The Wild One by Gemma Burgess Read Free Book Online Page A

stockroom,” says Joe. “Can you girls be trusted not to steal from the bar?”
    Angie shrugs, eyes still on her phone. “You think we think this place made more than ten bucks today? Let’s be realistic.”
    â€œHarsh,” mutters Joe, walking away.
    Julia turns to me. “Coco, let’s talk about your future career.”
    I sigh. “Oh, let’s not.”
    Angie snorts, but Julia can’t be dissuaded that easily.
    â€œI was thinking about it on the walk here. You’ll get another job easily,” she says. “You just need a regular babysitting gig over the summer and to apply to more preschools by the end of August. Let’s get you on one of those sitter sites. I’ll help you write a killer résumé and set up all the interviews.”
    â€œJulia…” I don’t want to be rude, but I really don’t want my sister to “fix” this situation for me in that loving bossy way. She’ll just tell me what she thinks is best without wondering what I want.
    Then Julia smiles at me so nicely, and I suddenly realize she doesn’t know how bossy she is being. She genuinely thinks she’s helping.
    It’s not like she’s being unreasonable either. Working with children is what I am trained to do. But the idea of spending the next few months babysitting, shepherding someone else’s children through the scorching New York summer, from park to pool to playdate, makes me feel very tired. And then back to a preschool? For how long? The rest of my life?
    â€œI don’t think … I don’t think that’s I want,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Working in a preschool, I mean. I don’t want that.”
    I’m supposed to be the opposite of old Coco, right? That means speaking my mind. I clear my throat, and my voice comes out stronger.
    â€œI don’t know what I’ll do, Julia, but I know it won’t be that.”
    â€œOkay, well, let’s think about what you do want to do, then,” says Julia. Always Little Miss Fix-it.
    Pia grabs her phone, ready to make notes. “I’ll help! What are your strengths and weaknesses? Let’s brainstorm.”
    â€œFucking brainstorming…” mutters Angie.
    My strengths?
    I stare at them all, my mind a blank.
    I don’t have any strengths. I don’t have any skills or talents or dreams or brains. I’m just me.
    But I can’t say that, they’d just think I have low self-esteem, and I really don’t. I’m just realistic about my potential, i.e., it doesn’t exist.
    â€œDo you ever get the feeling Coco’s doing all her talking in her head?” asks Angie.
    â€œYep,” says Pia. She turns to me. “You like baking. How about a pastry chef?”
    â€œUm, no,” I say. “That’s just a hobby.” I don’t say it aloud, but can you imagine how much I would weigh if I did that for a living? I know it’s stupid, but that alone puts me off it.
    â€œI didn’t think anyone had a hobby since the Internet was invented,” says Angie. “What about reading? I’ve never known anyone to read as much as you.”
    I shake my head. “I can’t get paid to read books.”
    â€œYou could be a librarian!” Pia says excitedly.
    â€œI’m pretty sure libraries are an endangered species,” says Julia. “They’re all closing.”
    â€œWow, that’s depressing,” I groan.
    Some of my best childhood memories are getting books from the library with my mom. I was so impatient that I always started reading them in the car on the way home, my cheek resting against the warmth of the seat belt, trying to ignore the sick tummy I always got reading in a moving vehicle …
    The memory of that feeling is so strong that I have to put my hands on the worn wood of the bar to remind myself where I am. I wonder if it’s weird that I can