EXCEPTional

Ch. 2 (Bridget)

A/N: In case you decided to ignore the last author's note and delved right into reading this story, I would like to remind you again that it is beneficial to you if you read book 1 first, entitled "ExtraOrdinary". It can be found on my profile.

Thanks for understanding!

Hugs,

Madison :3

*Bridget*

I was 24, and this was where I was: sitting in a desk with my hair pulled back in a bad ponytail and an ache in my shoulders from leaning over paperwork all day.

Had you asked me in high school where I thought I'd end up, I would not have told you, "Working at Brimwell Publishing." I would've told you, "Probably wearing too much makeup, taking smoking breaks every chance I could get, and glaring at people who came to my corner of Wal-Mart."

 Well, I wasn't wearing five pounds of makeup (though I wore more now than I did in high school), I didn't smoke (that isn't to say I didn't consider it), and I only shopped at Wal-Mart, not worked there.

 Sighing, I pushed a few loose strands away from my face, thinking I should have fixed my hair but I was too lazy. With my luck, Raquel would walk in and demand I go to the bathroom and tie my hair back properly. I groaned and rubbed my eyes.

 Raquel Hill was a thorn in my side, ad she also happened to be my boss. With her perfect beach blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and tan skin, she should have been a movie star, not an uptight head-of-editors in a small town.

 I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands behind my head. My eyes fell to the article in front of me, and once I spotted a spelling error, I groaned and stood up, muttering, "I need a break."

 As I wandered down the hallway to the break room, I peered into the other offices on the floor. Each person was in an identical position: curled over a stack of papers with some sort of colored pen in hand. But you couldn't expect anything less from the third floor, which was composed purely of editors.

 There weren't many other jobs in Brimwell for English majors. Either you worked at Brimwell Publishing or you got a job elsewhere that had nothing to do with your major, like retail.

 Somehow, I was hired. I had sent out job applications to ten different places, including a waitressing gig. (Can you imagine me as a waitress? Talk about a nightmare.) When BP called back for an interview, I dressed in my nicest clothes and proceeded to brag about myself. They apparently liked me, and a week later, I was given a job as an article editor.

 I wasn't the strongest writer. I knew what point I was trying to make, but getting there was sometimes disastrous. My adverbs would trip over my verbs and my adjectives would tackle each other. I was a blatant writer, one of those people who dashed the details and wrote one sentence of hard truth. Because of that, my input wasn't asked very often.

 However, my editing skills were top-notch. In college, my other English major friends would give me their papers first so I could destroy them with my keen eye and quick wit. My straightforward honesty came in handy in the editing world.

 So I got stuck editing a weekly article about Brimwell's heroes. You'd expect it to be an inspiring and sensational piece, but you got tired of reading about the guy who saved the squirrels. Again.

 There was no one in the break room, mostly because everyone was frightened of Raquel's wrath. I had experienced it firsthand, unlike most of the pansies in this building, so I knew her legendary ire was mainly hype. It was a lot of lip and a bit of fire, but even puppies wag their tails after a scolding.