Chapter Eleven #2
But I do have my own errand to run, so I scan the aisles until I find number twelve is labelled: HOUSING – IMMIGRATION – PUBLIC SAFETY – HOMELAND SECURITY.
I draw up short when I see those departments grouped together.
Two desks are located in this aisle, candles burning on each one.
And at the one closest to me is my nemesis—Tom Sullivan, hunched over a stack of papers.
A small placard hangs from his desk that says Minister of Immigration and Housing.
A wave of relief hits me when I realize I won’t need to talk to him after all.
I skirt around the entire complex, so that I can enter the aisle from the other side and approach the man seated at the far desk.
“Hi!” I put on my brightest voice. I even brushed my hair and put on the one sweater I own that doesn’t have any holes. Dress to impress! That’s what book characters do when they want a job. “I saw the ad in the paper. It said you’re looking for border guards?”
“Oh!” The minister gestures for me to step forward. “That’s wonderful. Take a seat. We never can find enough willing volunteers.”
That’s what I’m counting on. The paper said this position offers twenty-five dollars a week—way higher than anything else I qualify for.
I asked Sid how dangerous these border guard jobs are, and he said it’s mostly marching along the shoreline, monitoring the fence and doing—to quote him—jack shit.
But the mere idea that TNS could be out there is enough to scare most applicants off.
Apparently, me and my slingshot were the most exciting thing to happen at the border in a couple of years, which is laughable.
I’ve survived far scarier situations, so this should be a breeze. I might even get to carry a gun.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” says the minister.
“Um, I’m Kayla Hollins. And….” If only the Berenstain Bears had been old enough to go job hunting.
Then I might have some script to work from.
“… and I haven’t fired a gun before, but I’ve got good aim with a slingshot and a bow.
I used to feed myself with them, so I had to be good at sneaking up on stuff. I can hike for long distances and—”
He straightens. “Feed yourself? Are you a Wildling?”
There’s that awful term again. “I’m a sanctuary seeker.”
“Right. Of course.” He makes a note on a piece of paper. “Kayla Hollins. That was your name?”
“Yeah.”
“Wonderful. Perfect. Go on.” He smiles, and yet I sense something has slid off course. “You were saying something about hiking?”
The whole discussion, he’s incredibly polite.
He asks about the places I’ve visited on Vancouver Island and seems impressed when I tell him my family survived the Port Alberni massacre.
I chalk up the earlier awkwardness to nerves.
By the end of our conversation, he’s even laughed at a few of my jokes.
He finishes our discussion with a handshake and assures me he’s so very glad I came in to ask for a position.
“You’ll hear from me soon.”
“Great.” Did I do enough? I know so little about landing jobs, but I don’t think I embarrassed myself.
April is still busy, so I’m left to pace the building, stewing over my attempts at gainful employment.
At one point, I pause to read a bulletin board that has a poster up announcing an upcoming election, but my mind is elsewhere.
They take sanctuary seekers as border guards, don’t they?
They hired Sid and his guys. Granted, Sid is roughly two times my body weight, but that doesn’t matter when weapons come into the picture. I’ve taken down elk bigger than him.
Finally, April completes her test. I’m hoping we both got lucky today, but when she’s released, she’s got a scowl on her face and bright red cheeks.
“We’ll have your results soon,” says the Minister.
“Thank you! April’s really looking forward to going to—” Before I can finish, my sister shoves past me with an aggressive thrust of her shoulder.
“Let’s just go,” she snaps.
I give the woman a helpless shrug, then chase after my raging sister. Once we’re outside, away from the prying eyes of others, I tap her shoulder. “Slow down! You okay?”
“No! They’re going to think I’m stupid, even though I’m not!
The reading and writing section went okay.
But the math—I hadn’t seen half of it before!
Like, look at this.” She pulls a piece of scrap paper out of her pocket.
They must have provided it to her. “Have you ever seen this?” She points at a symbol that looks like the letter “V” attached to a flat line.
“Isn’t that the sign for long division?” I did my best to teach her basic arithmetic, but naturally, she knows nothing that I never learned. Mum tried to keep teaching me after we left Astolia but once she got to stuff like calculating the length of triangle sides, I couldn’t see the point.
Apparently, the point was to teach April so that she wouldn’t have a temper tantrum outside a government agency.
“Then why does it have that little tag on the front, hm? And why didn’t they put the number you were supposed to divide by next to it?
It was just this symbol on top of a number!
No other hints!” She turns the paper around so she can scowl at it again.
“It was over numbers like four and sixteen and eighty-one so… maybe it has something to do with the product you get when you multiply a number by itself? But I don’t know! It isn’t fair. I’m not stupid!”
“So you didn’t recognize one symbol. So what? That doesn’t mean—”
“There was an entire section called geometry!” she shrieks. “What’s geometry?”
“Oh… that’s like, studying shapes and stuff.”
Her eyes narrow. “You mean you knew?”
“I… sorta?”
“You knew about geometry! And you never warned me. Don’t even look at me, Kayla!” She marches toward the bus stop and all I can do is follow her, biting down on my cheek to keep from laughing.
That night, April spends dinner quizzing each of the boys about whether they have anything that resembles a geometry textbook, but the only boy currently enrolled in school is Carlos, who is no help.
“Oh, I’m not taking math this year,” he says.
“You—what?” April sounds scandalized.
“Yeah, I suck at that shit. I’m doing this cool program, actually!
It’s like, half regular school, half work placement.
I’m doing the agriculture focus, so working on the farm half the year, doing English or whatever the other half.
You should look into it! Then you won’t have to give a crap about the math thing. ”
“Won’t have to give a crap?” April sets her bowl of stewed beans down, as if she needs her full body to yell at him properly. “You mean you gave up? On the entire concept of math?”
“Uh… sort of?”
“Carlos chose something different,” Sid interjects, more defensive than Carlos himself. “The school system has to be practical. Most people are needed in agriculture or trades these days. He’s doing something valuable. But it’s great if you want to do high level academics—”
“Want to? It’s the principle of the thing! Proving that I can.”
“April, that’s not the best reason for doing something,” I point out, still fighting laughter.
She throws me a withering look. “Well, of course you wouldn’t understand. You’re happy just surviving.”