hadn’t expected. Telling him about my side job playing for children at the hospital had been what really won him over, however.
Really, the whole interview had passed in a total blur. So much had been on the line, and in the back of my mind all I could think about was how so many other people more qualified than me had probably applied for the job.
But I’d gotten it. A few hours later, I received an email from Mr. Mass letting me know he thought I’d be perfect for the job, starting that next Monday.
I was going to be a real-life journalist writing about a subject I loved. It was too good to be true.
After a quick change of clothes, the buzzer to my apartment sounded. I opened the door and there was Gia, a bottle of something sparkly in her hands. She let out a scream as soon as she laid eyes on me, and I did the same as she hurried over to give me a big hug.
Gia, as excitable as ever, wrapped me up in her happiness. Whatever fears I had about my success were blown away as she ran into my apartment.
“You did it!” she said, letting me go and backing up, taking a look at me as if she hadn’t seen me in years. “You’re a freaking writer!”
“Something like that,” I said, laughing.
“Something like that,” she mimicked, shaking her head as she opened the cupboard and took out two glasses. “Annie, you’re getting paid to write about your passion. Most people would kill for a job like that.”
She popped open the bottle and hurried to the couch, glasses in hand. I sat down next to her.
“It’s only a foot in the door,” I said. “Not like it pays a ton.”
Gia set the glasses on the coffee table and waved her hand through the air, as if swatting away my concerns. “Does it pay enough?”
“Well, sure.”
“And does it have benefits?”
“Believe it or not, yes.”
“Then you’re golden. All you have to do is kick ass like I know you will, and you’ll be running that place before too long.” She handed one of the glasses to me before taking one for herself. Then she raised it into the air. “To your amazing, super glamorous new career as a journalist.”
I laughed. “OK, I’ll drink to that.”
We tapped, then sipped, the wine crisp and fruity and delicious.
“So,” she said. “What are you going to be writing about?”
“They’ll be setting up interviews with musicians around the world. I interview them here and write some articles. Every now and then I’ll be doing reviews.”
“That sounds so freaking awesome,” she said. “And I bet if you do a really amazing job, they’ll fly you all over the country to write stuff like that.”
“I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but maybe,” I said, excitement running through me. “He did hint they do stuff like that.”
“So cool,” she said. “And to think, Andrew broke up with you because he thought he was going to leave you behind with all his success. And now look at you!”
My face reddened at the mention of Andrew. “You had to bring him up, didn’t you?”
“Shit,” she said, knowing she’d made a mistake. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just…”
I frowned at her; she was acting strange all of a sudden. “What? Just what?”
“It’s really weird. I don’t know how to say it.”
“Try.”
She sighed, setting her drink on the table and wringing her hands. “I saw him yesterday.”
“Andrew?”
She sighed as she looked at me. “He was in town.”
“What? Where did you see him?”
“At Apres Ski Coffee,” she revealed. “I ran in there to grab a mocha and there he was, standing at the counter. I tried to avoid him, but we made eye contact and there was no getting out of it.”
It was enough to make my stomach turn. “What happened?”
“You can probably guess. He came over all smiles – you know that big, toothy fake smile he gets when he doesn’t actually want to talk to someone but knows he should, that pretend friendliness.”
“Ugh,” I scoffed, knowing exactly what she was talking about. “The one where he’s smiling with his mouth but not with his eyes? So freaking creepy.”
“That’s the one!” she exclaimed, raising her finger toward me. “Anyway, he comes over and starts talking to me, asking me how I’m doing and all that. And the whole time I’m just thinking, come on, you don’t give a shit about me – ask what you really want