She froze.
For a second, I thought maybe she recognized me in a good way. Like maybe she remembered me from school, or she’d heard I was once employee of the month at MCC—even if I was just a janitor.
But then, her eyebrows furrowed, and she looked down at her phone.
“Wait…” she said, tapping and scrolling. “Are you by chance the Maurice Miranda?”
My breath caught. “Uh, yes?”
Her face turned blank. “Oh. I see.” She exhaled deeply, as if disappointed. “I’m sorry. I guess there’s still time to take back what I just said. I won’t be hiring you.”
I blinked. My heart stopped. “I—what?”
She tucked the laundry in a bin beside her, eyes back on her screen. “I can’t afford to have a troublemaker like you in my shop.”
“Wait… I don’t understand,” I said, feeling the blood drain from my face.
