Page 10 of Daydream

The drive to the hotel takes half the time I’d planned, and I spend fifteen minutes sitting in the parking lot debating with myself if it’s rude or conscientious to arrive thirty minutes early. In my defense, I’d imagined every possible thing that could go wrong and planned for it. It’s not my fault that I returned to my car in the parking lot of Enchanted and still had all four of my tires.

The writing competition flier is staring at me from my passenger seat, but I’ve already read it ten times to confirm that yes, I am 100 percent going to submit something. If I were dating Will, he’d tell me it isn’t enough time or that the competition is too tough. He’d convince me that it was selfish to spend time I could be with him working on something I’m excited about, since I already havesomany commitments.

But I’m not dating Will, and I want this for myself. I refuse to feel guilty about it, and even if I don’t win, I’ll have finally put myself first and completed a goal that I’m excited about.

The impatient part of me wishes I could head home and start working on it straight away, but the responsible Halle that I’m so good at being decides to put it in the back of my head and concentrate on my current task: working at The Huntington hotel.

I originally interviewed for a summer job at The Huntington back in May, when I was trying not to have to go back to Phoenix for three months. I love my family, but spending my time off being used as free childcare for my two younger sisters is not my idea of a productive summer. At least a job would pay me for my labor, and looking after a fifteen-year-old and an eight-year-oldislabor. I’m still recovering from the constant tears, arguing, and door slamming.

I’m also still trying to remember a time when Grayson was expected to put aside his summer to play third parent and look after us, even before he started playing football professionally in the NFL and moved to the East Coast.

It might take me until next summer to come up with an answer to that one.

I obviously didn’t get the job I interviewed for; they had a member of staff transfer from a different hotel, but Pete, the manager, said he was impressed with my interview and he’d call if there was ever a vacancy.

True to his word, Pete called last week to say there was a position at reception that could be mine if I wanted it, and I’d need to come in today to do the paperwork and online training before picking up shifts from next week. The hours he wants me to work overlap with the time I was supposed to be visiting Will, which feels like another instance of fate intervening.

The Huntington hotel is one of those chains you can’t escape. Their hotels and country clubs are all over the world, catering to rich and famous clientele. That’s why it’s so wild to me that Maple Hills students are some of the brains behind this particular hotel’s operations. Jokes aside, this hotel has excellent reviews, so they’re doing something right.

Pete is friendly but quick to give me the rundown on the day-to-day of the hotel. I feel like I’m on a Huntington-themed roller coaster as he flies through information I’m supposed to remember. My head feels like it’s going to explode when he finally introduces me to the woman I’ll be working alongside on most of my shifts.

“Halle Jacobs, meet Campbell Walker. Campbell, Halle,” he says quickly. “I have a meeting to go to, but if you can let Halle shadow you, maybe introduce her to the computer system if you get any periods of quiet. I’ve given Halle West’s old pass and locker. Could you track down his old training folder because it might have some guides I can repurpose? I’ll be back in an hour.”

I feel a little like I’ve been dropped off at day care and my parent is leaving me to fend for myself as Pete walks away. I immediately forget what to do with my hands. Letting them hang at my sides feels unnatural, but folding my arms feels standoffish.

“I don’t bite, I swear,” Campbell says gently. “Unless you’re into that.” She gestures to the chair beside her and smiles. “Andplease, call me Cami. It’ll be quiet for the next hour or so, so don’t stress too much. As for West, the man has never taken a legible note in his life, so let’s not bother trying to track down his stuff.”

“Is West the guy I’m replacing?”

Her smile fades a little, like she’s remembering something she’d rather not. “Yup. He graduated and decided to get as far away from this place as he could. He was useless anyway. Always goofing around and being annoying and…” Her voice trails off. “Anyway, tell me about yourself, Halle Jacobs. What brought you here?”

It’s a second-long decision on whether to sugarcoat it or be totally honest. Will broke up with me, and all the friends we shared removed me from our various group chats, leaving my phone practically silent. I’m avoiding my mom’s calls so she can’t ask me about him, while simultaneously telling myself that having sex with him to keep him around would not have been better than the loneliness I’m feeling because he hasn’t checked in.

In summary, I don’t have a lot to lose and even less to gain from lying to her.

“My boyfriend broke up with me and the people I called my friends shut me out, which wasn’t surprising because I knew they were his friends deep down, but it was surprising how much it hurt me. So now I’m doing things for myself, but equally filling my time so the whole experience doesn’t have a chance to hit me in the face one day.”

Cami is quiet at least three seconds longer than I’d like her to be. Then she smiles. “We are going to get along really, really great.”

Chapter FourHALLE

IFEEL LIKEI’M ATa One Direction concert and not in a good way.

My stepsister has a whole host of talents: gymnastics, bringing back a plant from the brink of death, and weirdly, being able to hustle anyone out of their money during a game of pool, but I can confidently say singing is not one of them. The smooth vocals of Zayn are being replaced by the out-of-tune and out-of-time screeching emitting from my laptop speaker. “Gigi,” I say with a groan, turning down the volume.

She can’t hear me over the sound of “What Makes You Beautiful” being brutally murdered, or more likely, she’s ignoring me. “Gi!” I repeat, louder this time as my eyes scan the same line for the third time. “Gianna Scott! Could you please shut the hell up?”

The music stops abruptly, and I watch as she focuses back on our video call. “Did you say something?”

“I can’t concentrate on your essay when you sound like Joy when she’s hungry.” I don’t even think she’s old enough to remember One Direction being a band, but Mom found all my old CDs while cleaning out the garage, and now they’re Gigi’s latest fixation.

“What if I wanted to be a singer? What if you just crushed mydreams and became my villain origin story?” She sits up in her desk chair to fold her arms across her chest, a symbol of defiance, I guess. Her thick brown curls are secured in braids down each side of her face, tied with pink ribbons that sit right above the logo on her swea—

“Oh my God, that’s my sweatshirt! What did I say about going through my things when I’m at college? It isn’t even your size!”

“How’s my essay?” she asks, deflecting entirely the way only a fifteen-year-old with no fear can.

“I haven’t finished it yet because I can’t focus through your performance. Just be quiet for five minutes and then I’ll be done, and you can get back to your concert.” Gigi pinches her thumb and forefinger together, sliding them across her lips like a zipper, and I get back to reading about Orwell’s1984. “Thank you.”

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