Page 3 of The Friend Game

“Hannah! Oh my goodness, Hannah! Come here!” Jill’s excited voice sails through the house.

Brooke and I exchange a look as we both hop up and head for the front door. Jill meets us halfway, beckoning us forward.

“Marty from Scoop the Poop Express is at the door,” she tells us, “and you’ll never guess what he has!”

“It better not be a job offer,” I mutter as I follow after her, “because even I can’t get excited about a career in poop.”

“You know what they say,” Brooke says from behind me, “love what you do…do.” She pauses to laugh. “Get it, doodoo?”

“My 28-year-old sister, folks,” Jill says with a shake of her head. “Anyway, it’s not a job offer. Just hurry up and come see!”

We round the corner to the foyer, where a man who I presume is Marty stands staring up at the huge chandelier on the ceiling. He starts to attention when he hears our arrival.

“Marty! The man of the hour,” Jill trills. “Show Hannah what you found in Holly’s,” she stumbles over her words, grimacing slightly, “in the, uh, backyard,” she amends. Always a spinner, that one.

Marty steps forward, palm extended. “I was picking up poop when I spotted something bright blue in one of the canine excrements.” He flips his palm down, holding the corner of a ziploc bag between two fingers. My eyes land on the familiar blue item inside, and I gasp.

“The Mattison’s memory card!” I leap forward and grab the bag, then promptly drop the bag as my brain puts together the fact that this memory card was in Holly’s, uh, canine excrement. Eww.

I recover quickly though, scooping it back off the floor (it’s in a bag after all, and what are Lysol wipes for if not moments like this?). “Marty,” I exclaim, going in for a hug, “you’ve saved the day!”

Marty blushes. “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He taps the logo on his brown polo shirt. “It’s all part of the services you receive when you hire Scoop the Poop Express.” He smiles. “Get twenty dollars off your next poop removal when you refer a friend.”

There’s a beat of silence as my sisters and I all process this, then Jill turns to me.

“This is great, Hannah! Maybe Hugo will give you your job back!”

Spoiler alert. Hugo does not give me my job back. But after I explain to the Mattisons what happened, not only are they thrilled beyond belief, but they’ve never heard of a company that picks up dog poop for you. Apparently, they, like Jill and Max, have enough extra income to pay someone else to pick up their dog’s business. So, I don’t get my job back, but I do earn Jill and Max a twenty dollar credit on their next Scoop the Poop Express bill.

So at least there’s that.

Chapter 2

“PLEASE, HAN,” JILL begs through the phone a week later. “You’d really be helping me out. I’m already going to be late to this meeting. And she needs a sack lunch today because they’re going on a field trip. Hot lunch won’t be available.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. I can take it to her.” I suppress a sigh, because really I can’tnotdo this favor for Jill. Sure, doing it may make me run late to the job interview I have this morning, but the only reason I have the interview in the first place is because of Jill, and I’m not one to chew on the hand that feeds me. Or whatever the saying is.

I slide my phone into my purse, then turn and survey my appearance in the full length mirror hanging on my bedroom wall. Knee-length olive green button-down dress topped with a tan cardigan of the same length. Open-toed tan sandals to show off my DIY light pink pedicure. Outfit looks pretty good. My eyes go to my face, and I frown. Jillcalled me just as I was finishing my hair, so that’s alright, but I haven’t even started on my makeup. What kind of person shows up to an interview for a makeup artist position without any makeup on? The kind of person who doesn’t want to get the job, that’s who. But with Jill adding a stop at the kids’ school to drop off Ellie’s forgotten lunch, I’m running tight on time. And, as we’ve already established—I remind myself as I grab my makeup bag and hurry out of my house—I owe Jill about a bazillion favors. I’ll just do my makeup at all of the red lights I’m sure to hit now that I’m pressed for time.

I detour to the main house to grab Ellie’s lunch, then book it to my car, launching into my pre-interview pep talk as I go. “You may have just been given this interview because of the clout Max Bernard holds as a senator here in Arizona,” I tell myself as I start the engine, “but you are going to get this job because of your skills as a makeup artist. I mean, sure, you’ve only actually done makeup for one event, almost ten years ago, but you knocked that event out of the park!” That event being Jill and Max’s wedding. I did the makeup for the entire bridal party after the woman they’d hired came down with a stomach bug. Jill liked her make-up enough to display her wedding photos in her living room, so the glowing reference she gaveChannel 3 News on my account obviously wasn’t just her being nice.

I am choosing not to think about how most married couples display their wedding photos. This fact is negligible. And unhelpful to my confidence.

I hit a red light and yank out my foundation, just managing to blot some on my cheeks before the car behind me honks to let me know the light’s turned green.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of Grace Canyon, the elite K-8 private school Ellie and Liam attend, I’ve managed to put on foundation, blush, and eyeshadow on my right eye.

I grab Ellie’s lunch and the rest of my eye makeup so I can attempt to finish my eyes while I wait for Ellie to come to the office to get her lunch, then head inside. Just my luck, there’s no one manning the desk in the main office. I stand in the tiny entryway, hitting the doorbell to be let into the building again and again while watching the seconds tick by on my watch. After five minutes I slump against the wall with a groan, considering my options.

The giant sign on the door clearly states that all visitors must report to the main office to sign in and receive a visitor badge. But there’s no one in the main office! And I am going to be late! I hit the door buzzer one more time, but when it once again goes unanswered, I exit the entryway, then set offaround the side of the building. Maybe some kind soul will let me in through some other entrance. And, okay, I know I’m going against what the door says, but when your motives are pure and your heart is kind, and you have to bring an 8-year-old her lunch, well that’s when bending the rules is okay. Right?

My first two knocks on doors go unanswered, but the third door flies open before I even raise my fist.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” A harried young woman exclaims. “Of course you’re supposed to check in at the main office, but honestly at this point I’m just glad you’re here! I’m so sorry to just run off on you, but as I’m sure they told you when they called you in, my dad’s had a stroke; I really need to get to the hospital. Principal Novak said he’d come by and check on you, though, as soon as he arrives back from his meeting across town. Again, thanks for coming on such short notice!” She’s talking a million miles a minute, her face strained with worry, and before I can even fully process her words, she disappears out the door, leaving me standing in the doorway of a classroom with twenty pairs of eyes staring straight at me, Ellie’s lunch hanging limply at my side.

An alarm goes off on my phone, and I don’t have to look to know what it’s for. It’s the alarm I set before every job interview, the one that reads: “You are going to be the best (insert applicable job title here) ever!” My final confidence boost before walking into any interview. It means there are only five minutes to go before my interview at Channel 3 News. Five minutes to go, and instead of sitting calmly in the lobby of the news station waiting to be called back, I’ve somehow managed to become a substitute teacher.

Chapter 3

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