It’s not that far of a logical leap. Why not?
When I get to the mayor’s office, there’s another receptionist guarding the way. This one is much younger, around my age, with copper colored hair and a bright yellow sweater. And pearls. She kind of reminds me of the cute school counselor on Glee , but younger and probably less OCD.
“Hi…Can I help you?”
I can definitely sense an ‘interested’ vibe coming from the buttoned-up redhead. Normally, I tend to ignore that kind of thing. But today, my instincts are heightened, hormones in high-gear—probably a side-effect from last night. But hey, if the mayor’s secretary thinks I’m hot, she’ll be more likely to help me. I’m on a roll now, in full Nixon mode, so I smile and reach out to shake her hand.
“Hi, I’m Grant Blue. I’m supposed to be starting an internship for Mayor Golden.”
“I’m Melody.” She holds onto my hand just a fraction of a second too long, smiling just a little too widely. Her teeth are perfectly straight, unbelievably white. I can smell her perfume, even from across the desk. It’s fruity and sweet, like punch. Biting her lip, she reaches her other hand toward a desk phone. “That’s funny, he didn’t say anything about a new intern.”
“Really?” I put on my best confused face. “That’s weird. I applied for the internship back in January, do you think maybe he forgot?”
I’m pretty sure I’m stretching the boundaries of omission now, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s exhilarating, bending the rules. Striking out on my own, finally becoming my own man. Taking risks, just like a normal teenager should.
“I don’t know,” she says, with a voice like cotton candy. “Let’s ask him.”
But instead of picking up her desk phone, Melody stands up, straightens her polka-dot skirt, and walks around the desk toward me.
“His office is this way.”
I follow her back, behind the desk, through a short hallway lined with dark wood and framed pictures of important people. I glance at them as I pass, recognizing some of the top lawmakers in the country. What if someday, that could be me? Instead of cutting people open, I could spend my career making laws, influencing change. Solving complex problems faced by society, instead of dealing in sickness and death. I’ve never really let myself want it before, thinking it was better to just stick to the plan my parents have laid out for me. But what if I could show them another option? What if I could prove to them that I’m better suited to this path?
In front of me, Melody swishes her hips with every step, heels thudding delicately against the carpeted floor. I try not to notice, but it’s like a switch has been flipped in my brain. I put my hands in my pockets and count our steps, to distract myself. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…One, two, three, four, five, six, seven….
Three more steps and we’re at the end of the hall. I tap my left foot, four more times, to finish out the sequence. Twenty-one is a Fibonnaci number, a Harshad number, a Motzkin number, a triangular number and an octagonal number, as well as a composite number. It’s proper divisors are one, three and seven. It’s also the sum of the first six natural numbers, one through six. That makes it a triangular number. Twenty-one is a good number. That means I’ve done something right.
This is going to work out, I know it.
Smiling up at me, Melody knocks on the heavy oak door, three times. Another good sign. I smile back at her, excited to see if my new hypothesis will be proven.
“Come in,” a man’s voice says, from behind the door.
Melody opens the door, and I follow her into the room. It looks like a normal office, with a big wooden desk and filing cabinets against the walls, but for some reason it just feels more impressive. Even if it is just the mayor’s office in a small town, it’s the first step to something greater. Behind the desk, a man sits with his shirt
When I get to the mayor’s office, there’s another receptionist guarding the way. This one is much younger, around my age, with copper colored hair and a bright yellow sweater. And pearls. She kind of reminds me of the cute school counselor on Glee , but younger and probably less OCD.
“Hi…Can I help you?”
I can definitely sense an ‘interested’ vibe coming from the buttoned-up redhead. Normally, I tend to ignore that kind of thing. But today, my instincts are heightened, hormones in high-gear—probably a side-effect from last night. But hey, if the mayor’s secretary thinks I’m hot, she’ll be more likely to help me. I’m on a roll now, in full Nixon mode, so I smile and reach out to shake her hand.
“Hi, I’m Grant Blue. I’m supposed to be starting an internship for Mayor Golden.”
“I’m Melody.” She holds onto my hand just a fraction of a second too long, smiling just a little too widely. Her teeth are perfectly straight, unbelievably white. I can smell her perfume, even from across the desk. It’s fruity and sweet, like punch. Biting her lip, she reaches her other hand toward a desk phone. “That’s funny, he didn’t say anything about a new intern.”
“Really?” I put on my best confused face. “That’s weird. I applied for the internship back in January, do you think maybe he forgot?”
I’m pretty sure I’m stretching the boundaries of omission now, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s exhilarating, bending the rules. Striking out on my own, finally becoming my own man. Taking risks, just like a normal teenager should.
“I don’t know,” she says, with a voice like cotton candy. “Let’s ask him.”
But instead of picking up her desk phone, Melody stands up, straightens her polka-dot skirt, and walks around the desk toward me.
“His office is this way.”
I follow her back, behind the desk, through a short hallway lined with dark wood and framed pictures of important people. I glance at them as I pass, recognizing some of the top lawmakers in the country. What if someday, that could be me? Instead of cutting people open, I could spend my career making laws, influencing change. Solving complex problems faced by society, instead of dealing in sickness and death. I’ve never really let myself want it before, thinking it was better to just stick to the plan my parents have laid out for me. But what if I could show them another option? What if I could prove to them that I’m better suited to this path?
In front of me, Melody swishes her hips with every step, heels thudding delicately against the carpeted floor. I try not to notice, but it’s like a switch has been flipped in my brain. I put my hands in my pockets and count our steps, to distract myself. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…One, two, three, four, five, six, seven….
Three more steps and we’re at the end of the hall. I tap my left foot, four more times, to finish out the sequence. Twenty-one is a Fibonnaci number, a Harshad number, a Motzkin number, a triangular number and an octagonal number, as well as a composite number. It’s proper divisors are one, three and seven. It’s also the sum of the first six natural numbers, one through six. That makes it a triangular number. Twenty-one is a good number. That means I’ve done something right.
This is going to work out, I know it.
Smiling up at me, Melody knocks on the heavy oak door, three times. Another good sign. I smile back at her, excited to see if my new hypothesis will be proven.
“Come in,” a man’s voice says, from behind the door.
Melody opens the door, and I follow her into the room. It looks like a normal office, with a big wooden desk and filing cabinets against the walls, but for some reason it just feels more impressive. Even if it is just the mayor’s office in a small town, it’s the first step to something greater. Behind the desk, a man sits with his shirt
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