Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(56)

“I could work for local government, probably. Right?”

“Sure, but it’s not the same there as it is here. I did an internship with Wright’s home office during his first term, and it almost scared me out of politics forever. Though I guess I was just answering phones and dealing with constituents.”

“Like April and Josh are doing?” I ask, and she gives me a glare.

“Firstly, they’re getting paid and I was not. Secondly, they get to do it in DC, in the Capitol. His home office isn’t quite as glamorous.” She looks up, like she’s thinking really hard about how to say something. “I guess the thing is this: you seem to thrive in this environment. Not a lot of people do, and I think that’s special.”

She gives me a kind, slightly condescending smile, and I feel the heaviness of the past few weeks snap inside me. I deflate so hard I almost collapse on the bar.

“I’m not thriving,” I say. “I hate this, actually. But I just keep my head down and push through it, because it’s such a good experience for my résumé. I’m doing it for the recommendation letter; I’m doing it because I thought if I did a good enough job I could just, I don’t know, skip the whole college thing. But if you’re telling me there’s no chance, then you’re right: What am I doing here? Why am I working fifty hours a week?”

“You’re not working fifty hours a week,” she says in this slightly unstable way, like she can’t quite be sure if what she’s saying is true.

“I’ve tracked it. It started out as a pride thing—I worked thirty-five hours in my first week, and I was, like, ‘Wow, this is basically a full-time job. I could definitely come back and do the same thing for real.’ Then that increased each week. I worked fifty-two hours that week you got stuck at the airport.

“Josh and April have been working up to thirty hours, and they’re starting to notice that Jenna is taking longer lunch breaks while they take over the phones every day. I have a signed offer letter that says my commitment is twenty hours a week. Josh and April wanted us all to talk to you guys, to tell you it wasn’t okay, but I wouldn’t join them. That was yet another mistake of mine.”

Meghan just stares at me, like she honestly doesn’t believe it’s possible.

“Uh …,” she starts. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry. Pasquale never told me about the twenty-hour limit. I just assumed you were all just along for the ride. I don’t know why I didn’t ask. And believe me, I didn’t mean to keep you that late. You’re just so put together all the time. I didn’t realize the sort of stress I was putting on you.”

“I fell asleep on the train and ended up at Franconia-Springfield last night,” I say. “And it’s all for nothing. Do you think this experience will even be relevant when I get out of college in, like, five-plus years?”

“Maybe … maybe you should take the rest of the week off. And we can play next week by ear, maybe longer. God, if Betty Caudill knew about this, she’d freak. I’m going to email the others and cut their work hours now. We’ll figure this out.”

And just like that, it feels like my internship is over. Fifty hours a week, I put my all into this, and in one moment, it’s gone. Even if I come back, it’ll never be the same. But who cares if it is?

I’ve lost so much precious time this summer, and for what?

As I leave, I pick up the phone and call Gabe. He’ll know what to do.





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

REESE

Today, like every other day for the past week, started with a call from Heath. It feels good to be close to him again, and I’m starting to rely on his early morning pep talks to keep me going throughout the day. Especially on critique days.

As we come up on four weeks left in the program, we’ve started weekly one-on-one consultations with Professor Watts about developing our design.

“It feels very Hunger Games right now,” she says. “Ever see that movie, the second one?”

I nod. “Without the magic fire?”

“Ha, right. But that’s a little of what I’m seeing here. The movement, the gradient from black to fire red. I like it, but it’s lacking a bit of practicality. What fabric are you thinking? How would it be dyed?”

I pause, considering it. “Linen, maybe? It wouldn’t have the movement, but it would be easy to dye.”

“Cotton batiste, maybe? It would be sheer, so you’d need something with a bit more heft for the body, and these could be decoration. But then it looks a little—”

“Flamboyant?”

She laughs. “It does look like what the gals wear at my local drag show back home. Not that that’s bad. There’s a market for that—we’ve just never had a drag queen on our runways.”

“I wasn’t really going for drag, but I guess a lot of what I know about fashion is from drag queens I follow on Instagram.”

“I think, whatever you’re going for, just commit to it. Think about the fabric. Next week, I’d really like you to come in with a couple of samples of fabrics for this look. It’s coming together, though. You’ve improved a lot so far, but again, for this assignment, think equally about practicality, cost, production. Things like that.”

“Got it,” I say.