Chapter 9: Living Hell (Part 2)

"Thanks, I guess," I said as I got up to leave. I checked my watch. The interview had taken fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour. This job was going to be complete torture.

Connections. They'd be wonderful if my dad knew Steven Spielberg or the Queen of England, but Janice Armstrong of Armstrong Travel just doesn't cut it for me.

Far worse than having to show up there after school three days a week, answering phones in a perky voice, photocopying tickets with that hideous blinding flash in my eyes, and talking to yuppies going to Europe for the fourth time was the totally conservative dress code.

"I'm sorry, but you won't be able to wear those..." Janice began, staring at my shoes.

"What do you kids call them?"

"Combat boots."

"We aren't the army. And it's okay to wear lipstick, but it should be red."

"Red?"

"But you can pick any shade."

Very generous, Janice!

"How about pink?"

"Pink would be great.

And you'll need to wear skirts. But not too short."

"Red skirts?" I asked.

"No, they don't have to be red. They can be green or blue."

"I can pick any shade?" If she was going to make me feel like an idiot, I was going to act like one.

"Certainly. And hose--"

"Not black?"

"Not ripped."

"And the nail polish," she began, staring at my fingertips.

"Not black, but any shade of red. Or pink would be great," I recited.

"Very good," she said with a big smile. "You're fitting in already!"

"Thanks, I guess," I said as I got up to leave. I checked the watch. The interview had taken fifteen minutes, but it felt like an hour. This job was going to be complete torture.

"I'll see you tomorrow, at four o'clock then, Raven. Any questions?"

"Do I get paid for the interview?"

"You're father said you were bright, but he didn't mention your wonderful sense of humor. We'll get along great. Who knows, you may want to be a travel agent when you get older."

Mrs. Peevish, my infamous kindergarten teacher, would have been proud.

"I already know what I want to be," I replied. I wanted to say a vampire, just for old time's sake. But I knew she wouldn't get it.

"What do you want to be?"

"A professional tennis player. They get free rackets!"

My mother bought me some horrible brightly colored Corporate Cathy gear so I could fit neatly into the package of Dullsville's business world. I pulled them out of the shopping bags and freaked when I saw the price tags.

"Yikes! These outfits cost more than the tennis racket. Just keep them and we'll be even."

"That's not the point!"

"This doesn't make sense."

I reluctantly modeled a white blouse and blue knee-length skirt.

My mother looked at me like I was the daughter she always wanted.

"Don't you remember wearing halter tops, braids, and bell- bottoms?" I asked.

"What I wear isn't that much different for my generation."

"I'm not that little girl anymore, Raven.

And besides, I never wore lipstick. I went au naturel."

"Ugh," I said, and rolled my eyes.

"Being a teenager is hard, I know. But you'll eventually find out who you really are."

"I know who I am!

And working at a travel agency and wearing a white blouse and hose isn't going to make me find the 'inner me.'"

"Oh, sweetie." She tried to hug me. "When you're a teenager, you think that no one understands you and the whole world is against you."

"No, it's just this town that's against me.

I'd go crazy, Mom, if I thought the whole world was against me!"

She hugged me hard and this time I let her.

"I love you, Raven," she said, like only a smooshy mom can.

"You're beautiful in black,

but you're smashing in red!"

"Quit it, Mom, you're wrinkling my new blouse."

"I thought you'd never say that!" she said -

and squeezed me even tighter.