Screw them. I wasn’t giving up. I tried searching by job type rather than location. Maybe I’d find something that way. When the list came up, I scrolled down it further and further. And further.
Almost every single job was somehow related to moving money around or computers. I took a moment to lean back, raise both my middle fingers, and launched both birds at my monitor.
But I still wasn’t giving up. I did notice several jobs for long-haul truckers. Maybe I could do that? Wasn’t there something sexy about a woman who drove a big rig and had dinner at truck stops nation wide? Some of those truck stops even had showers for the truckers. How awesome was that?
Uhhhh, no.
Besides, I needed something part time. And it turned out, most of the jobs were full time.
I did find one company that wanted to hire tutors for high school students. The subject they most needed, and for which I was best qualified, was math. Groan.
“We told you so,” rang through my mind.
I dropped my head back against my couch, grabbed the nearest pillow, squished my face into it, and screamed.
That felt good.
I did it again.
I lowered my pillow and sighed.
As much as I hated to do it, I filled out the online application for math tutors. Couldn’t the tutoring company have been seeking art tutors instead? Not that I was qualified, but why did it have to be math?
We told you so!
:-)
SHUT UP!!!!!!
I filled in the fields asking for my ACT and SAT scores were. Thanks to my parents, I’d taken both, and scored well on both.
After filling out all the remaining information, I clicked SUBMIT and prayed that my age and inexperience would put me at the bottom of the application pile.
I spent another hour combing through job listings. There were absolutely zero jobs related to art.
We told you so!
:-D
A knot had formed in my stomach over the course of the hour. I started to wonder if my parents were right. Based on the jobs I’d found online, it sure seemed that way. But I reminded myself that I did have the museum job. That was art. And Christos’ whole family made money selling art. Heck, I’d made $150 on my crayon painting.
Was it possible to sell ten crayon paintings a month? That would be $1,500, which combined with the $400 from working at the museum, would probably be enough for all my bills. I certainly had time to draw that many.
But would I be able to sell all of my crayon paintings, month after month? Or would I end up sitting down on the boardwalk with stacks of crayon paintings laid out on one of those knitted blankets from Tijuana, and a sign that said “Prices reduced!” and the number “$150” would be Xed out, along with the numbers $125, $100, $75, $50, $25, $10, $5, $1.99, etc., all the way down to “FREE! Please take one!”
It seemed all too likely.
I needed to find a job with a paycheck while I still had a roof over my head.
I ended up submitting a few other applications that I doubted would turn into anything because the jobs actually sounded cool and paid well.
Was it time for me to hit the bricks tomorrow and follow in the time-honored American tradition of working for a fast-food chain restaurant?
We told you so!
Shudder.
I texted Madison to see if she was awake. When I didn’t hear back from her, I called Christos. No answer from him, either.
I did have ice cream in the freezer.
I walked into my kitchen and opened the door. It was like a winter wonderland inside. Icicles everywhere, surrounding creamy, sugary escape. I could spare the calories. I’d been good. I’d barely had any ice cream in weeks. And I didn’t think I’d had a single spoonful over Winter Break with Christos.
I opened up the container of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. There was hardly any ice cream left inside. I mean, it was almost half gone. Or some amount less than half-gone, but nowhere near a full pint. Because two good spoonfuls already gone was at least a half pint, according to my math. Anyway, it was going to get freezer burn sooner or later, then it would go to waste, and I was not one to waste food. Not when there were children in third world countries who never got to eat ice cream. Ever.
I would eat it for their sake.
I swear I would’ve shared, had any of those children been present in my apartment. I sort of wished they were, because I think the joy on their faces would’ve filled me up better than the ice cream. But I was all alone, and had no choice.
No ice cream would ever go to waste on my watch.
Chapter 14
SAMANTHA
My same pattern of school, homework, job hunt, and no Christos continued for the next several days.
Lame!
I managed to actually hook up with Madison on campus a few days later. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d dropped Managerial Accounting.
We met for lunch in the Student Center.
“Mads! So good to see you!” I said.
Madison wrapped her arms around me. “I totally missed you, girl!”
“Me too. You wanna get fish tacos?”
“Hells yeah,” Madison said.
We walked into the food court and got in the long line. I worried about spending the extra money, but I couldn’t ask Madison to have protein bars for lunch with me. Meh.
“So, how’s Dorquemann?” I asked.
“Doctor Dorquemann is the greatest sleep aid known to man. I think the medical school on campus has researchers in the lecture hall recording the sound of his voice every day, trying to pin down the exact pattern of frequencies that Dorquemann uses when he lectures. I hear they’re trying to get FDA approval already.”
“That good, huh?” I smiled sympathetically.
“No biggie. If I’m ever going to run my own company, I have to learn this stuff sooner or later.”
“You want to run a company?”
“Yeah,” Madison said, “Jake and I have been talking about it. He wants to start his own line of surf clothes, maybe even open a shop here in San Diego. If he wins a few more competitions and gets some good endorsements, he’ll have enough of a name and enough extra cash that we might be able to do it.”
“Look at you,” I smiled, “Miss Go-Getter. That’s awesome, Mads. I totally think you could pull it off.”
“I just wish I was taking more of the upper division Marketing classes for my major. I need to learn all that stuff, like, yesterday!”
We finally made it to the front of the line and ordered our fish tacos. I tried to pay, but I’d already told Madison about my job hunt, and she refused.
“It’s on me,” Madison said. “When you’re a world-famous artist, you can pay.”
“Thanks, Mads.” I went and filled up salsa containers for both of us. I’d grown increasingly accustomed to hot sauce, and couldn’t seem to get enough. Plus, extra hot sauce was free, unlike extra guacamole. Sigh.
We took our trays outside to eat. It actually started to sprinkle, so we found an inside table.
“So, how’s the new major coming along?” Madison asked.
“Other than my sculpting professor hates my ass, and my looming financial ruin, I couldn’t be happier.”
“Do you want to move in with me?” she asked seriously.
“Is one of your roommates moving out?”
“No, but I have a big room. We could share.”
I smiled at her, almost in disbelief. I couldn’t get over how supportive she was. I’d never had friends like Madison in high school. I didn’t realize friends could be so generous. My eyes watered, but I did my best to keep my tears to myself.
“What about Jake?” I asked, trying to hide behind my napkin. “I don’t want to cramp your style.”