Ji drops her phone back into her bag before pinning me in place with a knowing look. “About that. Whatever happened to sending in your application to Z3 Group?”
My body freezes. I hadn’t told anyone about the job posting at Z3 yet. Just three days before, I got an email from their automated email list with several job postings—and one of them was a copywriter position.
“I saw you filling out the application on your laptop,” she says. “I thought you would have applied the minute you finished it.”
I rearrange my hair so that my already-limp curls flow down my left shoulder instead of my right, avoiding Ji’s stare. It's the same stare she's used on me since kindergarten, the one that makes me think she has a clear view into my soul. Ji sees everything. “Well, I was going to submit it,” I say, “but I really think I should try getting more experience in the copywriting field before applying. More experience would give me a leg up.”
“It might. But there's a job opening at Z3now.Who knows when that will happen again? You talked to them last year and knocked it out of the park when you met with the creative director. He said all you needed was a solid internship before applying. You have that now. You should just apply and see what happens.”
I nod, not quite knowing how to respond, but Ji continues before I have a chance.
“Or is that the problem, you want to see what happens…not with your job…but with Jordan.”
“No. That’s not it. We’re just friends.” I try to make my words sound as nonchalant as possible, but they come out wobbly and uncertain. Because that’s how I feel—uncertain. About Jordan, my internship, Z3, everything.
The minute I saw the Z3 application, I filled it out and attached my updated résumé. But when my mouse hovered over that submit button, I froze. My mind flooded with thoughts of not what but who I would leave behind if I applied to and somehow got the job at Z3. Reconnecting with Jordan in these past few months has restored a missing piece inside me. Being with him gives me the kind of excitement that is only matched by the feeling I’d gotten when walking through the doors of Z3 for the first time.
I spent the last seventy-two hours driving myself to the brink of insanity trying to figure out the right next step. In the end, I chose not to apply to Z3. I’ve worked so hard at my current internship these past months, and I have a decent shot at being promoted today. Why give it all up now? Why not gain more experience and apply to Z3 later when I’ve got more to contribute to the company and its pool of creative geniuses? And if in the process of gaining experience I get to spend more time with Jordan… then so be it.
Ji raises one eyebrow as if she’s reading my every thought. Curse her crystal ball of a brain. I rush to counteract the argument I know is brewing inside her. “Staying with my current job is a business strategy. A resume padder.” I can tell Ji's not convinced, so I cut to the epicenter of her argument. “I’m not going to fall for Jordan again.”
Missy saunters into the kitchen in her heatless curlers and furry pink slippers. “Honey, you’re more in love with that boy than an ant in a picnic basket,” she says in her rich Southern accent. She grabs her overnight oats from the fridge before sitting primly on a bar stool like the former pageant queen she is.
Ji hops up on a stool next to Missy, making it two against one.
I blow out a breath and put my hands on my hips. Any future argument I have is futile. Not only are Ji and Missy my best girl friends, but we all live under the same Victorian-style roof. Hiding my feelings for Jordan is a luxury I can’t afford.
Ji sighs, a look of sympathy crossing her face. “We love Jordan. You know that. But we also loveyou.”
“It’s fine that you’re best friends,” Missy adds. “No one is trying to take that from you guys.” She picks up where Ji left off a little too easily. I have a feeling they’ve rehearsed this.
“We just don’t want him to stop you from moving forward with your life, Paige,” Ji says.
What they mean isIf Jordan hasn’t professed his love for you in seven years, it’s not going to happen, so move on.
And they’re right. Sure, there have been moments when I thought I sensed something more between me and Jordan, like at the Pine Lakes Christmas Festival six months ago. But that’s just the nature of best friendships between men and women. Sometimes the lines get blurred. Sometimes you think you see something more when there isn’t. But it’s been seven years, and I have nothing but a buddy badge to show for it.
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I date other people. I’m not waiting around for him.”
Both Ji’s eyebrows rise this time. She’s not buying it. And quite frankly, neither am I.
Fortunately for me, my gremlins are back, reminding me that the clock is ticking.
“Can we put a pin in this conversation? I have to find my heels.” I give them an innocent smile before scampering off to my room and into my closet. I try to channel Sherlock and figure out the location of my only pair of heels, but no dice. My comfy-casual style doesn’t lend itself to wearing heels all that often—in fact, I’m pretty sure I haven’t worn those puppies since college graduation.
I grow more frantic, digging into my closet and shoving shoe after shoe into a pile behind me.Where are they?I look at my watch. Thirty-five minutes till I’m supposed to be at work. I can’t be late. But I also can’t wear my dingy flats or off-brand Birkenstocks. Not when today istheday.
In less than an hour, I could be the newest full-time employee at the Wonderman & Fleck Advertising Agency, which means I need to look the part. I get down on my hands and knees and dig harder. “Come on, heels. Where are you?”
“I’ve got you covered.” Missy comes into my room, and she might as well be Glinda the Good Witch because she’s got a pair of sparkly heels in her hands that look like they’re about to solve all my problems. She holds them out to me, but when I realize which pair she’s picked, I hesitate to take them.
“Your Lucky Louis? I can’t, Missy.”
She places the Louis Vuittons on the ground in front of me. “You can, and you will. If these heels can help me win a Miss Tennessee State title, they can help you become a copywriter. They’re magical.”
Bless this Southern belle.I stand and drop the old tennis shoes I’m holding before placing my feet inside the luxury footwear. If my feet could talk, they would be oohing and ahhing. “You’re the best, Missy.”
“I know.” She smiles, and I swear sunbeams radiate from her golden hair, heatless curlers and all. “Now, shoulders back.”
