from that area is the design firm I signed my graphic design internship with. “This is she.”
He clears his throat. “Ah, yes, this is William Connor. We met a few months ago when you came up for an interview at Prescott Designs.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, hello! It’s great to hear from you. I’m so excited to see you in May.” I let out a nervous laugh. Getting that prized spot was the highlight of my year. “I even already have a place to live. My cousin has a great apartment near downtown and she’s setting up a room for me. All I have to do is graduate and move—”
“Ah, well, I have bad news. We’ve had to make some cutbacks here at the firm, and we’re canceling.”
“Oh.” I take a seat on the couch. “Why? Was I not right for the program? I mean, I know the competition was tough, but I’m one of the best. Are you—are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” I nailed that interview. I know I did. My GPA is stellar and my portfolio is kickass. Ma even bought me a pale gray power suit from Barney’s, and my makeup was demure but stylish, my pink and black hair slicked back in a tight bun—
“No mistake, and I’m sincerely sorry. It’s not you. We’re cutting the program entirely.” A long sigh comes from his end. “I’m in the process of calling several interns and letting them know, Ms. Rossi. You aren’t alone.”
My hand rubs my forehead. Boston was the only thing keeping me going, knowing I’d be out of here soon. “I see.”
“I’m aware it puts you in a bind, and I’d be happy to suggest a few places that may have openings for interns. I’ll email them over to you. My advice is to apply immediately.”
What he isn’t saying is that all the spots at the best firms have been filled. Shit. Boston was the perfect city—close to home yet far enough away that Ma couldn’t pop in and surprise me.
“If you want to take a gap year and reapply next year, we may reopen it then.”
A gap year would mean moving back in with my parents. NIAMY. Not in a million years.
We end the conversation, and I stare down at my phone for several seconds, resisting the urge to throw it across the room. Instead, I head to the kitchen for some much-earned coffee.
“How was Cadillac’s last night?” Penelope asks a few minutes later when she comes into the kitchen. She’s changed from her pjs into jeans and a Wildcats shirt—another one. Nice.
I sit down at the table near the bay window. “Margo, Connor, and the chess champs were there so I hung with them.”
“Did you see him?”
My hands tighten. “He had two girls with him. Looks like he’s expanding his harem.”
She frowns and takes cinnamon rolls out of the oven. She must have put them in earlier. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I decide to not dwell on Blaze and give her the rundown from the phone call. She listens, her head cocked, eyes studying me. I see worry in her gaze.
“Dang. Sorry, Charm. I know this isn’t how you wanted to start off the new semester.” She pours sugary icing on the rolls and brings me one. Like Ma, she thinks food solves everything.
I look down at it, mentally tallying up the carb points. “I shouldn’t eat this.”
Her hands go to her hips and she gets a little scowl on her face. “Are you on this diet thing again?”
I snort. “I’ve been on a diet for seven days, but all I’ve lost is a week. Heck, all my cardio consists of is walking to the fridge—hence the attempt at yoga.”
“You’re talking crazy.”
“No, I’m serious. Ma is short and curvy, and I got the gene. My muffin top is a three-layer cake!”
“Why do this to yourself?” She exhales a breath and sits down across from me. I sense a lecture coming.
“Pen, you don’t get it.”
Her eyes are kind as she takes my hand. “Stop comparing yourself to others. That isn’t the Charisma I know.”
“I know…but I keep thinking about those horrible nicknames—”
“That was a long time ago.”
“But,” I remind her, “you never heard people call you those things.” I run my fingers over the rim of my cup. “And then Trevor…” I blow out a breath, my head going back to the popular, crazy-good-looking guy I was in love with back in high school, the one who admitted at