Chapter 2

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Jorge P.O.V.

It's raining outside. Ugh, I absolutely hate the rain. I was planning on doing a landscape painting today, but apparently Mother Nature has other plans. Instead, I decided to paint a section of my wall. I decided to paint a picture that I took last year of my mom and I at the Pride Parade. On that note, might as well just rip off the band-aid now and tell you I'm gay.

My mom and I look so happy in this picture, but when I'm with my mom, I'm always happy. My mom is my best friend honestly. Dad left us when I was pretty young, so it's always just been mom and I. The day I told her I was gay, was probably one of the best days of my life.

I was 13 and we were at a local ice cream parlor. After I had scarfed down my rainbow sherbet, I told my mom I wanted to tell her something. I looked at her and stuck out my tongue that had left over sherbet on it and said, "Mom, my tongue is gay, just like me." She laughed a sweet laugh, embarrassed me in the tightest hug ever, told me that she supported me, and told me that she totally already knew.

Just as I finished painting my mom onto the wall, I heard a loud bang come from outside. Yikes, looks like the rain storm turned into a thunderstorm. The wind started to pick up blowing the plants in the garden to and fro. I walked over to the window and peered out. There was a small yellow flyer blowing around, and it eventually smacked right into my window. I read it through the glass, and was surprised by what I saw. It was a flyer for an internship at a place called Bimmal Industries. Normally I wouldn't care about something like this, but as I continued reading the flyer, my interest peaked. It said the business was looking for two interns to help them grow their business. One spot was for academics, definitely not my forte, and one for art/digital design/photography.

Okay this is crazy, right? This internship was meant for me. I quickly grabbed my phone out of my pocket and took a picture of the flyer. Once the flyer detached itself from the window, I grabbed my computer and sat on the bed. After a thorough examination of the business and the internship I was debating on applying or not. I didn't really need the internship, after all I'm not planning on going to college. But something was telling me to apply. So I did.

Time skip - - -

The next week, I was watching a movie with my mom when I got a call. Odd, it said no caller ID. I picked it up anyway.

"Hi, who is this?" I questioned.

"Good evening, this is Alice from Bimmal Industries. Are you Jorge Garay?" she said.

My mom gave me a confused look as she mouthed "Who is it?" I held my finger up signaling her to give me a minute.

"Oh hello, how can I help you?" I asked.

"I just wanted to call you and let you know that we looked over your application, and after lots of consideration, we would like to offer you the internship!" Alice said.

"Wow, I am honored! Thank you so much!" I squealed out, "Have you chosen the other intern yet?" I asked, secretly hoping it would be a guy.

"Um, yes. His name is Benji Krol. He is a senior just like you!" she answered. A smile appeared on my face. "You will get to meet him on your first day. Speaking of which I will be sending you an email giving you all the information you will need."

"Awesome, I can't wait!" I told her.

After I ended the call, I realized my mom was still there waiting eagerly to hear who I was on the phone with.

She playfully pushed my shoulder, "What was that all about!!?"

"Calm down momma," I giggled, "it was just the place where I applied for an internship." I explained nonchalantly.

"And what did they say?!" she cried out.

"I got it!" she wrapped her loving arms around me and squeezed me so hard I almost couldn't breath. "Mom mom, you are going to suffocate me!"

"I'm just so happy for you mi amor!" she laughed out.

That night I fell asleep in her room thinking of all the possibilities there were with this internship. A flood of hope washed over me as my eyes shut, hope that maybe this internship could bring something amazing into my life. 

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