“Remind me, which one of you is the photographer?” She looks back and forth between Jordi and me. “And which is the blogger?”
Jordi and I glance at each other but don’t answer right away, even though obviously we know what we ourselves are. I don’t talk about my blog to anyone at school, though, outside of my closest friends. I don’t think anything good would come out of everyone knowing about +style.
“I’m the photographer,” Jordi finally says.
“That makes me the blogger,” I say, even though never in my entire life have I referred to myself as a blogger.
“I should have remembered,” Maggie says. “I’m not good at details. You’ll learn that. I guess maybe you just did. Anyway, you guys might know that we usually only have one intern each summer, but this is a big year for us, and honestly, I couldn’t decide between the two of you.”
I open my mouth to ask about the part-time job in the fall, because I doubt there are magically two of those, even if Jordi and I are both here. But considering Maggie hasn’t brought up the job yet, I probably shouldn’t introduce the topic.
“You two will share the duties we talked about in your interviews,” Maggie continues. “Filing, some other basic organizing, helping out the staff with certain tasks. But I’d also love for you both to get to use your talents here. So we’ll talk more about that once you’re caught up on the boring stuff. Okay?”
Jordi and I both agree to that, and Maggie brings us back out to the storefront to walk us around. Even though I’ve been here what must be at least a hundred times, I’ve never actually noticed how things are laid out, with the fanciest dresses in the front where they can be seen when people walk by, basics toward the back, and the newest designs in the window displays. You have to walk by everything else to get to the sales rack so that hopefully you’ll spend money on something full price, too. And accessories are everywhere, though it seems fairly thoughtful. Little clutches are near the fancy dresses and canvas bags screen-printed with the store’s logo are by more casual stuff.
I read online that Lemonberry’s interns always end up with free clothes, but now doesn’t feel like the right time to ask about that. Actually, I’m not sure there will be a right time to ask about that. Hopefully the clothes will just magically come to me.
Maggie introduces us to Paige, the girl currently working, who doesn’t look thrilled but is polite enough to us. I’d hoped the burgundy-haired lady would be here today; Paige’s style isn’t so precise—her blonde hair is short, though not cut into any sort of specific style, and she’s wearing a simple navy dress with shiny tan flats—and my gut says she’s less fun to be around than her coworker.
Maybe she would be friendlier if it was just me; two teenagers might be more than she’d counted on. I’d probably feel friendlier myself—or less confused, at least. I thought I would have three months to impress Maggie and earn this forthcoming job. Are Jordi and I competing? Should I ask that? No, I shouldn’t, and I know that. Or, technically, Dad warned me that forcing this conversation might seem too overzealous, especially on day one.
I have so many questions for Maggie, though.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you guys on your first day,” Maggie says, walking us to the backroom. “Do you have any questions for me? About the store, or any general internship questions?”
It does kind of feel like a sign that I’m holding back all these questions and now it’s almost like Maggie wants me to have questions. But I want to follow Dad’s advice. It’s not that I spend a lot of time thinking he’s right about things, but my gut tells me he’s onto something with this topic. Dad had the same job at the same office for as long as I can remember before his recent career shift, so I guess he did something right.
Oh, great, now for some reason I’m thinking about my dad instead of paying attention, and now Jordi’s already mid-conversation with Maggie.
“We do have a camera here.” Maggie rummages through a cabinet full of random equipment, so her voice comes out pretty muffled. “But if you’d prefer to use your own, that’s fine, too. This one’s a little old.”
She emerges with a camera and hands it over to Jordi, who examines it thoroughly. Photography seems like such a classier and more mature interest than blogging. Maggie probably doesn’t think that I’m a goober if she chose me for this role, but I hope Jordi doesn’t think it either. If there had to be another intern, I’m positive it would be easier if it weren’t someone from the same high school, much less someone who I had forgotten existed.
“Abby?” Maggie asks.
“What? I mean, yes?”
“Any questions?” When Maggie’s smile is focused on me, it feels so kind and open. I feel like I’m at least momentarily her whole world. By now I’ve figured out that she smiles like this all the time, so maybe it doesn’t mean anything when she smiles at me. Of course I wanted the internship because I wanted free clothes, an eventual paying job, and something great to put on my college applications. But even before my interview, when Maggie called me to set it up, right away I heard in her voice how much I wanted to work with her.
“I’d actually read that usually the internship turns into a job,” I say, because Maggie’s kind smile screwed up my newly developed business instincts and my guard was down and now the words are out of my mouth.
At least I didn’t ask for a free dress, too?
I glance at Jordi, because I assume she’ll be bug-eyed at the
