Category:

I stared down at my black skirt and blazer. Boring. And not even comfortable. I was much more at home in a pair of jeans, but rich businesswomen on TV always wore pencil skirts. I'd found this mismatched suit at Goodwill. I was like Goldilocks with a skirt that was a size too tight and a blazer two sizes too big. In my mirror this morning, I thought if I bunched the sleeves up, it looked intentional. It was the best I could come up with on a budget. In the light of my apartment, they looked like they matched pretty well, but with the morning sun streaming like a spotlight, the brightness showed that the skirt was slightly more faded than the blazer.

At least I had my freaky lizard key chain hung proudly on my tote bag. I didn't need shiny diamonds; I knew the lizard was winking at me and wishing me luck—at least it would if it had eyes, and I meant that in the literal sense. Joanna had forgotten to give it eyes.

I was going to nail this interview and get the job. It sounded really swanky to be in the accounting department for a startup company. The description on the website read, "Technix: A turnkey provider of excellence"—what the hell did that even mean?

I didn't care. Technix offered insurance, and I wanted it. Technix could be a cover for a Mafia money-laundering business, and I wouldn't care. Did the Mafia provide a 401(k) with matching contributions? If so, I'd look the other way.

I tipped back the last of my coffee. I was supposed to be rationing sips so it would last longer. The barista gave me the stank eye for taking one of the high-top aluminum tables for so long. I still had forty-five minutes until my interview.

I got up to get back in the long line, and within half a second, two men with laptops and books took my table. I now needed to find another place to prepare for my interview and calm down. My hands were slick with sweat, and the cheap material of my skirt showed the marks from where I kept wiping my hands. It looked like two landing strips on either side of my thighs.

I told myself not to be nervous, it was just an interview. No! It was the first office interview I'd ever had in my life. I told myself it wasn't like they were going to ask me to my face if I embellished a little on my résumé or ask me point-blank if I was really an Indian from the rez masquerading as an accomplished Waspy accountant. I've lied about little things before. So, this one itty-bitty truth-bending episode shouldn't matter, right? I just needed my foot in the door, and after that I would only tell the truth.

 

I wanted to feel bad about the lying, but really, I was more worried about getting caught in the lies. It was hard to feel bad about gaming a system that was designed to put people like me down. I was the first person in my family to attend college. It was just community college, and I hadn't finished—yet. But that still meant something. I was proud of it. If I could get this job, or one like it, then I could afford to pay for night school. I could live the truth then, proudly displaying my accounting / finance support associate's degree. How were people like me supposed to honestly get their feet over the corporate threshold when you had to have gone to the right schools, been a part of a sorority, and had at least three to five years' experience for an entry-level position? A real head-scratcher, that one.

Anyway, nothing I put was an overt lie...it was just not precisely the whole truth. My dad was white, and my mom was a Native mix of Chickasaw and Choctaw. That was just how it was now. We all were a mix of stuff. A real American melting pot, as my auntie said. My parents had me super young, and I don't remember a single holiday or birthday back then that didn't end with them shouting at each other. I was six when my brother, Sage, was born. Then my dad left.

My brother and I lived with our mom in a one-bedroom apartment for a while before she dropped us off at Auntie's house and never came back. I was thirteen and Sage was only seven. Auntie was technically her cousin, but they were close like sisters. At least that was what Auntie told me. It was hard at first, but I really loved living in that little mobile home with her. She took us to the library on the weekends and told me I was smart. No one had ever said that before.

So, yeah, checking that box felt like a big "fuck you" to the man. To every single gatekeeper trying to put people like me in a box with that stupid ethnicity question. What did that dumbass question ever accomplish? Some bullshit affirmative action quota? Something to save face and look like they really tried to hire diversely? Everyone likes to say it's so easy for minorities to get jobs now. That we have some sort of advantage after years of being treated as second-class citizens. Bull fucking shit. If that were the case, then why were all the good jobs still full of white people? Being hyped by Joanna in the bowling alley that night really fueled me.

The line still hadn't moved, and I was giving up. I had extra time to make it to my interview, and I wanted them to see me early and eager for the job. I turned on the balls of my feet, my orthopedic flats squeaked on the tile, and I collided with a wall.

It was a handsome, muscular wall, and I was going down, sideways. The wall had arms. They encircled me before I did a face-plant. They yanked me upright and pulled my eyeline to a chest with a soft, blue chambray button-up shirt.