My hands are shaking. I try to hide it by gripping my worn leather portfolio a little tighter, but the woman in the designer blazer next to me definitely notices. She looks me up and down with that particular expression rich people make when they’re trying not to laugh at poor people.
My name is Henley, and right now, I’m sitting in the waiting room of Sterling Enterprises, about to have the most important job interview of my life. Three years ago, I graduated with a degree in business and fifteen thousand dollars in debt. I’ve been bouncing between minimum wage jobs ever since: coffee shop in the morning, grocery store at night.
This morning, I put on the only professional outfit I own: my sister’s old suit from 2018. The pants are about an inch too short. My phone is so old it takes three seconds to unlock, the back held together with duct tape.
But I’m here. Because sometimes, desperate people do desperate things. The receptionist calls another name, and a perfectly dressed candidate walks through the glass doors, her heels clicking against the marble floor like she owns the place.
That’s what I’m up against. But I’m here for a reason. I may not look like I belong, but I’ve worked harder than anyone in this room.
I’m not going home empty-handed. My life before this moment was a carefully choreographed dance of exhaustion. I sleep on a cot in the living room of a two-bedroom apartment shared with three other broke twenty-somethings.
Every day is a sixteen-hour marathon of smiling at rude customers and scanning barcodes until my wrist aches. I’ve sent out over two hundred résumés in the past year. Last Tuesday, while I was microwaving leftover rice for dinner, my phone buzzed.
Sterling Enterprises. An interview. I literally dropped my fork.
This wasn’t just a job; it was a dream. The panic set in immediately. My sister, Grace, drove three hours to bring me her old suit.
Standing in front of the mirror this morning, I gave myself the pep talk of a lifetime. The girl looking back at me might not have a new phone, but she has the hunger that comes from being told “no” a thousand times. I am more than my circumstances.
I am more than this borrowed suit. The Sterling Enterprises building towers above the city like a glass monument to success. The lobby is bigger than my entire apartment.
The elevator ride to the fortieth floor feels like an ascent into another universe. The waiting room is my first real test. Five other candidates, all looking like they stepped out of a corporate catalog.
The woman next to me smirks at my duct-taped phone. “That’s… vintage,” she says. I smile back.
“It gets the job done.”
Finally, my name is called. The conference room has a mahogany table and three executives sitting behind it. Ms.
Jennifer Walsh, the HR director, has a practiced smile. Mr. Richard Kim, the operations manager, barely looks up from his tablet.
Dr. Lisa Chen, the department head, stuac/cidents me like I’m a disappointing science experiment. The questions start.
“Tell us about yourself.” Standard stuff. Then, things take a turn. “I notice your résumé has some gaps,” Mr.
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