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I warned her not to.

I told her it was a bad idea.

We should never have opened that box in the first place.

Anna invited me over to her house after school. I thought that we were just going to watch TV, but I should’ve seen the look in her eye.

“They’re not home,” she told me, as we got off the bus. “Again.”

“Your parents?” I asked unnecessarily.

“Yup.”

She was silent as we walked the few blocks to her house. It was one more sprawling house in a neighborhood of opulent unfriendliness. Once, one of her neighbors threatened to call the police because we walked across her lawn. Now we’re careful to hug the edge of the street.

Mr. and Mrs. Chitral were frequently absent from my visits to their home. Anna liked bringing me home with her. She said it was nice to have someone with her in that empty house, someone other than Snarkie, their pet beagle, who more than lived up to his name.

And I liked Anna a lot. She was funny, when she wasn’t fuming over her parents and she was sweet. She was also smart. When she explained algebra to me, I actually understood it.

She unlocked the door and practically slammed it open. I loved watching the light play through the glass of the doorframe, seeing it reflected on the marble of the entryway. Whenever I came over, I always took my time there, slowly removing my shoes.

It sure beats the hell out of the dingy hallway that leads to my family’s apartment. The carpet always smells funny and I make it a point to jog quickly, especially at night, because half of the hallway lights don’t work. It gets spooky.

This time, I didn’t even have time to take my shoes off. Anna threw her bag in a corner, narrowly avoiding a fragile glass coffee table with a crystal vase on it, before storming off into the kitchen. I had barely followed her into the kitchen when she began laughing hysterically.

I was just craning my neck to see around her when she moved aside. Cake. The counter held a big white sheet cake.

“Since when is cake funny?” I asked.

“Since it’s a birthday cake,” she told me, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Today’s your birthday?”

“Yup,” she said. “I’m thirteen today and they don’t even bother showing up.”

“At least they remembered,” I said quietly.

“Yeah. Cheap birthday cake. That totally makes up for missing half of your kid’s childhood.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s ok,” she sniffed, wiping away the last of the tears that had leaked out. “At least you’re here.”

We both gave the cake a wide berth as we entered the cavernous living room. She flicked on the huge flat-screen TV, but she wasn’t watching. Listlessly, I watched the home shopping network woman rant about some new line of makeup, but really I was watching Anna.

Her eyes were narrowed at the screen, beaming hatred at the poor home shopping network woman and her neon green eyeshadow, but I knew she was plotting. And I knew that whatever she came up with wouldn’t be good.

Last year, when her parents had insisted on staying in their offices through Christmas, she ran all of their expensive Egyptian cotton bath towels through the garbage disposal, along with some sour milk and bad eggs. Oh, and she let Snarkie pee in their bed, but I think he does that regularly anyway, so I’m not sure they noticed.

Today was worse and I knew that. When her eyes finally snapped into focus and she got up off of the couch, I knew to be afraid.

“Let’s go upstairs,” was all she said.

Silently, I followed her upstairs, waiting for the explosion. At the top of the staircase, I turned towards her bedroom, hopeful, but she shook her head. I followed into her parents’ room, waiting for her to start wreaking destruction, tossing her mother’s expensive perfume bottles out the window or slicing up her father’s ties, but she just grabbed a chair and took it with her into the closet.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“We are going into the attic,” she told me, slightly out of breath as she stood on the chair and began to leap up and down.

I could see the latch to the attic protruding from the closet ceiling. Anna was a short girl and even with the help of the chair, reaching the latch was quite a hop. I knew better than to laugh at her, so I just watched as she sprung the latch and let the staircase to the attic come squeaking slowly down.

“Climb on up,” she said, hopping off the chair and swiftly ascending the ladder. “There’s something that I want to show you.”

Peach

Smooth and firm and melting sweet

Juice that flows between my teeth

Syrup-heavy, juicy, pure

Perfect summery allure

Fuzzy, tangy sweet caress

Sticky, tasty yumminess

The juice dribbles down my chin

Succulent and sweet as sin

Soft and ripe and in my reach

Do I dare to eat a peach?

Enough

My mansions have all crumbled

My diamonds turned to dust

All my silver raiment

is begrimed with coral rust

My cities have all fallen

and my bridges burned away.

My once bright golden tresses

have become a dismal grey.

My once-proud fleet of ships

has sunk deep within the seas

I have no more emeralds.

No more sapphires or rubies.

All has come to nothing

and the wind outside howls rough.

But I still have you, my darling.

And my dear, you are enough.

The Doll

I remember the very first day.

The workroom was dark but the dusty sunlight coming through the window gave it a pleasant glow. I remembering seeing that, once I received my eyes. Those were the first things she stitched in, lovely eyes sewn with sky-blue thread; black buttons for pupils. And suddenly, I could see. I would’ve smiled, but she hadn’t sewn my mouth yet. I lay there, in the warm sunlight, watching as she filled up my body with soft, fluffy cotton and swiftly stitched me shut. Loose bits of cotton flew through the air like snowflakes, some landing gently in her hair as she smiled down at me.

“Someone’s going to love you,” she told me, as the needle dodged in and out of the cloth that made up my legs. “Some little girl is going to take you home.”

I was happy. I knew someone would love me eventually, but in the mean time it was enough that she loved me now. I watched as she stitched my body shut and gently dressed me. I got a blue checked dress and a lovely white ruffled top. I could imagine the skirt twirling around me. She braided my red yarn hair. In that little work room in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, I felt beautiful.

When she finished making me, she took me out of the workroom into the brightness of the shop. There were electric lights in the shop and I felt exposed under their glare. The toy soldiers stood at attention, carved, painted and gleaming under the bright light. Toy trains ran round the shelves, their metal cars gleaming. There were stuffed bears and rabbits, toy cars and trucks and airplanes. Dinosaurs dominated their own corner of the shop. I think even the soldiers were too scared to bother them.

But what really caught my attention were the dolls. They were amazingly beautiful. And there were so many of them! There were porcelain dolls with painted faces and velvet dresses. There were baby dolls, still wrapped in their blankets. Dolls from China, with their shiny white faces and brightly colored kimonos. Fairy dolls with gossamer wings and shimmery gowns. Princess dolls with sparkling tiaras. I was excited to join them and honored to be one of them, to know that I was in the company of such beauty. I was the only with red hair, I noticed and felt an extra glow of pride.

She sat me down next to a small porcelain doll with black hair, propping me up against a shelf. She arranged my hair and fixed my dress. She smiled at me one more time before going back into the workroom.

Suddenly, it was silent and I was scared.

“Hello,” I said, to the little doll next to me. She wore a little girl’s dress, with red flowers on it. It was trimmed with lace and she wore shiny patent shoes. I thought she was very fancy and I wished she would be my friend.

“What’s your name?” I asked her.

“My name is Annabelle,” she answered frostily.

“Do you like it here, Annabelle?” I asked.

“I would thank you not to talk to me,” she sniped.

“Why not?”

I was completely bewildered. No one had ever been mean to me before.

“Because you are a just a simple yarn doll and I am a lovely porcelain doll,” she said, her head held high. “The porcelain to make me came all the way from France.”

“Oh,” I said, but I was still confused. “Why does that mean you can’t talk to me?”

“Because,” she said. “I am special. And you are not. And besides, no little girl will want me if she sees me associating with someone like you. No offense, dearie, but that is simply the way things are.”

I felt sad. And I had never felt more alone. I tried to speak with the other dolls but I got the same response. Some of them wouldn’t even respond when I called to them. I sat there in silence, hoping that some wonderful little girl would come and take me away and love me, but no one came into the store for the rest of the day.

Finally, the toymaker came back out of the workroom. She didn’t even look at me. She just walked straight past the dolls and turned out the lights. She locked the door and I heard her heels clicking against the sidewalk as she walked away from the store.

She was going home for the night.

Home, I thought, repeating the word over and over to myself. I had no home. But I would have one someday. And I tried to hold on to hope on that dark night, sitting in silence and waiting for someone wonderful to find me.

To be continued ...

The Woods: Continued

The sun woke him. It was the first time in his life he could say that and he wasn’t enjoying the experience.

It was a small cabin. His parents got the bedroom. His sister got the couch. And he got a sleeping bag on the floor, where the morning sun shot molten hot beams of light directly into his face. Emily was snoring on the couch. Who knew such a little person could make so much noise?

He couldn’t sleep anyway. The floor was hard and between the sun and his sonorous sister, he just decided he was better off getting up. Pulling on a pair of jeans and grabbed yesterday’s t-shirt. It’s not like there was anyone to impress in the middle of nowhere and he didn’t feel like rooting around in the bags for something clean.

No one was awake yet and there didn’t seem much point to bothering anyone else. He quietly opened the door and stepped out into ‘nature’ as his mother insisted on calling it. All he saw was a bunch of dirt and trees in the glaringly bright morning sun.

What was there to do out here anyway?

He looked back at the cabin, wondering whether he should go back in and then decided against it. Certainly, the woods were preferable to his sister’s snoring. He decided on a walk, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and set off into the woods.

He found a path and followed it as it wound through the trees. His mother was sort of right, he grudgingly acknowledged. It was pretty peaceful. And the sunlight that had been so painful by the cabin now filtered softly through the trees, landing in emerald puddles at his feet. He listened to the twittering of birds he couldn’t identify. He even tried to chase a few rabbits, thinking maybe Emily might want one, but that only got him scratched up by the trees on either side of the path. After he tripped on a fallen log and fell into the dirt, he decided to stick to the path.

Groaning slightly, pitying his poor bruised knees, he rolled over and dusted off his jeans. He was about to get up, but at that moment, he could have sworn he heard laughter. A quiet snickering was coming from somewhere to his right, from just behind an old yew tree.

Rising slowly, he walked over to it as quietly as he could.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he was still sleeping, but when he opened them the vision was still there. The little man, no more than ten inches tall, continued to laugh at him, tugging on his long white beard the whole time. His blue eyes twinkled as he laughed.

Finally, he took off his peaked red cap, winked and swiftly disappeared. He didn’t run away or jump into the tree. He just disappeared.

From far away, Derek heard a voice.

“You should be more careful next time, lad.”

He knew now that he must have been seeing things. Gnomes and elves and fairies don’t exist, he told himself. It must be too much sunshine, he thought. Or maybe it was a hunger-induced hallucination, he considered, as his stomach rumbled. Either way, he walked just a little bit faster on his way back to the cabin.

******

His nose told him he’d reached the cabin before his eyes did. Derek couldn’t see it through the thick line of trees, but the smell of bacon wafting through the air was loud and clear.

Predictably, Emily was running in circles around the cabin, trying to say hello to every flower and tree in the vicinity, as his mom fried up some bacon and eggs in the tiny kitchen corner of the cabin. The door was wide open

“Hey, there, sleepyhead,” his mom called as he meandered out of the woods. “I didn’t know you in the habit of getting up so early.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled gruffly, plopping down at the picnic table.

He traced the wooden grooves with a fingertip as he waited for his mom to finish breakfast. She walked carefully, carrying three plates waitress-style, one in each hand with a third one in the crook of her elbow. Carefully, she set them down on the table and went back for silverware.

“Come sit down and have some breakfast, sweetie!” she called, emerging from the dimness of the cabin again.

Emily, who had been engrossed in a conversation with a clump of daisies, politely said goodbye and leaped over to the picnic table. They ate in silence, or almost silence, since Em was loudly humming out the theme song to her favorite show.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“Your father’s still sleeping,” she told him. “And when he wakes up, he said he’s going to be focusing on his novel, so you two should leave him alone.”

Soon, the plates were empty and the bellies full.

“What are you going to do today, Em?” their mom asked brightly.

Emily focused seriously for a moment before answering.

“I’m going to explore the forest,” she said.

“That sounds lovely,” Mom said. “I think I’ll stick around here and get some reading done.”

Derek frowned. Something about that didn’t sound right, he thought, as his mom piled up the plates and began carrying them back into the kitchen.

“Derek,” she called, from the depths of the cabin. “Would you please look after your sister when she’s playing in the woods? I’m sure you guys will have tons of fun together.”

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. “Not like I had anything better to do.”

She grabbed his hand, dragging him into the forest behind her.

“We’re gonna have fun today,” she chirped, practically skipping.

“Yeah,” he echoed grimly. “Tons.”

Once they’d entered the forest, there were so many flowers to greet and play with, so many new dark corners to discover, so many new trees to climb, that she soon let go of his hand.

“Don’t go too far,” he called to the small fleeting form. “Stay where I can see you.”

“Yup!”

She’d found a tree to climb and this statement was made from about five feet up.

Glad for a minute of stillness, he sat down at the base of the tree, waiting for his little monkey of a sister to come down.

Kissing Frogs

It was romantic, sort of. In the privacy of her room, staring at the neon glow of the computer screen, meeting in the woods had seemed lovely. She imagined them walking hand in hand through the forest, frolicking in the grass, lying in a sunlit meadow. Yes, in fact she had allowed herself to use the word frolick.

The truth was, she had looked forward to meeting him in person. His words were lovely and she knew she loved him, loved the way he spoke and the way he thought, but it would be nice to finally match a face to the poetry he wrote to her.

They had agreed not to exchange photos. He liked imagining her beauty, he told her, and she found the idea romantic, imagining of course, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, square-jawed romantic soul at the other end of the conversation. It didn’t really matter to her what he looked like, or so she told herself. She’d met enough men whose eyes whose eyes were glued to her chest and enough men who only wanted to talk about themselves and enough men who couldn’t put together a sentence with a flashlight and some glue, that a man who wrote her poetry, who spoke to her kindly and with regard for her feelings, felt wonderful.

“Your voice drifts through my head like music,” he told her, during one of their phone conversations. “And it fills my soul like golden wine.”

She had smiled at that. He had a wonderful voice, deep and robust and when, after months of emailing and chatting on the phone, he had suggested that they meet in person, she had leaped at the idea, eager to finally see her love’s face.

Meet me by the old oak tree, in the meadow. She had confessed to him that she’d spent hours wandering in those woods as a child, watching the sunlight play across the leaves. She knew the oak tree well. It was had been her favorite place to sit and read. She loved imagining him in her forest, climbing the trees, exploring the nooks she had loved when she was young. But she hadn’t been there in years. School and work and friends had gotten in the way and somehow she hadn’t found time to return to her beloved oak tree. Now, she parked her car at the edge of the forest preserve and smiled, reimagining the wildwood of her childhood.

The reality, she discovered as she tripped over root after root, was none so romantic, and the cute ballet flats she’d picked especially for their first meeting were pinching her toes. It was a lot farther to the old oak tree than she remembered and by the time she finally sat down on the packed dirt between its roots, she was hot and sweaty. Removing her shoes, she let her toes wriggle in the cool grass as she waited.

She took a deep breath and glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to four. They’d agreed to meet at three-thirty. She frowned. It wasn’t a unique experience, but of all the guys she had met, she didn’t expect him to stand her up. Huffily, she sat still for another five minutes, listening to the sounds of the woods and hoping. The birds chirped softly in the trees and somewhere nearby a frog croaked loudly.

“Why isn’t he here yet?” she shouted at the woods.

“I am right here, my darling,” the familiar deep voice replied, so close to her that she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Spooked, she looked around the meadow, trying to figure out where her mystery man was.

“Where are you?” she called, cupping her hands and squinting at the far-off trees.

Maybe he was hiding behind one of them?

“I am right beside you, my lovely,” he answered sweetly, his voice sounding almost directly in her ear, causing her to shriek and lose her balance.

Grabbing a tree limb, she kept herself from falling, looking wildly around.

“Where are you?” she whispered, beginning to think she was crazy.

“Look up, my sweet,” he said.

Slowly, cautiously, she raised her eyes to look directly into the bulging peepers of a huge frog sitting on the branch directly over her head.

“Eewww!! Ew, ew, ew!”

She ran out of the clearing and only when the first twig jabbed her foot did she realize that she’d forgotten her shoes. Reluctantly, she retraced her steps into theclearing.

“What is wrong, my darling?” he called, seeing her reappear. “Am I not as tall as you imagined your dream man to be?”

She opened and shut her mouth as she came up to the tree, unable to think of any response to this.

“You’re a lot … greener than I expected,” she finally managed.

“Ah, I see,” he said sagely. “You did not expect me to be quite so … amphibian.”

“Exactly,” she answered, calmer now, and less surprised that she was talking to a frog.

“You, on the other hand, are lovelier than I could have imagined,” he told her. “If you could see how beautifully the sunlight falls on your hair, or how green your eyes look, you would understand.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. Few people can resist a compliment, even if it’s coming from a frog.

“Thank you,” she said. “I mean, you’re not exactly what expected, but you, um, seem nice.”

The silence hung for a moment as they stared at each other.

“You know,” she told him, hesitantly. “You write beautifully. You have a wonderful way with words.”

“it’s easy to write well when you have a muse,” he answered. “I have been searching for such a very long time for someone like you.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Someone like what?”

“Someone smart and understanding and kind,” he said patiently. “I have been searching for my princess.”

“I’m no princess, buddy. Just like you’re no prince.”

She reached past him to pick up her shoes, slipping them on one at a time.

“You’re so sure about that?”

She hesitated, not sure whether or not she wanted to walk away just yet. He knew he had her attention.

“One kiss,” he said. “That’s all it would take to turn me into the prince I once was.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Of course not.”

“I am not kissing a frog,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest, but she still wasn’t running away.

“I am sure it would be a first for you,” he stated calmly.

“How many men have you kissed in your life?” he asked.

“Enough,” she answered, blushing slightly.

“And how many of them turned out to be toads?”

She thought about it, her mouth twisting as though she’d just swallowed a lemon. She thought about the guy who’d taken her on a weekend trip to Maui only to sleep with one of the maids two hours after they’d arrived at the hotel. And the guy who always conveniently forgot his wallet whenever they went out to dinner. With a twinge she remembered the guy who came over to her apartment for dates and then spent the entire evening talking to her cat.

“Enough,” she answered.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone start out as a frog and turn into a prince for a change?” he asked.

She looked into his froggy eyes and thought about it. When he put it that way, kissing a frog didn’t seem so bad. It couldn’t be any worse than kissing some of the other guys she’d gone out with, particularly considering that some of them had been droolers.

She made up her mind and reached out her hand, allowing him to leap onto her palm.

And he smiled a froggy smile as she lowered her lips to his cold, damp skin.

The Interview

Jenna tapped her foot impatiently against the rutted plastic of the train’s floor, waiting for the doors to close, for the train to move. Waiting to get closer to where she knew she belonged. It was only a quarter to eight, but the small car was already crowded.

There was a baseball game that day and people in the Cubs’ signature red and blue filled the plastic seats, chattering animatedly to each other despite the heat. She had anticipated the heat, had listened with a grimace when the lovely blond woman on the news had told her that temperatures were going to top 100 that day. Her dark hair was neatly pulled back in a bun and the garment bag slung over her arm held her suit jacket and a clean white top to change into. She had no illusions about how she would look after 45 minutes on a crowded train and several blocks of address hunting.

“Doors closing”

Chimes sounded, but the doors waited their customary thirty seconds before closing, which turned out to be just enough time to allow the sweaty man to run down the platform and attempt a heroic leap onto the train. She cringed as she saw the toe of his ratty sneaker catch on the doorway.

To his credit, the man did not fall. His iced latte, however, did, splattering down the front of the nearest person.

Her eyes widened as she took in the brown stain down her blouse and she tried to force herself to stay calm as she dug napkins out of her messenger bag and rabidly began wiping.

“I am so sorry,” he told her, leaning up against the barrier across the aisle. “I really didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s ok,” she said, only slightly bitter, still trying to control the stain.

Finally, she gave up, letting the damp brown wad of napkins rest in her palm. She’d toss them when she got off.

Relaxing slightly, she smiled at the man. For a middle-aged man, he did have a nice smile, and it made her feel a little better. His dark hair was cropped short, disguising the fact that it was receding slightly but his eyes were twinkling. He had been interestedly watching her attempts. He wore a slightly wrinkly, well-worn t-shirt, emblazoned with a band name she didn’t recognize and equally wrinkly khaki shorts.

“At least it cooled me off a little,” she quipped.

“Anything to help in this heat,” he said obligingly, toasting her with his empty plastic cup.

“You headed to see the cubs play?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “I’m actually kind of late for work.”

“You’re lucky you have a job that lets you wear what you want,” she said, and thought about it for a moment. “Actually, you’re lucky to have any job, in this economy.”

The silence hung for a few moments, filled by the heat and the excited chatter of their neighbors.

“How about you?” he asked. “You headed to work?”

“Nope,” she answered, and her smile broadened. “I’ve got an interview.”

“Oh,” he said darkly. “And I’ve ruined your outfit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” she said, holding up her garment bag. “I’ve anticipated all contingencies. There’s a spare top in here.”

“This interview’s important,” she told him. “I wouldn’t let anything mess it up.”

“What’s so important about this one?” he asked.

She thought for a moment, letting the rattle of the train fill the space before she answered.

“Honestly?” she asked, wondering if she should tell him.

He nodded.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted to do,” she said quietly. “It’s a company that publishes children’s books, you know. And they’re the books I grew up on, the books I still love. The books I want to write someday.”

She met his eyes and saw that he was still listening closely.

“I think that a book you read when you’re little, it effects you like nothing you read when your older. It becomes a part of who you are. It shows you what’s important. Children’s books …. They teach you to dream. I want to be a part of that,” she finished her little monologue and was surprised to see that he was smiling dreamily at her.

“That’s actually, how I’ve always felt,” he told her. “And I hope you get your job.”

The train chugged on as they stood in silence, stopping and unloading its human cargo. She watched the people stream in and out of the car, unaware that he was watching her.

Jenna still had a few stops to go when it happened.

The elderly lady had been sitting in the seat beside the barrier for the entire trip and when she finally got up, she crossed the aisle to the exit on shaky legs, assisted with a cane. Jenna watched her as she stepped out of the car and onto the platform. People had just begun to flood in when Jenna saw the old woman fall.

She must’ve tripped over a loose board, but through the flood of humanity, Jenna saw her grimace in pain on the now-empty platform. No one was helping her.

“Why isn’t anyone helping her?” Jenna thought, considering the situation. She knew that look of pain. She couldn’t just leave the old woman out there on her own, could she?

No, she couldn’t. The next train would be along in five minutes, she reasoned. She could go out and see if the old woman was all right and then catch the next train and still be perfectly on time.

She pressed her lips, clutched her bag closer and squished through the milling crowd, stepping out of the car just as the doors closed. She knelt down next to the old woman.

“Are you all right, Ma’am?” she asked. “What’s your name?”

“I think… I twisted my ankle,” she replied. “My… my name is Claire.”

Claire tried to get up, only to wince and fall back down.

Jenna sighed. She might be late to the interview, but she didn’t really have a choice, did she?

No, she told herself, there was no choice.

“Let’s see if we can get you up,” she said gently.

With Claire’s arm slung around her neck and her arm firmly around Claire’s waist, the old woman rose slowly to her feet. With her garment bag slung over one arm and the older woman occupying her other, the couple hobbled down the platform, making slow, careful progress down the stairs and out onto the street.

“We should probably get you to the hospital,” Jenna said, thinking of her interview and trying not to think what time it was.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Claire said distractedly, focusing on getting down the stairs without putting weight on her injured foot.

“You know,” the older woman said, turning to look Jenna in the eyes as they finally reached the bottom of the second flight of stairs. “You’re a wonderful girl. I wish my grandchildren were like you.”

“Thank you,” Jenna smiled. She might miss the interview, she knew, but it was still worth it. The old woman’s smile made it worth it. And picturing Claire all alone, in pain, still stuck on that platform in the heat, she knew she’d done the right thing.

She managed to get Claire out of the station and into a cab with the help of one of the CTA attendants. The moment the cab disappeared, she bought a new ticket and ran back up the stairs, just in time to see a train depart.

She checked her watch. It was 8:50. Her interview was scheduled for 9:30.

Five minutes later another train arrived, less crowded this time, and she found a seat for herself. She paid no attention to the scenery flashing by, her eyes flicking between her watch and the diagram of stations on the wall. It was twenty minute ride. With any luck, she told herself, she could take arrive quickly, find the building, change in the bathroom, fix her hair and still be on time. She stared intently at the diagram, tense and concentrated. Finally, there was one stop to go. For a moment she wondered why the train wasn’t moving. Then the polite female voice rang out.

“Please be patient. We are waiting for signal clearance ahead. The train will be moving shortly.”

Two minutes of standing. Then five. When the train had been standing for ten minutes, it began to move again, finally bringing her to her stop. 9:25.

Dashing out of the station, she ran for the McDonald’s across the street, knocking people out of line to get to the bathroom, where she tore off her shirt, shoving her stained one in her messenger bag, she pulled the jacket out of the garment bag, which she also crumpled into the messenger bag. One more minute to straighten her hair. She cringed at the stains on her knees from kneeling on the platform and tried to brush off her pants as much as possible as she ran. The coffee stains on her suit pants were covered by the top, she hoped, shoving her way out of the McDonald’s and taking off down the street. It was only two more blocks to the building.

It was only in the elevator to the 58^th floor, as she was putting on her jacket, that she realized her top was inside out. She sighed and hoped no one would notice. And so, it was a slightly sweaty, disheveled young woman who met the neat, thirty-something woman standing by the reception desk, tapping her pointy-shoed toes against the black marble floor.

As the elevator doors slid open, Jenna took in the woman’s neat black pin-striped suit, shiny hair pulled back in a chignon and elegantly made up face. Clearly, the heat hadn’t affected this woman in the least. She couldn’t help feeling she was doomed, but this had always been her dream, so she forced herself to step out of that elevator and paste a smile on her face.

“Ms. Phillips?” she asked brightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ms. Clark?” the woman asked, looking as though she had an unpleasant smell under her nose, but shook her hand anyway. “It is now 9:38. Our arrangement was for 9:30, was it not?”

“Yes,” Jenna nodded. “Yes it was, but there were some … unforeseen circumstances… and some things I had to take care of.”

She couldn’t tell this well-coifed woman that she’d been helping an old lady off a train platform. For one thing, she couldn’t make the words come out of her mouth. For another, this woman didn’t seem likely to believe it anyway.

“I see,” Ms. Phillips answered frostily. “Follow me, please.”

There was only the sound of her heels clicking decorously on the marble as Jenna followed her into an austere glass-and-metal office with an equally imposing glass desk.

“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the minimalist plastic chair that faced the desk, as she eased into a leather office chair opposite.

“Tell me about yourself,” Ms. Phillips said, as soon as Jenna’s butt had touched the seat.

“Well,” Jenna began, blushing. “I’m a recent graduate from University and I’ve always loved children’s literature. I really feel that what we read as children impacts us most. I love reading children’s books and I feel that I would excel at writing them someday. I would love –“

“What editing experience do you have?” Ms. Phillips broke in. “It is an assistant editing position, after all.”

“I … umm…” Jenna said, thrown by the brusque tone in the woman’s voice. “I don’t have any real on-the-job experience, but I’m constantly writing and I’ve done a lot of editing at school, at the University’s tutoring center. And I always help my friends improve their essays.”

She ended hopefully and smiled at the woman.

“I’m afraid that’s all I need to know,” Ms. Phillips sneered.

“But…. that’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked Jenna up and down.

“I’ve had quite a few interviews for this position,” she stated bluntly. “And seeing as none of the others were late or disheveled, or dirty, I think I’ll be selecting one of them.”

She shuffled the papers on her desk, leaving them in a neat stack before pushing her chair back and rising.

Jenna struggled to find words.

"That's not fair," she said, trying not to cry. "You don't understand how badly I want this job, or how much I've prepared for it. I've wanted to do this my whole life and I'm sure I'd be great at it, if you'd give me a chance."

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll see you out to the elevator,” Ms. Phillips added coldly.

“Thank you,” Jenna said. Those words were all she could manage to say without bursting into tears and she kept her eyes on the floor as Ms. Phillips pulled open her office door.

She walked into the hall, feeling Ms. Phillips’ glaring her down and immediately banged into someone. The man stumbled, but remained on his feet.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, looking up and fighting hard to keep tears from her eyes.

“It’s only fair,” he smiled at her.

She smiled back as she realized that the man from the train was looking back at her, grungy sneakers, wrinkled khakis and all.

“How’s that old lady doing?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Jenna replied. “She had a twisted ankle, though. We found a cab. I’m sure she’s at the hospital by now.”

Jenna looked back at the neatly-suited Ms. Phillips to find her staring at the man.

“Mr. Thomas,” the woman said, the words coming out tightly. “I wasn’t expecting to, erm, see you this morning. And I wasn’t aware that you knew this …. young lady.”

Jenna’s eyes widened and she stared openly at the man as she realized who she was looking at. Thomas and Son’s publishing was the brainchild of the illustrious Mr. Thomas, who stood before her in dirty sneakers and an old t-shirt. He glanced at her and registered the shock on her face.

“Like you said, I’m really lucky to have a job where I can wear whatever I want.” He glanced at Ms. Phillips. “Or in this economy, any job.”

“I believe we have an open position for a junior editor, don’t we, Ms. Phillips?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, I believe we do.”

“I think that this young lady would be perfect for it, don’t you Ms. Phillips?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied tersely. “I’m sure she would.”

“Why don’t we talk about it more in my office?” he asked, turning back to Jenna.

“I would love that, sir,” she grinned, not believing her luck.

“Would you like any coffee or tea?” he asked.

“Some water might be nice,” Jenna replied, suddenly realizing how thirsty she was.

“Ms. Phillips,” he asked, turning to lead Jenna down the hallway to larger corner office at the end. “Would you terribly mind bringing Ms. Clark a bottle of water?”

Sitting down in the plush chair that faced his desk, she couldn’t believe her luck as she turned to face the man who would help her build her future.