Chapter 10
Piper
I sit at my desk, finge rs curled around a mug of coffee I’m not drinking. The glow from my laptop casts pale shadows across my face, highlighting the bags under my eyes and the defeat slumping my shoulders. The screen is filled with applications I’ve already submitted, and some I’ve yet to.
With a huff, I get up and stride into the kitchen, making myself another cup of coffee. This one needs to be strong enough to raise the dead so I don’t fall asleep. I only have ten days left, and I can’t waste a single moment.
As my gaze lands on the sink, I shiver as I recall two weeks ago when Lena stood with me, staring into the flames as we burned the puzzle pieces one by one, feeding each scrap to the hungry blaze until only molten flakes remained.
God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Now, with my education slipping through my fingers, I almost miss the fucking puzzle pieces. At least what Lena and I dubbed #PuzzleGate kept me distracted.
When my coffee’s ready, I switch the machine back off and add enough milk that I can drink it right away. Instead of staying in the kitchen, I walk back into the living room, sitting down at my desk.
Yesterday, Mrs. Ellis called me into her office to remind me of the October first deadline as if I could ever forget that I only have ten days left. Instead of telling her about my most recent interview failures, I pretended to have two promising prospects waiting for me.
It feels like lying is all I do. To myself, to Lena, and to Mrs. Ellis. Truth be told, the interviews had already happened, and they rejected me almost quicker than I could leave their offices.
I wince as I take a sip of my coffee, but force myself to drink half the cup while I scroll through postings that blur together. Positions I wouldn’t have looked at twice just a month ago.
PR assistants. Campaign interns for candidates I wouldn’t vote for if my life depended on it. A social media internship that pays in coffee and exposure. I apply to all of them. Cut and paste my resume. Swap out keywords. Lie through my teeth about why I’m passionate about their work.
I don’t feel passion. I feel like I’m applying to vanish somewhere quiet and unremarkable, just to say I did something. Like I’m writing my own obituary, one bland application at a time.
Mindlessly applying for unpaid internships isn’t me. I’m not interested in roles with no upward mobility, while watching other people making the important decisions in rooms out of my reach. But I still do it.
Ten days bleed by, each one sharper than the last.
If my life was a cartoon, the calendar pages would float across the screen to signal the days passing. But in reality, I avoid any reminder of what date it is. And I definitely don’t want any reminder of the interview I had earlier today.
It was at a mid-size think tank, a policy group working on issues I struggled to feign enthusiasm for. When we were done, he shook my hand and said they’d be in touch. But I knew the answer the second he stood. The handshake was too polite, and the smile too empty.
But still, some dumb part of me hoped. Because whether I like it or not, that company is my last fucking chance. There’s no denying it since it’s September thirtieth.
I refresh my inbox like it owes me oxygen. Each click is CPR on a future that flatlined weeks ago. Of course, there’s nothing. Just silence so loud it makes my teeth ache.
While I’m pondering what the hell to tell Uncle Teddy since all the money he’s given me is wasted now that I’ve failed, I start drafting the email to Mrs. Ellis, thanking her for trying, and admitting I couldn’t pull it off.
As much as I hate it, I have to send the words confirming my failure.
But I’ll be damned if I send it before I have to.
I snort as I glance at the clock in the bottom right corner of my screen. 11:57 p.m.
Just three more minutes until I officially wave the white flag.
The cursor on my screen blinks like it’s mocking me—each flicker another second slipping through my fingers. I exhale, ready to hit send and shut it all down, when a soft ping cuts through the room.
My jaw is slack, and my eyes are impossibly wide as I watch my inbox updating. I frantically click on the email, as though it’ll disappear if I’m too slow.
Subject: Interview Invitation—Blackwood Strategic Advisory From: [email protected] To: Piper Harrington
Dear Ms. Harrington, Your academic achievements and focus in strategic communications and political policy have not gone unnoticed.
We have followed your work with great interest and believe your values and potential align well with our firm’s mission.
We would like to formally invite you to an in-person interview for our fall internship cohort at Blackwood Strategic Advisory, a consultancy specializing in elite political strategy.
Date: October 1 Time: 9:00 a.m. Location: Blackwood HQ, Suite 14A, Washington D.C.
Attire: Business professional Please confirm your attendance by replying to this email.
We look forward to speaking with you. Sincerely, Maria Wilson Executive Assistant to the CEO Blackwood Strategic Advisory
I blink once, then again, making sure I’m not somehow reading the email wrong.
The timestamp glaring back at me reads 11:59 p.m., a minute poised on the cusp of a new day. Relief floods through me as I realize that tomorrow isn’t canceled after all, that the opportunity still stands.
My fingers fly over the keys as I type out a reply, my heart racing as I accept the invitation for tomorrow’s interview.