Wild

Chapter 11

Astrid's POV

Thanks a lot to Cameron for lending me his bike, I rode down the streets and embarked on a journey of job searching. I am aware in some countries I might be too young to apply for a job, but I have to. I counted the cash I had left last night and I've never seen a value so low. If I were at home, my purse would be stuffed with Benjamin Franklins. Benjamin Franklin is BF material, like, literally.

Cameron suggested that I apply for a job, maybe a waitress or a shop assistant, so I left the house early. Riding on Cameron's blue bike reminds me a lot of my trusty lil' red bike. I miss that bike. Sometimes when Veronica doesn't take the bus, she rides her bike with me. Fun days, I'd say. I was dying to get out of school just a few months ago, but now I'm dying to go back. I'll do anything it takes, heck, I'll even study.

That isn't a promise. Please do not take my words seriously.

The streets were already busy, cars honking and traffic lights blinking. People were rushing the traffic to work or school maybe. But to me, I think they're wasting their lives at the same time. As you know I'm much of a rebel and I usually voice my opinion to every topic. Take this for example, students going to school. Everyone thinks that school is a place where you find who you really want to be and fill your head with knowledge. But see, that's the thing. School fills your head is knowledge instead of letting you learn about it all on your own. They tell us what's right, what's wrong. Every individual is different, but yet we let a piece of paper determine our fate and tell us who we are. Ask your parents, I'm betting my one month's allowance that ever since they graduated university, none of them applied Pythagoreans' theorem or recited Sonnet 18 ever again. None of them remember the events of French Revolution or the laws listed in the Declaration of Independence. Trust me, I know my facts. I take that back, I know my survival facts, not education facts.

I spent the morning going to one shop then the other, hoping one of them will need help. Most of the shops are already full of positions so I'd just wave, smile and exit. Then, I stumbled upon a magazine company. The possibilities of me getting a job at a magazine company is as small your pinkie finger, but my hope was as big as, well, a blue whale.

I walked in and went up to a counter were a guy in a suit and a lady with glasses were arguing over something.

"We are really in need of a fashion consultant! Rachel quitted for no reason and now we don't have a critique for the teen fashion section! You know how hot that section is among the kids!" The tall guy in a fancy suit screamed. He would be the editor of the magazine, I think.

"Si, si, I know ze problem, boss, but ya know Rachel quit, no one else is free!" The lady with the glasses behind the desk responded. I take it she's French.

Then it hit me. This was perfect! I have a perfect sense of fashion! I got it from my mom, she just released her clothing line last spring and I'm totes proud of her.

"Excuse me." I went up to the counter and tapped on the wood.

"WHAT?!" The editor guy turned over and looked at me with frustration.

"You know, I'm a teenager and my mom happens to be Christina Stewarts." I said, pursing my lips.

"You are the daughter of Christina Stewarts?" The editor and French lady said in unison. I nodded my head with a smile.

"Nah, I don't believe you. Run along now, little kid." The editor shook his head and waved his hand, making me leave the building. I scoffed, straightened my shirt and left. He clearly did not know who he was dealing with. When I get back home, dad and mom need to sue them. We win every time anyways.

At the end of the day, I got a job at a fast food restaurant as the cashier. The manager interviewed me and asked me a few simple questions which this time, he believed that I am the daughter of Christina Stewarts. He took my hand and shook it vigorously before I left. By the time I found my way home, it was already five in the evening. Damn, job searching is hard when you don't have the grades and money.