A Not-So-Simple Life by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online Page A

here?”
    “Have I been unclear?”
    “Not at all.” Okay, that was another big fat lie. I still felt pretty confused.
    Vivian stood now, as if she was done. Then she suddenly paused to look directly into my face. “By the way, I hope you’re not a thief.”
    “Of course not.”
    She looked skeptical. “Most of the girls who’ve worked for me have tried to steal from me at one time or another. But I have hidden cameras. I always catch them.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I always prosecute.”
    “Don’t worry, I’m not a thief,” I said quickly.
    “Let’s hope not.”
    Then I thanked her and was about to leave.
    “How tall are you?” she demanded suddenly.
    I turned to look at her, then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “Well…the last time I was measured I was about five-six.” I didn’t admit that I was only thirteen at the time.
    She laughed in a harsh way. Was there some sort of height requirement in her shop? Perhaps she was accustomed tohiring short girls with colorfully dyed hair. Maybe she hadn’t really offered me a job after all.
    “Is my height a problem?” I asked, suddenly slumping. Then I pointed to the tall wedges of my Prada slides. “These make me a lot taller. I could wear flats if you like.”
    She gave me a look that suggested she was questioning my sanity, or maybe she was wondering if I’d dropped down to Earth from a different planet. Mars perhaps.
    “Your shoes are fine,” she said in a bored tone. “Good day.”
    Feeling excused, I hurried out. Vivian would never be a candidate for Miss Congeniality. On the other hand, I’ve had lots of experience with difficult people. Beginning with my mother.
    “How’d it go?” Em asked when I emerged. “Okay…” I spoke quietly, noticing that a couple of shoppers were looking at shoes. “Did you get it?”
    I gave her the thumbs-up. “Vivian said that you’re supposed to train me, and it looks like I’ll start tomorrow.” Then I held up the work-permit form. “That is, if I can get this taken care of, although I’m not really sure what needs to be done.”
    So she explained that all I needed was to fill out the blanks on the form and then have my mom go with me to the employment division to verify her signature. “Easy breezy. I had to do one, too, a few years ago.”
    I tried not to look alarmed about this bit of news. Shannon had to go to the employment division today? Like that was going to happen. I thanked Em and told her I’d see her tomorrow but seriously doubted I would. I walked a few doors down and sat on what was becoming a familiar bench. Maybe I should give it a name, like Harry or Ben or maybe Bernard. Yes, Bernard the Bench.
    So I sat on Bernard and switched out Shannon’s Pradas for my comfy flip-flops. Then I took time to read through the work-permit application, thinking maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as I’d assumed. But when I finished perusing the form, I knew it was impossible. For starters, the employment division wanted to know about my schooling. Where I had attended, with dates. What was I supposed to put there? More challenging, how would I get Shannon out of the house? And how was she going to be fit to drive me downtown to the employment division, not to mention stand before a witness to sign a legal document? No, I just wasn’t feeling it.
    On the other hand, if I didn’t show up for work in the morning, I could kiss that job good-bye. Finally, as I slowly walked back up the hill toward my house, I knew my only option would be blackmail. I would tell Shannon that if she didn’t take me down to the employment division today and if she didn’t sign that paper, I would call Dad and tell him everything—in detail!
    “I’m sick,” she complained when I told her she needed to drive me somewhere. I had decided not to give her all the details at once.
    “Trust me, I know.” I handed her a glass of watered-down ginger ale. It’s about the only thing she can