with coppery highlights looks nothing like the Vanna White look I was sporting last winter. Plus I’m awake and not drooling.
“Well,” I offer, “there were two Engelbert Humperdincks.” They both stare at me, obviously never having heard of either. Come on. The second Engelbert guest-starred on The Love Boat and kissed Julie! “And there’re two actresses named Vanessa Williams,” I add.
Their eyes light up.
“Right,” the young man says, nodding.
“I’m Guadalupe,” the young woman says. “Lupe. We spoke on the phone. And this is Julius.”
I smile and nod at both of them.
Guadalupe smiles back. “Let’s go back to Mr. Bennet’s office.”
I follow in her wake, even more nervous than I was a minute ago. Did I just lie to the prospective employers for whom I want to work so badly? I think I did. I know I did.
Not technically, of course. I never said, “I am not the Lisa Flyte who was crushed by Burger Barn.”
But still. It was enough of a lie that when it’s discovered, and of course it will be discovered because I am a terrible liar, I will leave HEYA covered in inky ignominy.
But I can’t leave. I love HEYA already. Its cinderblock walls painted in primary colors pulse with vibrant goodness. They really do. I can feel my bones absorbing it.
Surrounding me on these walls is incredible artwork—paintings, photographs and collages made by students of all ages, according to the nifty little placards under each one. Everyone gets his or her very own placard! No one’s ever given me my very own placard.
Off to each side of me as we wind through the corridors are rooms where I can see and hear kids playing ping pong, goofing off, studying with older volunteers, or reading.
I know I’m in a place where things matter. Where people matter.
We arrive at a small office maybe ten by ten. A large, balding black man in a white shirt and yellow tie sits behind a desk. He looks both doleful and sardonic with a long mustache that curves down to his jowls.
Guadalupe looks to him, then back to me. “Mr. Bennet, Lisa Flyte. Lisa Flyte, Mr. Bennet.”
Introductions complete, she ducks her head as she scurries to lean against the window sill with two young men, both of whom wear jeans. When she notices the looks they all pin her with, she just smiles and shrugs.
Mr. Bennet stands, extending his hand to me. “Ms. Flyte, I’m Mr. Bennet. Lupe, I mean Guadalupe, you’ve met. She’s in charge of Academic Programs. Edgar…” the young Alpha male with his eyebrows slammed together nods. “…oversees Recreational Programs. And Jimmy is in charge of our Outreach Programs.”
“Hey.” The last guy sends me a disarming smile.
I smile back, but bite my bottom lip. Both young men are compact and ruthlessly in shape. I suck in my stomach. Mr. Bennet motions to a chair, and I take a seat. When I do, my eyes fall to the magazine on his desk.
A tattered copy of February’s issue of People. I cannot help but stare. I think my mouth drops open. I mean, it’s so unfair. I wish like crazy that I had embarrassing pictures of Guadalupe, Edgar, Jimmy, and Mr. Bennet to even out the playing field.
“I apologize,” Mr. Bennet says, glancing down at the magazine. “Guadalupe got us all thinking that you might be THE Lisa Flyte, come here to save us all.” He chuckles, the regret echoing through.
They just wanted my money.
“I am.” I lift my chin and feel Wolverine-like titanium squaring my shoulders. “Here to save you, that is.”
I feel a sense of moxie whip through me like a minty arctic wind. “I know you’re in financial trouble, and an influx of a couple million dollars is NOT what you need.”
They stop heh-hehing .
I think I’ve offended them, so I plow on, before anyone can yell at me. “I’ve read your history. You got a swarm of celebrity donations three years ago when your dot com backer went belly up, and now you’re in trouble again. You need to generate, maintain, and manage a
“Well,” I offer, “there were two Engelbert Humperdincks.” They both stare at me, obviously never having heard of either. Come on. The second Engelbert guest-starred on The Love Boat and kissed Julie! “And there’re two actresses named Vanessa Williams,” I add.
Their eyes light up.
“Right,” the young man says, nodding.
“I’m Guadalupe,” the young woman says. “Lupe. We spoke on the phone. And this is Julius.”
I smile and nod at both of them.
Guadalupe smiles back. “Let’s go back to Mr. Bennet’s office.”
I follow in her wake, even more nervous than I was a minute ago. Did I just lie to the prospective employers for whom I want to work so badly? I think I did. I know I did.
Not technically, of course. I never said, “I am not the Lisa Flyte who was crushed by Burger Barn.”
But still. It was enough of a lie that when it’s discovered, and of course it will be discovered because I am a terrible liar, I will leave HEYA covered in inky ignominy.
But I can’t leave. I love HEYA already. Its cinderblock walls painted in primary colors pulse with vibrant goodness. They really do. I can feel my bones absorbing it.
Surrounding me on these walls is incredible artwork—paintings, photographs and collages made by students of all ages, according to the nifty little placards under each one. Everyone gets his or her very own placard! No one’s ever given me my very own placard.
Off to each side of me as we wind through the corridors are rooms where I can see and hear kids playing ping pong, goofing off, studying with older volunteers, or reading.
I know I’m in a place where things matter. Where people matter.
We arrive at a small office maybe ten by ten. A large, balding black man in a white shirt and yellow tie sits behind a desk. He looks both doleful and sardonic with a long mustache that curves down to his jowls.
Guadalupe looks to him, then back to me. “Mr. Bennet, Lisa Flyte. Lisa Flyte, Mr. Bennet.”
Introductions complete, she ducks her head as she scurries to lean against the window sill with two young men, both of whom wear jeans. When she notices the looks they all pin her with, she just smiles and shrugs.
Mr. Bennet stands, extending his hand to me. “Ms. Flyte, I’m Mr. Bennet. Lupe, I mean Guadalupe, you’ve met. She’s in charge of Academic Programs. Edgar…” the young Alpha male with his eyebrows slammed together nods. “…oversees Recreational Programs. And Jimmy is in charge of our Outreach Programs.”
“Hey.” The last guy sends me a disarming smile.
I smile back, but bite my bottom lip. Both young men are compact and ruthlessly in shape. I suck in my stomach. Mr. Bennet motions to a chair, and I take a seat. When I do, my eyes fall to the magazine on his desk.
A tattered copy of February’s issue of People. I cannot help but stare. I think my mouth drops open. I mean, it’s so unfair. I wish like crazy that I had embarrassing pictures of Guadalupe, Edgar, Jimmy, and Mr. Bennet to even out the playing field.
“I apologize,” Mr. Bennet says, glancing down at the magazine. “Guadalupe got us all thinking that you might be THE Lisa Flyte, come here to save us all.” He chuckles, the regret echoing through.
They just wanted my money.
“I am.” I lift my chin and feel Wolverine-like titanium squaring my shoulders. “Here to save you, that is.”
I feel a sense of moxie whip through me like a minty arctic wind. “I know you’re in financial trouble, and an influx of a couple million dollars is NOT what you need.”
They stop heh-hehing .
I think I’ve offended them, so I plow on, before anyone can yell at me. “I’ve read your history. You got a swarm of celebrity donations three years ago when your dot com backer went belly up, and now you’re in trouble again. You need to generate, maintain, and manage a
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