ELLIE
The rejection email arrives at 6:47 p.m.
I know the exact time because I’ve been staring at my phone since I got home from the interview three hours ago, the screen propped against my pillow while I lie on my bed in the outfit I haven’t taken off.
The phone lights up. New email. The sender line reads:Whitmore Staffing Agency — Application Update.
I open it.
Dear Miss Calloway,
Thank you for your interest in the position of Private Tutor with our client. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that the family has selected another candidate whose qualifications are more closely aligned with their requirements at this time.
We appreciate your time and wish you the best in your future endeavors.
Regards,
Whitmore Staffing Agency
I read it.
Read it again.
A third time, slower, as if the words might rearrange themselves if I give them enough attention.
We regret to inform you.
Another candidate.
More closely aligned.
I set the phone face down on the mattress and stare at the ceiling.
I don’t cry.
Not yet.
Not because I’m strong, but because I’m spiraling.
Payment to Landon: $5,040 with the new adjustment. Due in seven days.
Checking account: $47.
Savings: $0.
Employment: none.
Prospects: none.
Assets: none.
I sold the car, the gold necklace my mother left when she walked out. I sold the college textbooks I’d been keeping because they had my notes in the margins.
All gone.
Seven days. Five thousand and forty dollars. Forty-seven dollars in my account.
I roll onto my side, pull the pillow over my head, and press it against my ears.
