Page 80 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

After an hour and a half, Greta heard the door swish open,
the only sound in the quiet basement. “Hey.” She set down the
stack of old newspapers she’d been sorting in the living room.
“Hey.”
“How’d it go?” So casual.
“I think it went okay.” Ash took off his coat and headed
for the bathroom.
“What kinds of things did they ask you?”

“You know, previous job experience, what’s the most
important part of customer service. Stuff like that.”
Greta inwardly cringed. “And what did you say?”
“I’d rather not repeat the whole interview. I did my best.”
Greta went to bed early that night to think. Waiting.
Always waiting for results. Waiting to hear about the job.
Waiting to hear from their dad. Waiting for Aunt Lori to ADVANCE READING COPY

get back from Arizona. Waiting to see who would be in her
classes the next day—the first day of the new term. Her
stomach twisted thinking about that, without the made-up
daytime chores to distract her. A sick feeling trickled from
her chest downward. She’d used up whatever got her through
the last part of the previous term—hiding, skipping classes,
faking every communicable virus known to humans—and
crossed the finish line on fumes.
It was a far cry from November, after she’d been Sporty

Spice and floated around on a cloud with Rachel and her
friends. Greta remembered how, after Priya’s party, Rachel
had leaned in close at her locker and said, “So Dylan’s been
asking about the girl who was Sporty Spice.”

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