"I think I can handle a job interview."

Chapter 4: "The Job Interview"

It was the only time I'd ever felt worried about going to the mall. Finals were easier. Sadie Hawkins dances were easier. Dating your best friend when you're not sure if you're gay, is actually easier than a job interview at Spots. Remember how I said my dad wanted me to get a summer job? Yeah, I don't know if you know this, but the job market for high-schoolers in 2019 was bad for everyone, let alone Millview. Our tiny Texas town thought it was Houston, but it was more of an Austin, if you know what I mean. Hell, Abilene would give us a run for the money if we let them.

Point is, this small town was small as hell. If it wasn't a fast food joint, it would have been retail. Kat had suggested working at the movie theater, but I hadn't taken her up on it. She was disappointed afterward; turns out she'd applied ahead of me hoping we'd get to work together. One more thing that made more sense looking backwards.

It was already halfway through summer, so I wasn't anticipating a large chunk of change by the end of break. One place called me back, and that was how I ended up at Spots.

"Isn't it possessive?" My dad stared up at the dim neon lettering.

"What?" I asked, looking up from my phone. Oh. We were here.

"S-P-O-T-apostrophe-S, right?" He looked at me as if I would somehow have an opinion on this. "It's a possessive noun."

"Thanks for the ride, dad," I said. I yanked off my seatbelt and bolted out of the car. I was running behind, and being late to a job interview isn't how you land one. "Pick me up at seven?"

"Nice try. Six." He smirked at me. "You got your license and stuff?" I nodded.

"Yup, I can legally prove my existence."

"Attagirl." He turned to put the car in park.

"Maybe the mascot is a Dalmatian." He paused, looking back at me with confusion. I pointed above my head at the store sign. "Spots."

He hung his head low, but I saw the grin that crept across. He straightened up, glowering at me. "Don't be late." I watched the red of his taillights go out as he pushed the pedal, the bronco grunting its way across the mall parking lot.

The convenience store wasn't technically a part of the shopping mall. There was an interior door that led to the promenade, and I could smell Cinnabon from all the way out here, but the Spots itself was a separate entity. It was located strategically on the other end of the mall from the food court, which is to say it had less foot traffic than the Sears that had closed last year. The owner had a few dotted around town in an attempt to franchise. I guess he thought people on this side of the mall wouldn't want to walk all the way there, but when you could get 2 pounds of chinese food for $4.99 or brand name fast food, it was hard to justify making the trek here for prepackaged food, overpriced slushies and cigarettes that were taxed to hell and back. At least it was quiet.

Yellow humming fluorescents were my only greeting aside from the stale chime as I opened the door. The air conditioning was nice. It wasn't even noon yet, and it had been sweltering outside.

"Hello?" I walked up to the counter, no one in sight. I didn't see a back room for someone to be dozing off in, so I called again. "I'm here for the job interview?" Nothing. I shrugged and walked past one of the aisles, expecting to see someone stocking a shelf with headphones on. Tons of off-brand chips and candy, but no employees. I heard a door click open and then the whoosh of air equalizing between this room and another. A tall boy in a hi-vis vest and tattered jeans stared over the shelves at me, the door behind him whushing shut slowly.

"Are you Cassidy?" he asked. I nodded and he smiled. He looked like he was my age, but he sounded thirteen.

"Cassidy is what my parents call me," I shrugged at him. "You can call me Cassie." He gestured to the door he'd entered from.

"Come into my office."

We exited the shop and stepped on to Mall property, only to turn right twice and arrive at another door next to the first. He jangled keys in his pocket, pulling something on a retractable cord out and holding it near the electronic lock. It beeped, a light turning green, and he plunged the handle downward. We entered a short hallway, and turned right once more to arrive in a cramped office. It may as well have been a closet. The desk held only a few papers and a flimsy computer monitor, keyboard and mouse. The back wall was lined with tiny CRT screens, fuzzy images flicking between them. The interior of the shop. That explains how he knew to find me.

"Have a seat, Cassie," he said. Something about his professional demeanor gave me an ick, but I brushed it off. "My name is Roger. Thanks for coming in. I've been trying to fill our closing spot for weeks." That explains the callback.

"I'm happy to be here!" I tried to beam at him, but only managed a dim glow. He didn't seem to notice at all, far too busy trying to pretend I didn't have boobs. He may as well have been shaking in his retroreflective boots. I tried to relax, pushing my shoulders back so I wasn't recreating the grand canyon with my cleavage. The boy shuffled papers around a few times, re-reading them after distracted glances.

"Your resume isn't too long," he started, "But if you're just looking to build up some experience, I think this is the perfect place to do that." He smiled back at me, punctuating his sentence with a nod. "The closing duties are a bit more involved than opening, so I've been trying to find someone to help Sam out." The papers went back in the folder where he'd retrieved them, and he clicked a pen out of nowhere, scribbling on a post-it note. "Do you have experience with making coffee?"

Aside from pouring a cup for my dad, not really.

"Definitely!" Roger waited for me to continue. "I like it when it's not too strong. Or too weak. Just right."

"And what about janitorial duties?"

I hadn't spotted a public restroom out there, so I hoped he just meant mopping. That I could do. "Of course."

"Mhm." Another scribble. "Okay. Do you have any cash handling experience?"

"Oh yeah." My glow intensified a bit. "I have plenty. When I was a sophomore, I spent all year working concessions at the diamond. I was responsible for counting the safe every night, as well as deposits for Mr. Keenan." I ran the nacho line, but had gotten a ride home from Mr. Keenan once. He'd stopped at the bank along the way. "I also handled all of the proceeds at last year's Sadie Hawkins dance." That one was true.

"Sounds like exactly what I'm looking for." He smirked, pulling the post-it off the pad and sticking it to my folder. "I'll tell you the truth, Cassie. My other closer is great with the people, but is a bit of a flake. Sam's great, but I've been wanting to pull him off closing for a while. Unfortunately, his hours are incompatible with mine as the opener. So this way I think works out best for now." He leaned back and stretched a bit, and the chair beneath him squealed under pressure. A tinny chime came from one of the CRTs above him, and he looked up at them.

A blurry figure had entered the shop, wearing a hoodie and backpack. "Well, there's Sam now." Roger cocked his head to the side. "Right on time for once." He looked back at the folder on his desk, then the door. "Do you have your legal documents?" I nodded, pulling them from my wallet. A slip with direct-deposit information. My drivers license. "Just leave them on my desk. I'll copy everything in a minute. Right now, I'd like to get you familiar with the store."

We traversed the boundary between Mall and Spots once more, the doors feeling more like gates to Narnia than a dingy convenience store. I frowned, wishing I could have more than just the scent of a cinnamon roll. The whoosh happened again as the air pressure status quo was upended. I peered around Roger's shoulder to see the blurry figure with more clarity. They stood up from behind the countertop, stashing the backpack beneath. "Sam? I'd like you to meet Cassie."

Before you start to worry about potential love triangles, first of all, ew. Second of all, look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't want multiple people interested in you at the same time? I'm human. I have fantasies too. Please keep that in mind as I describe the young man I was being introduced to.

Sam was much taller than me, almost as tall as Kat. Roughly cut black hair, a single freckle by his right eye. His smile was like a billboard on the side of a highway: wide for all to see, but yours alone for just a shining moment. I felt my heartbeat in a place I didn't usually. So no, I'm not gay, I guess. Just very bisexual. "Hey Roger." Sam tapped on the keyboard at the register, immediately on the clock. "Is this my closer?"

"That's right. I'm going to have you give her the rundown of the place since I have to leave in a half hour. Think you can handle that?" Sam nodded. "Great." He turned to me. "I'll get back with you here in just a few." He headed back towards the office, leaving me in Sam's capable hands.

"Nice to meet you, Cassie." The billboard was aimed at me again as he reached down to shake my hand. So completely unnecessary. His hands were huge around mine. I accepted the gesture. "I'm Sam."

"Hi, Sam." It was all I could manage.

"Well, let's get you settled." He stepped around the counter, brushing past me to get to the main floor. I remember he smelled like smoke. He pointed at the far side of the store. "First things first, main thing you'll be doing is stocking the fridges. Sodas, energy drinks, iced coffee. There's a tiny section with shitty Lunchables and string cheese. It's as easy as it looks. Roger likes to keep it cold in there, but on days like today it's nice to get in there and out of the sun." He made a quarter turn and gestured to the shelved aisles in the middle of the room. "I usually take care of dry goods. That's my baby." The spell was broken as soon as that sentence made its way out. The way he said 'baby' made my nose scrunch.

"Your baby?" A scoff burst out.

"Ah, it's just something I say. Roger let me reorganize the store inventory last week, it's been my pet project." He put his hands on his hips. "Personally I think the rearrangement looks better than before. The beef jerky used to be over here. No one wants to see seven dollar bags of bite-sized leather first thing." He waved his hands. "Anyway, it's an ongoing thing. Last thing is the coffee. We stay open later than the rest of the mall, so we sometimes get in stray truckers looking for some joe. We make it every three hours. My advice?" His smirk came back. "Be careful when you pour out the old stuff, it likes to splash. Burnt the shit out of myself once or twice."

"I'll keep it in mind." What was on my mind right now was the realization that I had finished the job interview earlier than expected. I watched as Roger came back from Narnia, holding out my drivers license with a smile.

"Alright, we're all set! Tonight, I just want you to shadow a bit, if that works for you, Sam. We can figure out anything we need to focus on as we go. Are you still available on nights and weekends?"

"Yes," I affirmed. "I'm good from two to twelve." He nodded.

"Great. I think I only need you here from about four to close at eleven." He started to scribble on another note, not looking at me as he wrote. "And what was the expected pay rate?"

"Thirteen-" I started to speak, but Sam threw his thumb up, indicating for me to go higher. "Sixteen dollars an hour." He pumped his thumb up again, and Roger looked back to me inquisitively. "Sixteen or seventeen." He nodded.

"There's a shift differential for closers." Oh. I was expecting minimum wage at least, realistically no more than ten bucks an hour. Seventeen was enough to buy another wardrobe by the end of summer. My dad would be pleased. "You should be getting at least thirty-six hours a week since it's part time, but that might dip on slow days." He turned to Sam. "Anything you need before I get wrapped up?"

Sam's face scrunched up as he spoke. "Nah. Just gonna get the usual stuff done, then get some studying in after it dies down."

"Sounds good." Roger departed from us once more, and I let my nose turn towards the cinnamon-scented air. Sam noticed.

"Have you had lunch yet?" he asked, walking towards the countertop. I shook my head. "I stopped for a treat on the way here." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a white and blue cardboard box. How the fuck did he know? "I don't mind sharing a bite or two." He opened the box and hesitated as he looked inside. "No fucking way." I looked down into the container and saw what had surprised him. There was two cinnamon rolls in the box, stacked on top of each other. "They must like me there." He turned around, reaching across the counter towards an empty hot dog stand. There was a thin metal drawer there, and inside he found a stack of paper plates, snatching one up for me. He gingerly selected the top roll with thumb and fingers, careful not to squish the pastry as he set it on the plate. "Must be your lucky day." He sucked icing off his finger. I looked around for a utensil. He pointed at the far counter, by the coffee.

I should have given it more thought as I walked up to the counter, fork in hand. I wanted a cinnamon roll so badly, and now there was one just waiting for me? I needed the job, and not only did I get it, the pay was whatever I wanted? It's so obvious looking back, and I wish I could have seen it sooner. It probably wouldn't have mattered, knowing the trouble it would get me into.

We finished our snacks, and went through the motions. Sam showed me where to clock in for the day. (The closet I liked to call Narnia.) Where I could put my things. (Under the counter.) How to reset the register if the computer froze. (Just unplug it a couple of times.)

It couldn't have been easier. Quickest seventeen bucks I'd ever made. For a few minutes I let myself think that I was better than other people. Certainly luckier. I mean, yeah it wasn't the nicest job in the world, but the actual dollar-to-effort ratio was exactly where I wanted it. Kat was taking care of tonight's date, but maybe in the future, I could be the one wining and dining her instead. Was that how it worked with lesbians? Did it matter who asked who out? I knew how it worked with boys, but with girls it just seemed like anything was up for grabs. In more ways than one.

Oh fuck, our date. I looked at the clock. Dad was picking me up at six, and I still needed to pick out some earrings. I'd planned to look for some while I was at the mall, but most of those stores would be closing by now.

"And if somebody asks to mix slushie flavors-" Sam was still talking when I came to.

"My date!" I shot up from my seat as if I'd been hit with a taser. I grabbed my bag and darted towards the interior door. Then I stopped and turned around. "Oh my god. I must look like a crazy person." Sam's bewildered look broke into amusement.

"I know it's a lot to take in the first day. Didn't realize I was overwhelming you with it all." I shook my head apologetically.

"No, really. It's not that hard or anything. I just lost track of time." I set my bag down on the floor next to my feet, looking up at Sam. "My dad's picking me up here in like twenty minutes and I still have to get some things before I meet her."

"No worries," he said with a shrug. He picked up his phone from the counter, tapping a few buttons on screen. "Just noting when I should change the tapes." He nodded over his shoulder towards a grimy security camera. The thing must have been a decade or two older than me from the looks of it. I must have hesitated a few minutes too long, because he looked up at me. "Go!"

"You'll cover for me?" I asked, pretending to pick my bag back up tentatively. He nodded.

"Promise to show me a picture of your date." He smirked. The billboard was blunt, but effective. I smiled.

"Definitely."

I turned and bolted for the interior door, and my bag caught on a peg hook on the shelf. The product went flying up into the air, and I went straight down, landing backwards on my ass. I felt heat covering me, just like it did earlier that day. It seared through my chest and down my arms, and it took me a minute to realize it wasn't coming from within me like before. It turned into white hot pain, and I saw spots as I tried to scramble to my feet, ignoring the fact that the wind had been knocked out of me. I didn't register the expletives flying from Sam's mouth. I looked up to see the source of my newfound suffering. The metal peg had punctured the coffee station, cracking the glass kerafe and releasing its contents down to the counter and out in a wide-arcing spray.

Half balanced on my feet, I stared down my blistering face at my reddened fingers. The polish was warped a bit from the heat, and I could barely feel the sensation of being wet underneath my nerves on fire. I must have looked like the victim in a documentary. I remember thinking I shouldn't have done that. I wasn't going to be ready on time for the date. I turned and stepped towards the door, the whooshing air cooling me down. God that felt nice. The cold air conditioning. I must have been in shock, but it really was the thing that helped me. I focused on it, the cooling sensation.

My skin felt like I'd been doused in menthol. Still stinging, but cold. Frigid, actually. Sam caught up to me out in the hallway, grabbing me by the shoulder.

"Cassie- oh jesus." He yanked his hand back, shaking it. "Are you alright?"

I felt myself take a breath for the first time in minutes. "I'm fine," I said, not feeling it at all. "I just need to make sure I look okay." Yeah, I was definitely in shock. He looked at me. My face must have been at least a little red, but Sam couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or actual injury. He looked me over and it must not have been too serious, because he pursed his lips and nodded at me.

"Okay. I'm going to get a wet floor sign. The bathrooms are just across the hall. Come check in with me before you go, okay?"

"Okay," I said, not having heard a single word. I continued forward into the bathroom. The lights were brighter in here than in the store. I wished they would get darker. I felt my pupils dilate as the ambient light shifted in accordance with my thoughts. They actually got darker. I didn't notice, and if I had, I wouldn't have cared. It didn't feel like I was in an interrogation room anymore. I wandered my way up to the sinks, staring at myself in the mirror.

It was like a horror movie, only I was the slasher. My cheekbones protruded sharply under my blood red skin. One of my eyes was cloudier than the other. My hair was matted against my face, and I pulled it up with a wince. It didn't want to part with my flesh at first. I felt strands of it come out and fall down around my sore fingertips. Kat would be so disappointed.

I looked down at my clothes. My outfit was ruined. The dress was covered in a dark stain that took up the majority of my torso. My perfect cleavage was mottled and wet, the disgusting coloration of a bruise seeping up my neckline. My legs shook as I **** the muscle to stay still. I grabbed a paper towel and began to dry myself off. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't hurt after a moment had passed. I was going to be fine.

The paper towel came off my face with a bit of makeup on it, and a bit of blood. I think it was coming from my neck. I remembered that if you get a concussion you're not supposed to let yourself fall asleep. I looked into my dilated pupils and told myself to stay awake.

I watched as the paper towel started to come away clean. Each time I looked into the mirror, I saw myself come back, bit by bit. The face I recognized, the one I'd put together that morning. As the pain dulled, my thoughts started to come back to me, conscious ones. I shouldn't have just rushed to the bathroom. Hopefully Sam had called an emergency number of some kind. God I'd been stupid. I fought the instinct to cry, thinking it would only make my face worse. I was surprised at how my eyeliner had managed to remain intact.

I leaned closer to inspect it. It wasn't just intact. It was perfect. I let myself believe for just an instant that when I pulled my hand away, the rest of my face would be perfect too.

And then it was.

I don't know how to explain it other than that. It wasn't. It definitely wasn't at first. I should have had scars for the rest of my life. But when I pulled my hand away, my skin was as fresh as it had been that morning, maybe even better. My nerves weren't screaming anymore. The makeup I'd put on was still there. My cheeks were smooth and round. I let my hands continue down my body, and perfection continued to infect me.

My dress? Immaculate. No coffee stain. My cleavage? Back to normal. I waved one hand over the other, then that one over its pair. I keep using the word perfect, but it's hard to describe what was happening in other ways. It wasn't just that my nails were back to the way I had them, but they were better. I had an old scar on the back of my wrist. That was gone along with the rest.

I stared at my new form in the mirror. It was just like the old one, except better in every way. The girl in front of me belonged on the set of a movie. Her hair was bouncier than mine. Her eyes were darker. Her lips were fuller. My tits were the same, but other than them, it was like I'd been rebuilt. I felt a hum inside my chest, connected to something bigger than just me. I had no time to enjoy it before a large mustached man burst into the bathroom, making me scream. His face drained of all color, and he stopped on a dime, said sorry, turned and left before the echo had died out. Yeah, Sam had called somebody.

"How are you... feeling?" he asked as I emerged from the mall bathroom. It was darker outside, looking through that exterior door. The mustached man stood next to him, doing his damnedest to maintain eye contact with me, lips pursed in professionalism. From how he was dressed, I suspected he was just mall security. He was holding a small white first aid kit. That would have been helpful 5 minutes ago.

Sam was giving me a more thorough once-over than I cared to let him. I wished he'd stop looking at my tits. He looked up into my eyes with concern. "Seriously. It looked pretty bad." I looked down at myself in response. "It doesn't look that bad now."

"I freaked out," was all I could say. "I thought it was a lot hotter, but I guess not." I waved my arms up and down to prove it.

"You're not injured?" The man standing by Sam asked. He seemed irritated at the news, like he'd been summoned and embarrassed for nothing. Sam continued staring, unable to look away from my face. A sigh escaped from the mustache and he turned to leave. "You know you're not supposed to call unless it's an emergency. Don't need to be pranking pretty girls like this." He shook his head as he walked away. Sam still hadn't seemed to relax. I don't think he had even blinked yet.

"Really, Sam," I said. "I'm alright." I felt my legs, slightly wobbly. Well, I was ok. "You can stop staring."

He breathed out, looking around to see where the security guy had gone, but he'd disappeared around some dark corner. I felt heady. My words were directed squarely at him. "Look at me." He promptly turned and faced me.

"I don't understand," he said. I finally started to.

"Go back inside. The burner probably wasn't even on." He spun on one heel and whooshed open the convenience store's entrance. Sam carefully stepped around the broken glass on the wet floor, reaching out with his palm to gauge the radiant heat from the empty coffee station. He seemed dissatisfied with what he found, reaching down and tapping the bare metal surface.

"What the hell?"

"Don't worry about it," I said.

"Okay," he said. His whole body relaxed, suddenly casual again. He turned towards a small closet behind the counter, pulling out a broom and dustpan. I laughed out loud, ecstatic. "Do you always do everything you're told?" His brow scrunched up at my question.

"No?" He gestured to himself. "Do I look like I do?" I shrugged at him.

"Put the broom away."

He set the dustpan down on the ground, ready to start using it. "Why would I do that?" He stood back up and instead of moving towards the mess on the ground, he turned around and stepped right back behind the counter, opening the closet and putting it back in its home. It was over before he realized, and his eyes widened at me. "Oh come on. You're messing with me."

I thought about pushing it further. If I had, I don't think I would have liked the results. But I did want to try one more thing. As Sam retrieved the broom for the second time, I reached out towards the empty coffee burner, feeling for any heat. It was ice cold. I looked down, focusing on it. Slowly, as I stared, the black metal surface began to go gray. Then a deep red. Orange. I felt its warmth along with its twin, rising in my torso. It flooded my fingers and toes like it had that morning.

The world was responding to my mind. Not just people, but items, laws of physics. I felt better than I did that morning, but it didn't stop there. I wasn't just rejuvenated in body, though I'd never been this put together on my best day. I felt it inside me. A muscle I'd never flexed before. A second heart nestled next to flesh and blood, ready to make the world around me follow a rhythm of my choosing.