Orientation (Book one in the Thelma Berns: My Internship in Hell series)

Wednesday Night

I swung by the library at six thirty to pick Gillian up from work. She was standing outside but she didn't notice me because she was looking at her phone. To anyone else she looked like a normal teenager. But I knew she was probably reading War and Peace.

I honked the horn. The crap-mobile's horn is one of the few original features that still works. Gillian started and ran over. The window wasn't open so I leaned across and popped the passenger door open for her. She got in and slammed the door, hard.

"Hey," she said. "I borrowed this from Mrs. J." She was holding a paper bag, and she reached in and withdrew something that looked a lot like a dead squirrel.

"Jiminy," I said. "What is that?"

"It's a wig," she said. "From when she was on chemo. We can use it. For our disguise."

"Okay," I said, shuddering inwardly. "I'll help you put up your hair for it when we get there." I put the car in drive and pulled around the parking lot to the Broad Boulevard exit. I turned out on to the street.

"Oh, no. I've been thinking about it, and you're right. They don't know me from Adam. But you've probably run in to them at work. You've got to wear the wig."

"Ew," I said. "It's gross."

"So it was okay for me to wear the gross wig?"

"Yeah, if you didn't think it was gross."

"I don't think it's gross. She's a nice lady who had cancer. It's not like it's contagious. Here, let me smooth it out some."

She perched the wig on her knee and withdrew a comb from her purse. She fussed at it while I tried not to jump the curb. It was like driving past a car accident: I couldn't look away from it.

I slammed on the brakes when an old lady walking her dog appeared out of nowhere in the cross walk. The wig slid off her knee and hit the windshield. "Could you maybe wait until we get there to do that?" I asked. The old lady shook her fist at me, and the dog started barking.

"Yeah, I guess," she said.

"Just put it back in the bag, please."

The old lady had gotten across the street and she was now making a beeline to my passenger door. I stepped on the gas and she hollered out, "hey, you, crazy driver!"

Gillian laughed and stuffed the wig back into the bag. The whole exchange gave me butterflies. I could've really hurt that old lady. I probably deserved whatever she was going to say.

I turned right on State Road and tried to put the old lady behind me. Anyway, my head was starting to itch just thinking about putting that crazy wig on.

In no time we were pulling in to the Midtown Coffee parking lot. As is my habit, I swung around to the side of the building to park as far from the door as possible.

"What're you doing?" Gillian asked. "What if we need to make a fast getaway?"

"You really have been reading too much," I said. "This car is recognizable. I don't want them to notice it in the parking lot. If we park in front they'll see it."

Gillian stewed on that for a moment. "Fine," she said. "I suppose you're right. Anyway, if we need to make a fast getaway we could just run out the back door. And this spot'll be handy for that." She pulled out the wig again, and then something that looked like pantyhose.

"Put your hair up inside this. It holds it nice and flat so the wig won't be lumpy," she said. She handed the pantyhose-thing to me.

It seemed to be the foot from a pair of pantyhose.