The California air was hot, which only worsened my mood.Not qualified.That was what the interviewer said to me before we even finished. How could I not be qualified to sit in a godforsaken cubicle performing painfully redundant tasks every day?

As I waited for my ride to arrive, I reached for my phone in my handbag. Messages from Michael had been my sourceof comfort for the last few weeks. Unfortunately, he hadn’t responded to my last text about an official date. That was a bad sign. Maybe he didn’t want to meet. I could understand that. Nowadays, face-to-face meetings with people from online platforms could be dangerous. Since I was persistent andfoolishly optimistic, I sent him another message. Maybe he got busy, and it slipped his mind to respond.

Me:Hey… so, my day just got shot to hell. A “yogurt clash” would do me some good right now…

I waited for his response and got nothing. My mood plummeted some more. “I shouldn’t have sent him that lame text earlier,” I grumbled. It wasn’t even that funny. Just then, I saw my brother’s sleek car crawling toward me in traffic. He’d been so stoked about my interview that he offered to drop me off and pick me up as if it were my first day at kindergarten.

Jonathan excelled at annoying me and making me feel like hisbabysister, but I let him get away with it because I adored him and he meant well. When he came to a stop, I jumped into the car, so he wouldn’t have to pull over.

He gave me his typical disapproving scowl. “That was probably illegal.”

I rolled my eyes and buckled my seat belt. “Relax, will you? You’re such a stickler for rules.” As he scowled harder, I smiled sweetly and said, “Hey. Thanks for the lift.”

His expression softened. Since we were at a standstill in the evening bumper-to-bumper jam, he looked at me. “Well…?”

My gaze darted away from him. “Well what?”

He huffed. “The interview. Did you get the job?”

Nibbling my lip, I shrugged. “You know, Jon, that job wasn’t for me. I mean, can you picture me in a drab suit and sensible pumps sitting in a cubicle like a caged bird?Yeesh…” I shuddered in disgust and then turned to smile at him. “Am I right?”

Jonathan wasn’t amused. He gave me the same unimpressed, straight-faced stare Dad usually gave me.

Sighing, I hung my head like an errant child and grumbled, “I got turned down.”

“Again? This was your third interview.”

His disbelieving tone made me feel like such a failure even though I knew he didn’t mean to make me feel that way.

“What did they say?” he asked.

Fiddling with the straps of my handbag, I shrugged. “Something about me not being qualified…”

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow. “What does that tell you?”

“That the corporate gatekeepers are a bunch of dicks?”

His eyes narrowed on me… probably because he could be considered one of those corporate dicks. “Being turned downthriceshould tell you that you need to get your ass to college to become qualified for something…anything.”

“Why are you always low-key calling me stupid? And nobody under eighty saysthrice,” I snapped. The latter probably wasn’t true. I was just pissed.

“I have never in my life called you stupid, Mia.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ve thought about it plenty of times, just like Dad.”

He sighed heavily and returned his attention to the road as the traffic lurched forward. “We’re not arguing about something nonsensical again.”

“No young person saysnonsensicaleither,” I grumbled.

Jonathan’s low chuckle made me turn to him with a glare.

“Why do you take digs at me every time I try to give you advice about your future?”

“Because you don’t give advice,” I replied heatedly. “You order me to do things just like Dad, and it’s irritating. I’m twenty-one. I can make my own decisions.” Sure, some of them—okay, a lot of them—might not have been great ones, but they were mine to make because I was an adult.

The car got quiet. He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. Finally, he said, “Alright, fine. I’m sorry if I do that. I just want to see you get on the right track.”

Theright track?He made me sound like a miscreant on the path to a life of crime.