The worst day of my life turned out to be the best.

My crappy job at the cinema was always, well, crappy. I could handle the snobs at the ticket booth, or the way people changed their order every two seconds at the popcorn station, but the worst, was cleaning toilets. The worse of the worst, was when someone got sick, and I had to clean them. Like today.

It didn't help that my second job was dreadful as well. Being a waitress was okay, enduring my snarky boss was not. Already tired and crabby from my job at the cinema, I snapped at her fifth eye roll. And no matter what Sarah did, we couldn't say anything, or she'd fired anyone on the spot.

So, now I was not only tired and crabby, but also fired.

My brother's text came in just as I was starting to dwell in my own misery. Especially since I was already late with last month's tuition. My heart almost stopped when I read his text, and I had to read it twice until it made sense to me.

You got in. First round of interviews start today at 4 pm.

I made it.

I don't know what Seth had done to get me a spot, but he got it. I had a chance to submit my application in the new culinary program hosted by Chef Tom Simmons.

In that moment, I forgot about my whole day. Or that I needed a job. Or that the program was directed to delinquents —small detail that didn't seem important— because we were talking about Chef Simmons, the most handsome and the best chef in the Food Network Channel.

Seth sent me the school's address, and I read my application one more time. I'd been carrying it around for weeks in my backpack. The website where you registered for this had been glitching over and over, making it impossible to register in the first place. Some people said that it was the first filter, that they weren't accepting everyone, but in that moment, I didn't care.

I was in.

Knots formed in my stomach as I stood in front of the school's door. A warm feeling ran through me. Hope. Hope for a better life. Hope to learn how to cook and do all the fancy dishes all chefs do. And yes, hope to get a glimpse of the guy that had entertained me every Thursday at 8 pm for the last three years.

Suddenly, my feet didn't hurt. My shoulders didn't feel heavy, and the soft breeze felt fresh and filled me with energy. I got this. I was so ready for that interview. It meant that I was one step closer to take classes with renowned chefs and an opportunity to work in a five-star restaurant.

It was a dream come true opportunity.

My hands were already sweaty, and I rubbed them against my jeans. I took a deep breath and pushed the doors open. The sound of chatter filled the room.

The hall in front of me was empty, there was just a girl behind a table, typing away on her phone, looking like she rather be anywhere else than here. She yawned as I moved closer to her. Her black hair was long and curly, and it fell on her shoulders. To be fair, she looked too stylish to be there, too. Feeling self-conscious, I passed a hand across my jeans and swallowed hard.

"Hi."

She didn't look up. "Name?"

"Jessica Summer."

She reached out for the tablet on the table and scrolled through a list until she found my name. Nodding, she grabbed a marker and wrote it in a white tag. "Wait for your turn." She handed me the tag and gestured me to move to the room on our right. "Someone will call you for your interview."

Someone? Chef Simmons perhaps? Nah. He probably had someone to order someone else to do the interviews.

I plastered the tag on my chest and entered the waiting room. Piercings, tattoos, and neon hairs were the trend here.

My brows creased. I felt so underdressed for this. My jeans and hoodie were faded, my hair was pulled up on a ponytail, but it probably looked more like a messy bun by now. I sighed.

Grimacing, I made my way to the nearest free chair. The list the girl had seemed long, and I was just at the bottom. At least I can sit down. My feet were killing me, and I was wearing tennis shoes. I looked at my feet before sliding my gaze through the rest of the shoes everyone was wearing. I gasped. Most girls were wearing stilettos.

How can they even walk in those things? I shook my head.

I'd never own a pair. Tennis shoes, jeans and t-shirt were my thing. Unlike my hippie grandmother, Juno. She loved dresses. The more colorful and the more flowery, the better. I always knew it was time to go second-hand shopping whenever she suggested me to wear one of them.

Despite her fashion sense, I loved Juno. She was as unconventional as her wardrobe. She hated the Grandma title, and she was too liberal and open-minded. I shuddered. Good thing she was funny though. Her whole personality reminded me of the seventies. My eyes roamed around the room. She would fit right in here too. She'd probably be best friends with the green-haired guy at the corner, or the girl with the tube dress. Sometimes, I wish I was more like her. Sometimes.

I couldn't keep still. I shifted on my seat three times and started to bounce my knee. What sort of things would they ask? I really hoped the criminal record ─or lack of─ wasn't an issue. Also, if I did get a place, would I be able to convince Stan, the manager at the cinema, to give me a night shift?

Ugh. I clearly didn't think this through. Seth and his darn puppy eyes. My little brother could be, as any fifteen-year-old, a pain in the ass most of the time, but he could also be the sweetest.

I glanced around the room once more and there were less people. Good.

A brunette sat beside me. "Hi," she had a thick Spanish accent, and despite the excessive amount of makeup on her face, she was really pretty. She had a natural tan and her black hair glowed under the artificial lamps. "How are you Jessica?" My brows creased. I don't know her. She smiled. "I'm Monica." She touched the sticker on her chest. Of course, we all had name tags. I might as well be illiterate.

"I love your hair! Is it naturally red?"

Self-consciously, I patted my head, hoping to tame the loose strands. "Yes."

"I love it. No matter what hair dye you use, you can't achieve that color."

"Thank you."

She glanced around. "Have you been waiting for long?"

All my life. "Yeah, a bit."

"Ugh," she groaned as she leaned back on the chair. "So, what did you do?" She asked looking at her nails.

"Huh?" I blinked at her, completely lost.

"I was in a gang. But I left it because I want my little Marcos to grow up to be a decent man, you know?"

I stared at her with an incredulous look. "You have a baby?" She looks younger than me!

Monica shrugged as her gaze swept through the room. "His father is an ass, you know? He's in jail for assault. He was convicted two weeks ago. That was the wake-up call I needed. I enrolled on this as soon as I heard the announcement in the radio. I need to clean up my shit for my little boy."

Wide eyed, I nodded. "You have a baby?" Her eyes cut to me. Okay. Now I sounded stupid. "How old is he?" I cleared my throat, sounding nonchalant.

"Two." Her lips tugged up in a warm smile.

"And how old are you?" I grimaced. If I were making a list about myself, I'd write stupid and noisy in the first line. "Sorry. Don't answer."

She didn't seem to mind though. "Twenty. You?" She tilted her head, observing me with curious eyes.

"24."

"Wow. You're old."

I cracked up at that. "I am."

She laughed with me. "Seriously, what did you do?"

I supposed she was talking about my criminal record. I wish I could say something cool like being an undercover agent. Too much. Or a drug dealer's ex-girlfriend. Or a mad ninja because that would be super impressive.

My background was so boring. Biting my lip, I was thinking of something funny to say, when someone said my name. Phew.

"I'll see you around?" I glanced at Monica after I stood up.

"Definitely," she smiled.

I like her. Feeling confident after making a new friend, I made my way through the room. The receptionist waited for me. If I thought she looked crabby before, she now looked as Cruella Devil herself. I sort of felt bad for her. It sucked to be working on something that you don't like. I was talking from experience.

She gestured me to continue down the hall. "Second door to your right."

"Thanks."

She made a sour face before turning away. Whatever.

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. It was a far stretch if chef Tom was there, but one can hope. And hoping, I was.

I counted the doors, checking not to mess my right with my left, and stared at the door that could change my life for the better. You can do it, Jess. My heart was thumping erratically, and I had to take a deep breath before grabbing the door handle. I was exhaling again when something heavy pushed against me and pain burst in my forehead before everything went black. 

First chapter!!!

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