Chapter 8
NOTHING COULD HAVE PREPARED me for walking into The Rundown on Tuesday morning. Maybe it’s because of Jillian’s all-over gloomy presence, but I half expected their office space to look like a cave. Perhaps a newly renovated dungeon. Definitely something with little lighting, lots of caffeine, and heavy rock music blasting through speakers. Maybe there’d be a graveyard next door.
Instead, The Rundown looks like what would happen if a unicorn and a fairy had a baby that was then adopted by a princess and raised on a life of glitter.
When we walk through the front doors of the office, there’s an Ariana Grande song playing. There’s a teeny-tiny waiting area, with a green velvet couch and a glass table stacked with memoirs written by various women entrepreneurs. Next to that is a bowl filled with candy and another overflowing with tampons.
“Holy cow,” I say, peering farther into the office space.
“Don’t bring Julie’s cat into this,” Jillian says.
The office is one open square. Every single inch of the walls is covered with something: Polaroid photos, motivational quotes, movie posters, framed newspaper articles, calendars, even a few group photos. Large desks covered in laptops, plants, half-empty lattes, and a few photo frames take up most of the space.
The room is also filled with a bunch of women who are staring right at me.
“Everyone, this is my sister Jackie. She is officially your go-to girl for all ridiculous coffee orders—Michelle, I’m talking to you,” Jillian says.
A pretty Asian girl with bleached blond hair laughs. “Excuse me for liking my lattes with an absurd sugar-to-coffee ratio.”
“Nice to have you, Jackie,” says a stunning Muslim woman in a hijab. “I’m Fatima. I run our graphic design department. If you’ve seen any art on our website or socials, that’s all me.”
“Wait—even the animated wiener dog from a few weeks ago?” I ask.
Fatima smiles. “Yours truly.”
“I run our fashion column,” Michelle adds. “And for the record, my coffee order isn’t ridiculous.”
“It’s a little ridiculous,” Fatima says.
“I’m also a huge fan of anything loaded with sugar,” I say, earning a smile from Michelle.
Then there’s Maude, the social media coordinator, who runs their entire online presence. She’s set up at the corner of the desk that has a pink iMac and an iPad propped up on a stand. I’m sort of mesmerized by the intricate braids running through her blond hair.
Next is another writer named Imani, who moved here from South Africa when she was seven and has the prettiest accent I’ve ever heard. Her desk space houses two plants and a Nintendo Switch that’s currently charging.
I’m talking to Michelle about a piece she’s writing on sustainable fashion when a door behind me opens and Camilla walks out. Camilla, with her waist-length black hair, big brown eyes, and bone structure that would put any supermodel to shame. She looks exactly the same as she did five years ago, which was when I last saw her. But now I know she’s a cheater who broke my sister’s heart, so she somehow also looks entirely different.
I guess because Camilla founded The Rundown, she gets her own office. “Jackie!” she says, walking across the room like she’s about to hug me and— Ouf, there she is. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and I have to remind myself that she’s kind of my boss now, so maybe I shouldn’t push her away.
“Hi, Camilla,” I say as I’m slowly crushed to death from her embrace.
“We’re so happy to have you. I think you’re going to be the greatest addition to our team! Jill, did you give her the tour?”
Jillian is sitting at her desk, typing on her laptop. “She’s gotten the rundown, yeah.”
Everyone snickers. I wonder if that’s a pun they use often.
“We’ve got a coffee machine, snack drawers, and an aux cord that’s all yours whenever you feel like it,” she says, gesturing at an empty desk right beside Jillian’s. There’s a cordless phone, a notepad, and an unopened pack of pens. “You can set yourself up with your laptop and whatever else you need. That phone is new for us, by the way. We actually just set up our office number last week, so we don’t get too many calls. But you can answer it whenever it happens to ring. If you’re unsure of any questions, put them on hold and ask one of us.”
After Camilla disappears into her office, I dig into my backpack to get my desk set up. But when I reach in for my laptop, it’s missing.
“Looking for this?” Jillian slides my laptop over to me.
“How’d you get that?” I ask, my heartbeat accelerating. I hope she didn’t look at it. I’m still logged into iDiary .
“Took it this morning by accident. Again. Sorry.”
I huff out a breath. “I really need to like, add a sticker to mine or something so we stop mixing them up.”
I set myself up and obsess over how great this spot is. With Camilla’s office directly behind me and Jill seated to my left, I have the perfect view of them both. No fleeting look or whispered conversation will go unnoticed. I’ll go home every day with a ton of new information to report to Julie, so we can stay on top of what’s going on with those two.
But before any spying can begin, everyone gets antsy an hour later. It turns out it’s also my job to pick up lunch.
There’s unanimous agreement on getting sandwiches from Patty’s, a sub shop across the street. I place the order online—my first official task of the day—and pay with the company credit card Camilla lends me. There are two tuna melts, two turkey clubs on rye, one spicy veggie deluxe, and two BLTs. After adding a bunch of lemonades and bags of sea salt Kettle chips, I put on my sunglasses and head across the street.
I’m waiting for the pedestrian cross signal to change when I hear my name being called. Michelle is running over to me, now wearing a cute denim dad cap. “Hey,” she says, a little out of breath. “I thought you could use a hand carrying all that food.”
We get to Patty’s a few minutes before the order is ready and end up taking a seat at a table. Michelle sips one of the lemonades, and I crack open a bag of chips.
“So,” she says, “what do you think of our little woman cave so far?”
“It’s nothing like what I was expecting and way better than I imagined,” I say.
Michelle laughs. “Let me guess, you were expecting some boring office with a bunch of miserable writers stuffed behind desks, chugging black coffee, with massive bags under their eyes?”
“That is... exactly what I thought, yeah.” I offer Michelle the bag of chips and she takes a handful.
“I’ve worked at places like that,” she says. “Those offices give nine-to-fives a bad rep. There’s a ton of cool places to work that don’t suck the life out of you. And most of them are run by women,” she adds with a wink.
That’s the perfect intro for what I’ve been meaning to ask. “What’s it like working for Camilla?”
“She’s amazing.” Michelle pauses to take a sip of her lemonade. “She’s super easygoing and so understanding. I’ve never before had a boss that I wasn’t, like, afraid to talk to like a friend, you know? Camilla just breaks down all those weird barriers and feels like one of us. You know her, right? I remember she and Jill go way back.”
That’s interesting—so the other girls aren’t aware that Camilla and Jill are exes. If Jill doesn’t want them to know, then it isn’t my place to say. But still—it makes me wonder. “Yeah, they met in high school,” I say.
“Supercool. Well, it’s going to be so nice to have you around! I’m happy to tag along if you ever need a buddy when running these errands for us.”
I smile at her genuinely. “I’d honestly love that.”
“Sometimes the best way to deal with writer’s block is to step away from your laptop and go back with fresh eyes. So I’m always down for a little walk or something to take my mind off writing for a sec. Do you write?”
“Uhm, not really,” I say. I guess my blog is kind of writing, but again—top secret information. “I work at Monte’s Magic Castle? It’s like, ten minutes from here.”
“Oh, no way! I went there all the time as a kid. Do you guys still do those shows every hour?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I say with a laugh, going back in for another chip. “I’m really just trying to save up some extra cash to drive my best friend to California at the end of summer.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“It will be, if it ever happens,” I say.
“Well, you’re one of us now. Maybe you can quit Monte’s and find a permanent spot at The Rundown . I’m sure the pay is a lot better.”
Michelle’s words are like a new path unfolding in front of me. “I’m sure Jill would love that,” I joke. I’m surprised she even agreed to let me into her space, when this job means so much to her.
Michelle leans across the table, lowering her voice. “Don’t tell her I said this, but Jill talks about you all the time.”
It’s so absurd I have to laugh. “You’re lying.”
“I swear. The hardest people usually have the biggest soft spots.”
When I try to picture Jillian sitting at her desk, chatting about me with her coworkers, it’s like my imagination malfunctions. It’s so unlike Jillian, I can’t even envision that moment in my mind. But it must be true. Why else would Michelle say that? And what does Jill say about me?
The girl working at the counter calls my name. “Order for Jackie!” Michelle helps me with the paper bags, and we head back across the street. She fills the silence with chatter, explaining how she ended up at The Rundown : a combination of good luck, a degree in English literature, and an unstoppable love for fashion.
“How did you know you wanted to be a writer?” I ask while we cross the street.
“English was the class I hated the least in high school. When I had to decide what to study in university, that felt like a good enough place to start,” she says. “What about you? Any post–high school plans?”
The question makes me tense up. “I’m still figuring it out.”
We take a left on the main road, The Rundown now coming into a view a few units down.
As if she can sense the stress weighing me down, Michelle smiles warmly. “There’s no deadline for figuring out your life,” she offers. “If anything, I regret rushing into college. I’m twenty-seven now, and in hindsight, I’d go back and do everything differently.”
Her words feel like a much-needed safety blanket. “Like what?”
“Like take a year or two off before university. Travel, relax, breathe. Just live for a second before rushing into another four years of stress.”
This might be the first time in my life I’ve heard someone talk so positively about not going to college immediately after high school. Maybe I’m not making some huge mistake. Maybe I’m just taking a different path.
Michelle’s words make me feel seen in ways I never have been.
As we approach the office, I hold the door open for her. “I can’t even tell you how nice that is to hear,” I say.
Michelle winks. “Hey, I’m happy to bestow my wisdom on someone who’s young enough to take it.”
Around five o’clock, I’m all but itching to check iDiary and my climb to online fame. I tap my foot the entire drive home, until Jill threatens to pull over and let me walk. After retreating to my bedroom and changing into comfy clothes, I pull back my bedroom curtains and look straight into Suzy’s room. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop propped up on her knees. It takes a few seconds before she glances over and spots me. I wave. She slides her blue light glasses onto her head and waves back. I settle in on the window bench, booting up my laptop, and take a bite of leftover pasta.
My phone rings.
“Hello, best friend,” I greet, putting the call on speaker so my hands are free to type.
“How are you handling your new internet fame?” she asks.
“Horribly,” I joke. “It’s gotten to my head, and I think I’m better than everyone.”
Suzy pauses. “You definitely already thought that before the fame.”
I meet her eyes through the window and stick my tongue out.
“What does the blog look like?” she asks just as I’m pulling up iDiary .
“Checking now.”
Turns out, my advice to @mirrorball03 and @livelaughloathe worked like a charm. After their testimonies came and I posted them publicly, there were other messages seeking advice. Slowly, it seems like people are beginning to trust me. I’m getting fifteen to twenty messages a day. Which isn’t too crazy, but still entirely unbelievable.
iDiary finishes loading. I’m slammed with notifications and six new messages, the most yet! A tiny bubble of excitement grows inside of me, floating closer to the surface. All these people waiting on me to help them. People who respect me, who desperately wait to hear what I have to say. It’s like a high, and it keeps getting better.
“What’s the damage?” she asks.
“Six new messages.” Combined with the unanswered messages that have accumulated, there are now eleven waiting for me.
Suzy lets out a whistle. “That’s a lot of people practically begging you to break their hearts.”
“You make it sound so masochistic,” I say. In a way, it is. But these are people looking for a fresh start. Looking for someone to give them the A-OK to start over and put themselves first. And if that person has to be me, I’m okay with that.
“Heartbreak awaits,” she says.
We end the call, and I get to work.
It’s past midnight when I emerge from the depths of the internet. I have answered all the questions, giving advice on everything from cheating to fights breaking out over dietary restrictions.
When I’m about to log off for the night, a new message comes in. It’s from user @mkz123. They wrote:
My boyfriend and I had our futures planned out. We’d finish college together, graduate, move to the city. Now everything’s different... He’s taken a new job and completely uprooted our lives. We’re no longer on the same page and this isn’t what I signed up for. What do I do? I don’t want to hurt him, and I’m terrified of having this conversation with him...
It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts. It’s like I can feel mkz123’s pain through the screen. Her fear of a future changing, the person she cares about leaving... It hits too close to home.
Before Suzy’s face comes to mind, I remind myself to not take this account personally. These are other people’s lives. Not mine.
I focus back on @mkz123’s situation. Gimmicks and dramatic confrontations aren’t necessary. I think it’s all about face-to-face dialogue and peacefully parting ways with someone you thought would be in your life much longer. To answer her question, I write:
A cathartic conversation is what you need. Sometimes people grow apart—plans change, futures change, hell, even people change. What you needed last week could differ right now. If your future together is not one you want anymore, it’s time to talk it out and let them go. Face-to-face can be scary, but remember this is someone who loves you and will want to know that you’re struggling. Before going into the conversation, try writing out what you plan to say in a letter. That way, when the time comes, you’ll be ready.
I post the message and try not to dwell too hard on it. I may expect other people to take my advice, but that doesn’t mean I have to.
Moving my finger across the mouse pad, I click on the button for Account Settings. Over the past week, my account has grown in ways I never thought possible. @shitjackiesays was fun, but I think it’s time for a refresh. Plus, I’m running on full anonymity right now. I don’t want my name out there. Better to eliminate even the smallest chance of someone tying this blog back to me.
What Suzy said earlier rings through my mind. Six people practically begging you to break their hearts.
“Begging me to break their hearts,” I repeat out loud, the name coming to me.
I delete shitjackiesays , type in the new name, and hit Save.
Just like that, pleasebreakmyheart is born.