The Secret Society

The fluorescent lights of the job center buzzed overhead, mirroring the nervous energy simmering in your gut.

“Althea,” you state, trying to project confidence despite the knot in your stomach. The woman behind the counter barely looks up, her pen scratching impatiently.

Minutes later, the interview is over, a curt dismissal echoing in your ears. "They'd better call me back," you mutter, stepping back into the humid air of the small town. Rent is due, and your options are running out.

Just as desperation starts to set in, your phone buzzes. A voice, calm and professional, informs you that your application has been received – and they want to meet you this afternoon.

Confused but hopeful, you agree. An hour and a half later, you find yourself in the local coffee shop, heart pounding, waiting for a job that seems too good, and too fast, to be true.