The Boss Crush

“Look,” the woman says, bluntly. “I don’t have time for this. So, if you get serious, and you want a real shot at graphic design, I suggest you really put some effort in and grow up.”

“No, really, this isn’t my portfolio. Mine is full, it’s filled with all my work.” Tears cloud my vision, bubbling up over my eyes.

The woman purses her lips and folds her hands on the table, shrugging her shoulders at the same time.

“I don’t know what to else to tell you, I don’t see any art.”

Embarrassment gushes through my body, turning my skin ghost white. I want to throw up, I want to cry, I want to scream and flip the table over. But I can’t do any of that right now. Hanging my head, I don’t say another word to the woman.

Jumping out of my seat, I dart off toward the hall. The tears are falling freely because I can’t keep them in. This is unreal. It’s a complete fucking mess.

It’s ruined! My future is ruined!

Pushing through students, I run into the hall, unable to look anyone in the eyes. All I want to do is cry. I can hardly breathe as the tears fall harder. Leaning against the cement block wall, I lay my head back.

This can’t be happening! Not now! Not today!

Staring down at the folder in my hands, I slowly peel back the cover again. It’s possible my eyes played a trick on me, and the woman just wasn’t impressed with what she was looking at.

These pages aren’t blank. It was me. It was only me. . .

My eyes are closed as I open the cover. Peeking slightly, the bright white paper is blinding me with more tears.

It’s really all gone. All of it.

Laughter echoes in the hall, causing me to turn my head. And that’s when I see her. Sandy Vox. She looks over at me, a devious smirk on her face as she laughs again with extra volume. The friendly sparkle I had seen in her eyes is gone, replaced by the bitch I always knew.

And that’s when it hits me. It didn’t register at the time, I was too naive and excited, bloated with her fake compliments.

Sandy did this.

It makes sense, that’s the only thing that makes any sense at all.

Anger inflames my soul, flipping a switch inside my head, and causing me to do something I never would have done before.

Storming over to Sandy, I shove her sweater against her chest. “Here. You forgot this.” My voice is sharp as the thin edge of a knife. I want her to hear me this time, I want her to know I’m not afraid of her.

“Hey!” she yells, her jaw jetting to one side. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You screwed me!” Pointing a finger in her face, I hold up the empty portfolio.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes you did. All my work is gone. All of it.” Opening both ends, I tip it over, letting the pages float to the floor. “Where’s my stuff, Sandy?”

Sandy flares her nostrils, tipping her head to look down the bridge of her nose at me. “I don’t have your shit, Dalia.”

“This is all your fault. You did this to me. It’s because of you I lost out on an incredible opportunity. You made me embarrass myself.”

Scoffing, she looks around as kids start to circle us like sharks. Touching her chest lightly, she purses her lips. “It’s not my fault you went in there looking like a slut.” Her eyes run up and down my front, and she circles my torso with a single finger. “I mean look at you. Maybe you went in there looking for the wrong job. I think the escort booth is in the far back corner.”

Sandy laughs to herself, crossing one arm over the other and letting her hand hang loose. Kicking her hip out, she stiffens her back, and glares at me.

“You’re lying! You did this to my clothes, to my makeup.”

“Ew,” she says, scrunching her face up tight. “I’d never help you with anything. Don’t blame me because you’re a dirty slut, Dalia.”

“I’m not a slut.”

“You know what they say, if it looks like a slut, and it dresses like a slut, it must be. . .” she pauses, taking a step in. “A whore.”

A few of her friends are behind her, and all of them start laughing, calling me a whore too. Sniffling, I wipe my eyes, trying not to cry.

“Awe, what’s the matter?” Sandy asks, her voice high pitched. “Is the little whore going to cry now?”

Turning, I attempt to run, but Sandy grabs the back of my dress, and yanks me backwards. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You don’t get to accuse me of something and then run away.”