Page 2

Hailey

After a long week of wandering through the streets of Detroit, developing blisters and a sunburn, and spending nearly all the money I stole from the compound, I finally landed a job: a hostess position at a small, family-owned restaurant.

And just my luck, the bus was twenty minutes late picking me up, and it's pouring rain this afternoon.

I hop off the bus into the downpour and start running.

My wet duffel bag squishes against my side as I leap over puddles and cut across traffic at the crosswalks.

When I reach the restaurant, I take a deep breath before crossing the threshold of Santino's.

The red carpeting contrasts with the slightly darker red walls, making the entire place feel claustrophobic.

It doesn't help that twenty tables are crammed into a space that should accommodate half as many.

"Hailey?" The owner's voice makes me jump as he comes through the kitchen doors, a towel draped over his shoulder.

He gives me a friendly smile, even though I'm late and dripping rainwater in the entryway.

Hopefully, he doesn't notice I'm wearing the same outfit I interviewed in.

Fortunately, this place provides uniforms.

"Hi Joe," I say. "Thanks again for this opportunity. Not many places are hiring right now."

"No problem. Our last hostess quit without notice, so I'm happy we can get you trained so quickly." His eyes drift to my duffel bag, and I wince at how strange it must look to bring all my belongings to work.

Not that he can tell my entire life fits in this small bag.

He guides me to the back corner of the restaurant, towards the 'employee's only' door.

Beyond it is a small room with a few lockers and a coffee-stained card table, currently occupied by who I assume is the chef.

He's on the phone, but nods at me in acknowledgment.

A fresh pair of black pants and a white shirt sit on the table.

"Is that my uniform?" I ask.

"Yep. Feel free to toss your bag anywhere, and there's a bathroom towards the front of the restaurant for privacy."

I grab the uniform and a hairbrush from my bag and head off to make myself look presentable.

I find the bathroom easily, but looking in the mirror, I realize I have my work cut out for me.

My forehead is peeling from sunburn, and my blonde hair hasn't seen conditioner in years.

Makeup seemed too frivolous to splurge on this past week, though it might have helped in previous interviews before landing this job .

The dry clothes offer immediate relief, but my toes still squish in wet socks, and the blister is still painfully there. I brush my wet hair, hoping it’ll dry by the time the first customers arrive.

Joe is waiting when I step out of the bathroom. He holds up a finger. "I forgot to ask for your two forms of ID. I just need to fill out the paperwork quick before we can get started."

"Two forms of ID?" My mouth goes dry. I didn't know I needed to bring anything. I never renewed my driver's license when it expired two years ago, and I'm sure my dad's keeping all my other IDs hostage, assuming he hasn't burned them.

"Yeah," he says, as a wave of panic rushes through me. "Driver's license, passport, social security card... any of that stuff will do." He looks me up and down, probably figuring out I'm some homeless person desperate for cash.

"And if I don't have any of those?"

"Do you live close by?" He shrugs.

"No..." I wince. "I don’t have a driver’s license or anything, really."

"At all? A family member can’t mail them to you?"

I shake my head.

He leans against the hostess stand, resting his head in his hand. I bite my lip, waiting for him to say something. Even to tell me to leave, but he just sits silently in deep thought.

"Joe?"

"I'm sorry, Hailey. I can't help you. We’ve gotten into trouble for hiring people under the table before. I don’t want to risk it. "

I nod absently, wondering what "under the table" even means. In my twenty-three years, I've never had a job outside the compound. I feel lost in this world where I must prove my identity, not automatically recognized as Henry Burke's daughter, the leader of the Void of Enlightenment—or VOE.

Embarrassment creeps in, my cheeks flushing as I realize how ignorant I must seem. "Sorry for wasting your time," I mutter, rushing to the back room for my bag before exiting through the back door.

Hot tears mix with the cool rain as I jog-limp away from Santino’s.

I panic, wondering what I’ll do all day; I never realized how vast a day could feel when I don’t have a job to take up all of my time.

This job would have offered shelter from the weather, maybe some free food.

I was already worried about not affording another night in a hotel, and now this?

Maybe I shouldn’t have escaped.

I clench my teeth at the thought. No. I can’t think like that now. I need to toughen up and take it one day at a time.

Rain saturates my fresh clothes, and I realize I technically stole them. I see a fast-food place across the street, deciding it will be my shelter for the next few hours.

"Hailey, wait!" Joe calls before I get too far.

He waves me back, but my impulse is to run. Maybe he wants these clothes back, but I’m desperate to have another outfit in my rotation. Or perhaps he’s mad I didn’t mention my lack of ID at the interview—but I didn’t know any better. This is all new to me .

“I think I know where you can find a job,” he shouts. “Come back and let me make a call.”

Confusion sets in about this man’s intentions. Why help me after I messed up his day? He’s short a hostess because of me.

Despite my hesitation, I walk back to the restaurant.

Joe is on the phone, nodding at me and giving a thumbs up.

He ends the call, sliding his phone into his pants.

“Good news.” He grabs a pad and pen from the hostess stand.

“I have some friends who own a casino downtown and need bartenders. They aren’t the type to.

..” he waves the pen, “ care about your ID situation. They’ve found ways to keep Uncle Sam from looking too closely. ”

Before I ask who Uncle Sam is, he rips off the paper and hands it to me. "I wrote down the address. The casino is massive, but if you ask around for Max or Nick, someone will guide you to the right place."

I mouth the address, fearing the rain will wash it away as soon as I step outside. "Is it a problem I’ve never bartended before?"

He shrugs. "I don’t think so. They’ll give you details."

The time on the note gives me two hours to prepare for the interview. “Is the casino far?” I ask. “I’ve been getting around by bus.”

Joe winces. “I’d have told them later if I’d known. It’s a thirty-minute drive; no idea how long that is by bus.”

"Probably four hours based on my past experiences in this city," I mutter.

“Can’t you call an Uber?” he asks .

I shake my head. “No phone.”

“Christ.” He rubs his thinning hair, then pulls out his phone. “Let me get one for you.”

“Oh, no, you shouldn’t have to...”

He waves his hand at me like he couldn’t be bothered as he types something on his phone. I dig out twenty dollars from my bag. I’m not used to accepting charity or people helping me in general.

“It’ll be here in five minutes. Red Corolla.”

I extend my hand with the cash. He takes it, his eyebrows raising. I can’t tell if I underpaid, overpaid, or if he’s shocked by the soggy bills. “Alright, I have to handle something in the kitchen,” he says. “Good luck.”

He rushes off before I can thank him, leaving me to wonder how I’m supposed to nail another interview for a job I have no experience in. But this time, I look like I was thrown into a lake.