“Cutting it close.” He crosses the room and hands us each a glossy booklet. “Last year’s annual report.” He motions for everyone to gather around him, so we do.
“All right, interns.” The Manicotti crosses his beefy arms over his barrel chest. “Study this report, thinking about your areas of interest. We’ll reconvene at three o’clock in the room where we met this morning.” He glances at me. “Laurel, put another snack tray together for the meeting.”
My gaze slides to Trish. I expect to see her gloating, but she looks as annoyed as I feel. Working women solidarity, maybe? I can’t figure her out.
No one moves until Mr. Mantoni claps his hands together. “What are you waiting for?” Everyone scatters to their desks, including me.
I’m so glad I have my earbuds. I plug them into my phone and resume listening to a sci-fi thriller starring Qa’hr, a kick-butt heroine who’s been kidnapped and is trying to figure out how to escape from the kidnapper’s spaceship. It feels oddly relatable, especially the part with the aliens howling outside her door like mutant werewolves.
The Emergent Enterprises Annual Report is full of graphs and charts and buzzwords. Scattered throughout are pictures from successful ad campaigns, including local restaurants I recognize from when we come downtown for plays at the Denver Center for Performing Arts. Mom insists on an annual subscription to the theater to up our cultural IQ points.
As I flip through the pages, I pay more attention to the drama playing out in my earbuds than the words on the pages, until I come to the last page, when I groan out loud. There’s a picture from last year’s employee summer picnic––a close-up shot of me with a unicorn painted on one cheek, a sparkly rainbow on the other. Mom used me as the model for the face-painting table for little kids. The caption reads, “A Kristoff team member gets into the spirit at the company picnic.”
Team member? Seriously? And why isn’t there an equally incriminating photo of my sister? Probably because she’s smarter than me and avoided being photographed. I glance up, wondering how many seconds of peace I have before everyone starts laughing at me.
Stupidly, I glance across the room at Carlos, who meets my gaze, his dangerous grin trained on me. He holds up his annual report and points to my photo, then gives me a thumbs-up. I roll my eyes, so he adjusts his thumb, pointing it down and frowning. I shake my head, embarrassed. He shrugs and moves his thumb so it’s in the sideways neutral position. He makes his expression blank and I can’t help but smile as I turn away, cheeks flaming.
A smattering of laughter breeches my earbuds, indicating everyone else has seen the incriminating photo. I open my notebook and make a note: Bring camera and yarn to work tomorrow. And knitting needles for self-defense. Knitting is one of my favorite stress busters; Mom taught me when I was young and over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at it. If I’m going to spend lunches by myself and generally be ignored by the interns, I might as well make something pretty.
And it won’t hurt to be armed with a sharp weapon, just in case.
Five
I survive the rest of the day by keeping my head down and my earbuds in, except for the three o’clock meeting in which I begrudgingly deliver snacks and take notes as the interns discuss what clients’ projects they hope to work on this summer.
Dad isn’t ready to leave at five o’clock, which isn’t a surprise. While I wait for him in Ms. Romero’s empty outer office, I fire off a text to Lexi.
Is the water park hiring? I might need a job at the snack shack.
What happened?
I’m pondering my reply when a knock sounds on the doorway. I glance up, startled to see Jason standing there.
“Hey, Laura…el.” His smile is tentative.
“Hi.” I give him half a point for almost getting my name right this time.
He glances toward my dad’s door, then back to me.
“Do you have a message for my dad?”
Jason runs a hand through his messy hair. “I…kind of wanted to thank him for giving me a shot.” He chews his lip. “Anyway, I’m sorry about earlier. You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Why would I think you’re an idiot?” I want him to keep talking so I can drink in his jocky yet dorky cuteness and decide whether or not to forgive him for not remembering me, or my name.
A rueful grin flits across his face. “We go to school together, but I didn’t recognize you. I didn’t put it together until I saw that picture in the annual report.”
Oh, excellent—seeing me with a sparkly painted face brought it all home.
“It’s okay,” I say with false brightness. “I wouldn’t expect you to notice me.” Even though our private school isn’t that big. And we’ve had classes together.
“Your sister Kendra goes to college in California, right?”
My stomach butterflies yawn and go back to sleep. They’ve figured out something that’s just now dawning on me.
“Yeah, she’s at UC San Diego. She stayed there for a summer internship.”
Jason nods and glances toward my dad’s door again. I wonder if he’s trying to earn brownie points by staying late or if he really wanted to apologize.
“I’d love to go to school in California, but it’ll never happen.” His voice is hollow, defeated, and my heart squeezes. I can’t believe the Manicotti wanted to fire him just for being late.
“I’ve gotta catch my bus.” He forces a grim smile. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“So, you didn’t get scared off? I mean, you know, with the rules and the Mani—Mr. Mantoni.”
“Oh.” He darts another anxious glance at my dad’s door. “Well…it’s…I guess…this is how it works in the real world, right? That’s what Coach always says. ‘Jason, you have no idea how things work in the real world.’”
We laugh and I completely forgive him for not recognizing me. I also admit to myself that my infatuation might be winding down. He’s a decent guy, but up close and personal, I don’t feel the fireworks I’d always fantasized about.
Dad’s office door opens, and he strides out, looking harried, briefcase in hand. He stops short when he sees us.
“Hey, Dad. Jason and I were just talking about how awesome today was.” The lie flows easily because I want Dad to like Jason, and I want him to have a shot at the scholarship.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He turns to me. “Ready to go, Laurel?”
Jason back-steps into the hallway. “See you later, Mr. Kristoff. Laurel.” He gives a half wave, then hustles away. I guess he lost his nerve to thank my dad.
Dad doesn’t look happy. “Was that young man flirting with you, Laurel?”
“Dad. No, not even.” I choke-laugh. “He didn’t even know…never mind.”
“I should have thought of that complication,” he mutters as he strides quickly toward the elevator. “I’ll have to talk to Tom about this.”
Panic rockets through me. “There’s nothing to talk about. Especially not to the Manicotti.”
Dad glares as he presses the elevator button. “Don’t call him that, Laurel, especially in this office.”
“Sorry.” I tug at my hair. “Dad, it was no big deal. Jason goes to school with me. We were just catching up.”
The elevator arrives, and we step in. “Laurel, you’re…these boys…young men…” He’s struggling for words, which never happens. I wait, but he goes silent until we reach the underground level. I almost have to run to keep up with his long strides as he heads toward his car, muttering under his breath.
Once we’re out of the garage and driving in traffic, he resumes his train of thought. “You’re only seventeen. This is no time to…to…”
“Get married?” I joke. “But back in the olden days, we’d be the perfect marrying age. Which one should I pick? You could have a grandchild by Easter if you’re lucky.”
He jerks his head to glare at me, his mouth an angry slash. “Do not joke about that, Laurel Anne. Ever.”
I giggle. I can’t help it
. Sometimes I like to push the Vader’s buttons.
“Dad, you know I’m kidding.” I fiddle with my beaded bracelet. “Also, you don’t have to worry about me, um, dating any of these guys or whatever.” As the words tumble out, Carlos’s dimpled grin pops into my mind. And stays.
“I would hope not, Laurel.” I feel Dad’s stare on me. “That would disqualify an intern from winning the scholarship.”
It would? Holy crapoli. Rattled, I change the subject away from my nonexistent office romance to more important matters.
“So, Yoda. You have a rogue Jedi you need to rein in. Mr. Mantoni is not yet one with the Force. It’s more like he’s bashing everyone over the head with excessive force.”
Dad grimaces as we race toward the highway on-ramp, passing the Pepsi Center concert venue and the Auraria campus of urban colleges, including CU Denver, which Carlos mentioned.
Why do I keep thinking about Carlos? I frown and tug at my gauzy skirt, trying to shut off my thoughts.
“What do you mean by excessive force?” Dad asks, skillfully maneuvering through traffic until we’re in the far left lane.
“Rules, Dad. I thought companies today were all hip and flexible. Like Google, with napping pods and games. And slides.” I side-eye him. “You could put a slide in, from the third floor down to the lobby. That would be sweet. Or maybe a fireman pole.”
He gives me a look that reminds me why I usually give him a wide berth until he’s had his after-work beer. I take a breath.
“I’m…well, I have some…concerns about the, uh, success of this project.” Dad glances at me curiously. “Mr. Mantoni scared everyone today. He’s like a dictator. And the worst part is he wants me to report back on rule breakers. Inappropriate behavior, cheating…whatever.” I sigh, allowing my worries free rein. “I don’t know if the interns will talk to me after today, let alone let me help them.”
“That boy lingering in my office talked to you.”
Oops. “That was…he was just…”
Jason’s apology seemed genuine, but I know how much he needs the scholarship. I hope he wasn’t sucking up to me because of my dad.
“Anyway, no one else talked to me after the Manicotti laid down the law.”
Though Carlos did interact with me, with the thumbs-up stuff. That was funny. But he didn’t speak to me the rest of the afternoon, and he’d been the first person to leave at five, without a backward glance.
“How about Trish? How’s she holding up with her dad laying down the law?”
A question I couldn’t answer. She had a giant chip on her shoulder that would either alienate everyone or earn their grudging respect. I just wanted to stay out of her line of fire.
“You two should be friends,” Dad continues. “Both of you working with your dads.” He shoots me a knowing smile. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Ha,” I scoff. “That’ll never happen. She treats me like gum on the bottom of her shoe.”
Dad frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe I should talk to––”
“No. You should not talk to anyone, especially Mr. Mantoni. Trish and I will be fine. What’s it called when enemies agree not to kill each other?
“Truce?”
“The French one.”
“Détente.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping for.”
We drive in silence, until I gather the courage to ask something that’s been bugging me all day.
“So Dad…do you think…I mean…”
He downshifts and glances at me. “Go on.”
“Did you hire me thinking I could help out? Or did I just wear you down?” As much as I want the chance to spend time with him, I don’t want to be the daddy’s girl with a fluff job, like Trish assumes.
Dad clears his throat. “You might be surprised. Stay open to the possibilities.”
Why is he talking in riddles? “What possibilities, Yoda? You gonna train me in some new secret Force moves?”
He rolls his eyes, which makes me happy. I didn’t think he knew how.
“We learn from all of our experiences. Even when we don’t realize what we’ve learned until it’s over.”
“Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
He fake glares. “Don’t Yoda me, Padawan.”
I smile out the window, but I’m still worried about my job. About the Manicotti. About Trish.
Traffic slows to a crawl and Dad runs a hand through his hair.
“Laurel… This scholarship program is a big deal. At first I said no because I thought you working here would be a distraction. But the more I considered it, the more I realized it’s a great opportunity for you.” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as we slow to ten miles per hour. “Tom may have gone a bit overboard today, but it’s because he wants this program to succeed.”
“That’s what Ms. Romero said.”
Dad nods. “She’s right. As usual.”
I wonder if I’ll ever make a boss that happy, if I’ll know just what to say or do, no matter the circumstance.
“Dad…this idea of me voting on the winner. I don’t like it.” I hold my breath.
“Two votes,” Dad corrects.
“But why—”
Dad honks at a pickup truck who cuts us off. The guy flips Dad the bird. Dad doesn’t return the gesture, though I suspect he would if I wasn’t with him.
“Idiot,” he mutters, then glances at me. “I thought you’d like that. You were the one who told me you could do a ‘peer review.’”
“That doesn’t mean I want to vote. I don’t want to give somebody a rose while everyone else is disappointed.”
“Rose?” Dad shoots me a confused glance. “What are you talking about?”
Clearly he doesn’t watch reality TV. “I mean that I shouldn’t vote. You should. You and Mr. Mantoni and whoever else. But not me.”
We’re silent for a bit, then he asks, “What do you think of the interns so far?”
Uh-oh. “They…” I stop. What should I say? I hardly know them. “I’m withholding judgment. It’s only the first day.”
“First impressions are important,” he counters. “Sometimes you have to make snap decisions based on them.”
“Dad, come on.”
“Hypothetical question. You’re stuck on a desert island. Which one of them do you want with you?”
I tense, then tell myself he doesn’t mean this in a suggestive way; he’s my dad, after all. He probably means it in the Yoda way—like when Luke was training on Dagobah.
“Uh…I can’t answer that.” Well, not entirely true. “Okay, so as of right now, definitely not Trish. She’d kill me and cook me over a campfire to survive.”
Dad coughs, but he’s hiding a laugh underneath.
“Anyway,” I say, “it’s too early for me answer that question. Let’s table this question until Friday, okay?”
After a beat of silence, Dad speaks. “Table we will, until Friday it is.”
…
One of Mom’s inviolable rules is that we eat dinner as a family at least two nights a week. She’d prefer more but Dad works too late most days. It doesn’t matter what we eat––fast food was acceptable when Kendra and I had after-school practices or whatever, but we have to sit at the table together.
So here we are, minus Kendra, and by the gleam in Mom’s eyes she can’t wait to pepper me with questions.
“Is Mr. Mantoni excited to have you working there again?”
Excited is not the word I’d choose. I take a long drink of iced tea to stall. I glance at Dad, whose attention is on his cell phone, violating another of Mom’s rules. I point to Dad and Mom’s expression transforms from anticipation to annoyance.
“Rhett. No phones at the dinner table.”
Chastised, Dad gives her a sheepish grin and flips his phone screen-side down. I don’t think anyone else on the planet could boss Dad Vader around except my mom.
My parents met in college, in a ridiculously romantic and d
ramatic way. Mom and a few of her friends went to a frat party to protest the “demeaning and sexist swimsuit contest.” Instead of prancing around in a bikini to be ranked by a bunch of Neanderthals, Mom stayed fully clothed and led a protest chant, waving her giant poster and marching around the swimming pool.
A couple of the frat brothers grabbed Mom and tossed her into the pool. Unfortunately, she couldn’t swim. Her friends freaked out, and while most of the frat guys ignored their pleas for help, Dad jumped into the pool and rescued her. The story has achieved legendary status over the years.
Dad didn’t stay friends with the guys who threw Mom into the pool. The fraternity stopped hosting beauty contests years ago, because the protests continued until the fraternity dropped the whole thing. Mom considers this one of her biggest accomplishments, and she made Kendra promise to be very careful about the whole frat scene when she went off to college.
“So, tell me about your day,” Mom prompts me. “How were the interns? Was Trish nice to you?”
Dad and I exchange a secret look.
“It was fine.” I shrug and twirl spaghetti around my fork.
Mom frowns. “Fine?” She side-eyes Dad, who mirrors my shrug. “Laurel, I—we—have high hopes for this summer. This job’s an opportunity for you to develop new skills. And use the ones you already have, of course.” She smiles brightly. “You have so much to offer.”
Like what? Snack delivery? Also, it sounds like she and Dad memorized talking points, which makes me suspicious.
“The job is fine, Mom. Don’t worry. Once I get to know everyone I’m sure I’ll, um, contribute a lot.”
Dad nods. “I have no doubt. You have much more to offer than you realize.”
I don’t know if he means it, or if it’s one of those parental platitudes that’s supposed to make me feel better.
Mom asks more questions and I give her vague non-answers, deflecting and evading like a pro until dinner is finished and I can finally escape to meet Lexi.
…
“Tell me about the water park. Anything exciting happen?”
Lexi licks icing off her cupcake like a kid. We’ve been friends since she transferred into Clarkson Academy in the second grade. Back then she reminded me of a fairy––petite and graceful with long black hair and golden-brown skin. She hasn’t changed much––except now she has a foul mouth for someone who looks so sweet and innocent, but she keeps it under control since we’re sitting outside, surrounded by families.
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 5
