kind of guy. And maybe she’s not going to say anything unpleasant. Maybe she’s finally trying to be friendly.
And I’m not waiting for a text from my writing partner…
I’m spouting lies so freely today.
They don’t count if I don’t say them out loud. I lie to myself all the time. And to everyone else. It’s just always, always in my head.
“I need you to get Sadie all worked up again.”
My eyebrows rise. “Excuse me?”
I did get Sadie “all worked up,” but only because I pointed out the obvious. And it was at a club I never need to step foot in again. I didn’t do anything here to get a reaction from her. This is work. I don’t need to like Sadie—or Sarah—but I do need to keep my job.
“She got a verbal last week after talking to you. She’s a lying bitch, and I don’t want to work with her. Call her a tramp again. She was so mad when you said that!”
“I didn’t—” I cut myself off. My voice is irrationally loud, and my jaw is clenched. After a somewhat calming breath, I start over with a much gentler tone. “I didn’t use the word ‘tramp.’ Are you trying to get her fired?”
“You may not have said it, but you definitely called her a tramp. And I don’t care if she gets fired or quits. I want her gone.”
“You can’t handle this job by yourself, Sarah.”
“Why not?” She pushes her lips into a pout that looks like she practices it in the mirror every morning. It does nothing for me. I must be immune to emotions that aren’t genuine.
