Wildfire - H.S

13

Fast forward roughly two weeks.

"Evangeline, darling. Could you be a dear and go fetch me a coffee and something for lunch." Ricky calls out to me, from behind the front desk, doing god knows what on the computer.

Ricky is the owner of Hasland Ballet Studios and therefore meaning he is my boss.

Hasland is a chain of studios across New York for young aspiring dancers ages 2 to 17.

I've been working at the studios part time since I moved here over a year ago, and I love it, although it can be incredibly overwhelming when you have fifteen screaming toddlers running around.

The chancellor of my school even allowed me to incorporate it into my transcripts which was unusual considering they often frown upon having jobs outside of school. Especially if those jobs involve something along the lines of teaching dance as they feel our priorities aren't in school.

Which in my opinion, makes no sense whatsoever.

"Yes, I'll be right on it." I reply back while grabbing my coat from the coat racks next to the company lockers.

The thing with Ricky is he seems to see me more of an assistant, rather than an employee. An employee who he hired to teach dance and not run and get him coffee, or photocopy his schedules or order the new mats and bars or whatever else we happen to need that week.

He even was thoughtful enough to hire a new receptionist after realizing how overwhelmed with work I actually was.

But of course Ricky had to go for the youngest and most attractive male qualified for the job and now they're far too distracted with flirting with each other than doing any work.

So where my workload should have halved, it now has tripled.

"Don't forget soy milk." He yells once more and I nod with false enthusiasm, internally rolling my eyes, knowing that he's lactose intolerant already considering he mentions it every day.

As I leave the studio I pull my phone from the pocket of my jacket and type a quick message to Bea.

1:08pm Sent *Hey Bea, I'm on my way for Ricky's usual :)*

Almost immediately I get a response.

1:09pm Bea *Already on it*

1:09pm Sent *<3*

I slide my phone back into the jacket of my coat and take a slow walk round to The Beachwood Café.

It doesn't take long until I'm pushing open the white glass door and hearing the familiar chime of the overhead bell as I enter the warm atmosphere of the bakery.

"There she is." Bea's voice travels from the other end of the small space.

"You're a real lifesaver Bea." I return with a laugh, making my way over to the cash register.