The boys don’t sayanything before my second interview.
In the fancy, sleek office floor of Xion HQ, only clicking away on keyboards can be heard. Occasionally, a whisper or mumble, but none from the boys who would usually jump at this opportunity to subtly torment me.
Jeremiah and his three friends sit around me in the office’s hallway, tucked away from the nine-to-five employees. It’s the prime position to psych me out, but they stay quiet. The most I get are a few glares that teeter into uncomfortable.
It should feel good. No one is commenting on my outfit or mocking my intelligence. Jeremiah doesn’t even gloat about his own past experiences, too loud to be ignored.
The longer the silence stretches, though, the more suffocating it becomes. By no means do I want these boys to throw negativity my way, but while I fidget in my seat and mess with my hair, it sinks in that the respect I so desperately deserve still isn’t mine.
They’re not quiet because they respect me. They’re quiet because they respect Locke.
I’m proud of Locke. Standing his ground at the club was for me, of course, but I can recognize that it was for him, too. He’s never felt brave enough to fight against someone. My chest warms at the thought of him caring about me so much, he’s willing to face his biggest fears in my honor. It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.
His actions, and his clean-pressed suit, led to our rendezvous in the bathroom. No regrets—or complaints.
I’m thankful he stuck up for me. It’s the result that doesn’t feel satisfying. I’ve imagined it a million times over. I’d know what being respected and recognized as Rosie Mendoza would feel like. This isn’t that.
I’ve just gained respect asLocke McCarthy’s partner.
“Rosie Mendoza,” A man donned in a well-pressed suit calls from the office doorway, and we all look.
When I get up, I feel glares again. Four sets of eyes relay the same message.
Why are you here?
I suspect one person has a different message. One just as unsettling.
Where’s Locke to save you?
I tug the hem of my skirt lower. No one’s commented on it, but I still feel uncomfortable.
The office is larger than any other I’ve been in, but the walls seem to press in on me. In the time it takes to get from the entrance to the pulled-out office chair, a drop of sweat has cascaded down my face. The clicking sound of the door closing sucks the air out of the room.
Xion Group’s interviewer today is the hiring manager. I spent hours reading tips and tricks from Brookstone alumni,and the most often repeated advice was to give a firm, confident handshake before sitting down.
When he reaches his chair across from me, I wait for him to hold his hand out. My own twitches while I stand by my chair, second-guessing everything that’s happened up until this moment.
If the silence of my peers isn’t earned on my own, does it hold any value at all?
The hiring manager—Mr. Daniel Fitz, according to what I’ve read—finally reaches out, but only to point at my seat. Instead of waiting for a shake, he just nods and says, “You can sit now.”
The cushioned chair is high enough that my feet dangle, toes barely touching the floor, but it feels like I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the ground.
My hours of research told me he’d start with a round of questions about my background—to see if my recollection of events matches my resume. The sad reality sinks in when two minutes pass and he doesn’t say a word.
Nothing has changed. Locke put himself out there for me, and it got Jeremiah and his friends to tone down the bullying, yet I’m still a woman fighting twice as hard for half as much.
Rosie Mendoza still hasn’t gotten the respect she deserves.
“Your background looks good,” Mr. Fitz finally says after shuffling through my resume five times over.
“Thank you. There’s a lot of passion behind it.”
He doesn’t comment on how I grit out my words.
“I did notice that under experience, you stated you had over a decade of general Python knowledge. Are you sure about that?”
My lips stretch into a painful smile. Writing that down was a risk. I went into this interview thinking I’d be asked about it. I hadn’t considered being questioned with amused eyes and a doubtful tone.
