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Me:But you’re not, right? I will whoop your ass all the way to Dallas.

Baby Sis:Wow. Slow down there, ghetto superstar. I’m going to class.

Baby Sis:I know what you’ve done to get me here.

Baby Sis:But don’t you ever want more?

Me:You’re about to get more in college.

Me:Well not GET more. I mean more experiences.

Me:Not sex.

Me:Don’t have sex. I’m not encouraging this extracurricular activity.

Baby Sis:But you keep pushing me to get out more...

Baby Sis:Kidding. Don’t have a heart attack.

Baby Sis:Have you met anyone recently? Didn’t you start a new job? Anyone cute there?

Me:I’ll worry about that later. You know me, I’m not that easy to get to know. In person, that is.

Baby Sis:I wish you could meet someone. Someone who makes you want more. Maybe a life away from just supporting me and Mom.

Me:Maybe. Haven’t met anyone yet, so I guess Prince Charming is still out there wandering the ancient woods in search of me.

Baby Sis:You read way too many books.

Me:They have happy endings. Sue me.

Baby Sis:We’ll both find ours!

Baby Sis:Teacher is glaring at me. Gotta go. Love you.

Baby Sis:Like really love you.

Me:I really love you too. Dinner soon?

With a brown bag packed with a Lunchable, chips, and a questionable apple, I give Dobby one last pat and head out the door.

**

THIS CAN'T BE GOOD.

I ease into the lone unoccupied chair in the office and shove my anxious hands into the side pockets of my unicorn print hoodie to keep them still.

"We need to talk," says a deep voice that echoes in the small, white-walled office. “Do you know why I called you in here?”

A rogue pastel pink lock of hair brushes my cheek as I shake my head anxiously at my current boss. I say current because this is the second job I've had this year.

It's March.

"Um, no," I mumble, looking everywhere other than the man sitting behind the only decent desk this company owns. And that's not saying a whole lot. Start-ups like this one sound glamorous to everyone except for those who actually work in one. They're all the same—high dreams, low budgets.

"You've been late twice this week," he states in a tone that suggests he's annoyed. But why is he making a big deal out of two days? Yesterday I had to help Mom, and today... well, I mean come on. I'm a programmer, which means I show up late, dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt from the day before. And, maybe too often, the day before that.

“Okay....”