Page 1 of My Cosplay Escape
Chapter One
“You can’t work here.”
Before I can tell Brent I have no intention of working at his stupid orthodontist office, he wrinkles his nose and grimaces. “Did you run here from Mom’s house?”
I shove my hands into the front pocket of my sweat-stained hoodie. Sure, we could both use a good wash and rinse, but then I’d have missed my training run this morning. And I had to do laundry. “No. I ran here from Mount Soledad by way of the beach, then bay—”
“That explains the smell.” Brent rises from behind his computer, and I hardly recognize my big brother. He has a surfer’s tan now to match his blond hair, which is weird because last time I checked he hates the beach. Everyone says Brent is the spitting image of Dad, but that’s just because he’s tall. “You do know that bathing before a job interview is standard practice?”
“I don’t want to work here.” Staring into mouth after mouth of crooked teeth is not my jam. Plus, Brent and Jen take type A to weird places. If I push a pen out of place, someone in bubblegum-pink scrubs will come running with a ruler to fix it. Judging by the lingering antiseptic smell, an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol would disappear in the cleanup effort. I know Brent tries to make his practice feel surfer-chill—they heavily analyzed and researched optimum office aesthetics, ask me how I know—but it’s still an orthodontist office. People are still in scrubs. People still call him Dr. Brent and his wife Dr. Jen. I can’t handle it.
“Should have thought about that sooner, Sarah.” Brent shoves a still-warm stack of papers into my hands. He plays the role of exasperated-older-brother-with-the-perfect-life-once-again-inconvenienced-by-screw-up-little-sister with gusto this morning.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Brent swigs some of his bulletproof coffee. “A two-week lifeline.”
I flip through a temp contract, pay agreement, and HR policy. “I’m not working here. I only came by because Mom insisted you needed to see me this morning.”
Brent pinches the bridge of his nose. The glint of his platinum wedding band winks at me. Wedding bands are such a-holes. “Mom also insisted that Jen and I hire you. ‘Where else will she find a job with benefits?’”
That stings a little, knowing that my only family in the world thinks I’m unemployable. Also stings since the job I’m interviewing for at the gym has no benefits. No point in telling Brent any of this. It’d just give him more ammo against me. I drop the packet of hiring papers on Brent’s desk. “You need to square your shoulders the next time you quote Mom. Maybe put a hand on your hip. Her power stance, you know?”
“Sign the papers, Sarah.”
“Why don’t I just tell Mom Dr. Ken and Dr. Barbie wouldn’t hire me?”
“You’d do that to Jen? You’d pit her against Mom?” He folds his arms across his chest, wrinkling his white lab coat. “She’s been nothing but kind to you.”
I roll my eyes and check my phone. Twenty more minutes until I am due at the gym.
Brent continues on in that same tone he uses to scold his patients who don’t wear their retainers. Stuff about responsibility and brushing after every meal. Flossing, too, probably. And then he lands the final sucker punch. “Come on, Sarah. You’ve had a mother-in-law,” he says.
I deadpan a laugh, but it doesn’t help. I need another run. I need to scream and break something, anything, maybe one of the many stupid surfboards hanging on the walls. But breaking stuff, throwing a bunch of stupid papers back in my brother’s face, and running as hard and as fast as I can until my body is too weak to hold in the anger wouldn’t be very adult. And that’s what I am now. An adult. A responsible, mature adult who is not going to let her past torture her anymore.
Maybe I could do some sprints after my follow-up interview at the gym is over.
Oh, who am I kidding? My eyes are too full of liquid rage to focus on anything but that stack of papers on my brother’s lacquered desk. I push them away with a single finger. “You specify the type of lip gloss your employees can wear?”
There’s a tap at the door, and Brent rises. “Weren’t you supposed to be a business major? Any edge in a competitive industry should be exploited.”
I scoff. “How is lip gloss an edge?”
A spunky-looking redhead in pink scrubs stands in the doorway and chuckles. “Why don’t you show up with blue hair and black lipstick and find out?” She holds out a pair of purple surgical gloves to Brent. “We’re ready for you at station three, Dr. Brent.”
“Thanks, Gwen.” Brent nods at me with long-suffering professionalism. “Gwen, this is my sister, Sarah. She’s going to be covering the front desk next week while Viv is out.”
“No, I’m not,” I say.
Gwen flashes me a quick smile. “I was kidding about the blue hair and lipstick, of course, Dr. Brent. Shall I show Miss Sarah out?” She hands Brent his gloves and waves him out the door.
“So you’re Brent’s kid sister,” Gwen says.
“Yeah. That’s me.” I smile briefly but avoid eye contact. If I don’t look anyone in the eye, I can avoid knowing if they know about the divorce and sob story. I can bypass the pity and sad-puppy eyes and almost feel like a real-life, twenty-two-year-old grown-up.
She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “I think you should totally show up with blue hair and black lipstick. Create some excitement for all of us.”
“I’m not working here.” For the millionth time. I follow her out of Brent and Jen’s office.
