The Rookie

Today was the day Michelle would earn her Final Certification. The twenty-one year old college graduate was no longer a trainee. Today, she would handle her first real client on the job. After today, there would be no more run thoughts, roleplaying, shadowing others. Her training would be done if she managed to not bungle this first solo assignment. She would be official.

The restaurant she sat in was busy. Dozens of late brunchers occupied the place, their mimosa-fueled conversations filling the spaces between tables and booths with the warm cacophony of life. She missed being a part of these conversations. Her finger traced the wood pattern in the glossy table surface idly as she eavesdropped. Within moments, her phone interrupted with a text message from her supervisor, Jonathan. She read it before it stopped vibrating. 

[Be there soon rookie]

Her stomach curled in on itself, and she wondered if she could maybe puke before he got here. Probably not. She had been trying to nervous-puke for weeks and it never worked. She took several deep breaths and typed a reply back to him. [I’m in a booth to the right. Today I am once again wearing a hoodie and unicorn PJs.]

His response was immediate. [Ha ha ha. You're funny.] Then, a second later, another message popped up: [You got it, dude!]

She stared at the .gif of the Full House character flashing a thumbs up and regretted teaching Jon how to use them in text messages. Since the day they had met and learned her name, he hadn’t stopped quoting the stupid show.

The server passed her booth for the seventh time in an hour without a passing glance. She played a game with herself to combat her first day jitters. The next time he passed, she purposely glared directly at the fellow twenty-something, daring him to somehow notice her, even if she knew it would not work. 

Jon arrived in minutes and slid into the seat across from her. The hideous combination of colors in his jacket clashed with the sophisticated burgundy leather of the booth. Across his chest read the name “Hypercolor” in dramatic font. Michelle had never seen such an ugly jacket. The second he sat down, the noise from the restaurant dimmed. 

“Hey rookie!” His smile was electric as always, but still not as bright as his windbreaker. “You ready for today?”

Michelle pulled her hands into her sleeves. The server passed the two of them silently. Her delicate features crinkled inward. “Uhm, no?” 

“What! Come on, you’ve trained for a few weeks now! You’re totally ready.” He leaned sideways dramatically to gape at their neighboring table, and Michelle was once again struck by how young he looked. She blamed the frosty highlights in his hair. “Oooh, that looks good,” he groaned. She twisted around to see he was eyeing a plate of chicken and waffles.

"Jon," she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so damned whiny. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m not ready. I know you’re here for support, or whatever, but I don’t think today is a good day to start this.”

His attention came back to her after one last wistful glance at the other diner’s plate. "Dude, you already know what to do. You've had many successful meetings where I barely had to do like, anything.”

"No but you always closed the meetings, and I’ve hated it every time. It feels wrong and bizarre and I hate that I have to wear these stupid-ass pajamas pants while doing it!” she cried in exasperation. 

“I consider the lack of company dress code a perk.” 

She kept going; if she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, she would never get him to be serious. She flattened her hands on the tabletop and leaned in, trying to look intense, but hopefully not terrified. “Jon, does it ever feel easier?"

She watched his smile fade into a more gentle expression. "Yeah,” he said softly. “Totally, man.”

She held his gaze. Lately it was rare anyone looked her in the eye for this long, and despite their relationship being purely professional, she found the intimacy of this moment filling a hole in her she hadn’t realized had opened up. "How long have you been doing this, again?"

"Oof,” he grunted, fingers touching the shells around his neck. “1997? Right after college. Like you." He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers. She jerked in surprise, but didn’t pull away. Her chest burned. “Listen to me,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re young. You’re new. You got hired almost immediately. Not everyone is so lucky. Lots of people just sort of putter around aimlessly, desperately and never get a gig this sweet."

He had a point. "I just feel so disconnected.” She pulled her hands back into her sleeves when he leaned back again. Her eyes bounced between Jon’s encouraging smile and the clock on the wall. Her meeting was soon. He had promised to stick around, but he wouldn’t help at all. Her nausea had gotten worse, but she lifted her chin and tried to pull up the same passion and defiance that had gotten her here in the first place. "Not to mention, I was always anti-corporation, you know? I wanted to work for a non-profit, once I graduated."

Jon’s grin returned. "Well, technically...this is non profit."

She was jealous of his ability to joke. She wasn’t quite there yet. "Shut up, you know what I mean. I hated the idea of those office buildings where you had like, a million bosses and you never knew who the hell you were supposed to answer to. Just a worker bee in a giant hive."

He shrugged. "I kind of think not knowing exactly who I answer to is one of the perks. Do you really want to meet the boss?"

"No,” she responded immediately. Her curls bounced against her cheeks when she shook her head. “I’m good, thanks.” The idea of visiting the top floor of their headquarters was more than her brain could handle right now.

Jon grinned again and checked the clock she had been staring at all morning. “Ooh, two minutes, right? Awesome.”

She nodded and pointed at the glass wall behind him. Across the street, a food truck waited in the early afternoon sun. A giant smiling ear of corn was painted on the side of the truck that faced the restaurant. “Amaizing Corn” was written in blue block letters that matched the cartoon food’s tee shirt. 

Jon twisted in the booth to peer behind him. “The corn truck?” he asked, squinting against the glare of passing vehicles. 

“The old man approaching the corn truck,” Michelle sighed, watching her client turn the corner at the end of the block. “White dress shirt. Grey pants.”

Jon turned to face her with a smirk that would have likely made her blush weeks ago, before that Prius had run her down after she stormed into a dark city street in her pajamas. Before she had been selected by a faceless employer to bring death to strangers. "Are you going to make him choke on a number two combo with all the toppings?” Jon snickered. “That seems messy for your first solo-gig.”

This was it. Michelle stood up from the booth and rolled up her sleeves. Final Certification time. She threw her shoulders back and stared down at the Reaper who had trained her for the last month. "He's eighty-four with a heart condition, so, no. I’ll keep it simple."

Jon grinned. “See? I told you you’d be fine.”