"It's a personal assistant position. For a family."
"What kind of family?"
"Rich. Very rich."
"How rich?"
"'They probably have a helicopter' rich."
Iris whistled low. "Wow. Fancy."
"Yeah."
"Is the family nice?"
I thought about Cassidy Valentine's death glares. Harlow Valentine's aggressive friendliness. The two sisters I hadn't even met yet.
"They're... interesting."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best answer I have."
She studied me for a long moment. Her brown eyes, so different from my own, were thoughtful.
"You're nervous."
"I'm not nervous."
"You always do that thing with your jaw when you're nervous. The little clench. You're doing it now."
I consciously unclenched my jaw. "I'm cautiously optimistic."
"That's just nervous with extra words."
"Iris."
"What? I'm your sister. I'm allowed to call you out."
"Fine. Maybe I'm a little nervous."
"Why?"
"Because this job could change things."
Iris was quiet for a moment. Then she reached across the table and put her hand on mine.
Her fingers were small. Warm. The nails were painted a soft purple. She'd done them herself, probably while watching one of her tutorials.
"Good things are allowed to happen, Zay."
"I know."
"Do you? Because sometimes I think you're waiting for everything to fall apart."
"That's just practical."
"It's sad."
"Same thing."
She squeezed my hand. "Get the job. Make things easier. And then maybe..." She hesitated. "Maybe you could be home more?"
The hope in her voice nearly broke me.
"That's the plan."
"Promise?"
"I don't make promises I can't keep."
"That's a non-answer."
"It's an honest answer."
She sighed. But she was smiling. "Fine. But you better text me how it goes."
"I will."
"And eat lunch. Real lunch. Not vending machine stuff."
"I'll try."
"And be nice to them. The rich family."
"I'm always nice."
"You're nice to ME. You're sarcastic to everyone else."
"Sarcasm is a form of affection."
"Sure it is."
I finished my coffee. Checked the clock on the wall. 8:47.
Little over an hour until I need to leave.
"I should shower."
"You should." Iris wrinkled her nose. "You smell like work."
I stood. Stretched. The eggs sat warm in my stomach. The coffee was working its magic on my brain.
"Thanks for breakfast, Iris."
"Thanks for being here to eat it."
I ruffled her hair as I walked past. She swatted at my hand, but she was grinning.
"Stop that. I spent ten minutes on this ponytail."
"It looks great."
"You can't even see it from that angle."
"I have faith."
"Faith isn't the same as visual confirmation."
"You're very philosophical this morning."
"I've been awake for three hours. I've had time to think."
Three hours. She woke up at five to make breakfast.
"Iris..."
"Go shower. You're wasting time."
"You didn't have to wake up early."
"I wanted to." She turned back to the TV. Sailor Moon was still playing. "I don't get to have breakfast with you very often. I wanted it to be good."
I stood there for a moment. Looking at my little sister. "It was good," I said quietly. "It was really good."
She didn't turn around. But I saw her ears turn pink.
"Yeah, well. Go shower."
I went to shower.
The water was lukewarm. Our heater was temperamental. I'd learned to wash fast.
As I stood under the spray, I thought about the interview ahead. The Valentine family. Four identical sisters with four different personalities.
Cassidy. The angry one who threatened my life and then stalked me for five hours.
Harlow. The friendly one who offered me snacks and talked like she'd had too much sugar.
Vivienne. The perfectionist, apparently. Student council VP. Probably terrifying.
Sabrina. The mysterious one. I hadn't met her yet. Just heard rumors.
Four girls. Four potential headaches. One job that could change everything.
I turned off the water. Toweled off. Got dressed.
The shirt Iris had noticed was a white button-down. My nicest one. I'd bought it at Goodwill two years ago for a school presentation and it had survived surprisingly well.
Black slacks. Black belt. My cleanest sneakers, which I'd scrubbed last night with a toothbrush.
I looked in the bathroom mirror.
Not bad. Not rich-person nice. But presentable.
My hair was still that awkward two-tone mess. Dark roots, blonde-orange ends. I needed to either commit to dying it again or let it grow out fully.
Later. Add it to the list.
I emerged from the bathroom to find Iris waiting. She looked me up and down with the critical eye of a fashion consultant.
"You look good."
"Thanks."
"The shirt needs a little something though." She disappeared into her room. Came back with something in her hand.
A tie.
Not just any tie. A deep blue one with subtle silver threads. Way too nice for anything we could afford.
"Where did you get this?"
"I saved up. Birthday present. For you." She held it out. "I was going to give it to you in November but... you need it more now."
"Iris, I can't take your savings."
"It's a gift. Gifts don't count as taking." She pushed it into my hands. "Put it on."
This kid.
"Thank you."
"You can thank me by getting the job." She crossed her arms. "And by buying me dinner when you're rich."
"I won't be rich."
"Richer than now."
"That's a low bar."
"Still counts."
I put on the tie. Let her adjust it because she insisted she'd watched tutorials on proper tie-knotting too. By the time she was done, it looked almost professional.
"Perfect." She stepped back to admire her work. "Now you look like someone who belongs at a rich family's house."
"I feel like a waiter."
"Waiters make good tips. That's not an insult."
"I'll take it as a compliment."
"You should. I meant it as one."
I checked the clock. 9:52.
"I need to go."
"I know." She handed me my bag. I hadn't even seen her pack it. "There's a granola bar in there. For the train. Don't skip snacks."
"Yes mom."
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry."
She walked me to the door. The apartment was small. The journey was short. But it felt significant somehow.
"Text me."
"I will."
"And call if you're going to be late."
"I will."
"And don't let them intimidate you. You're Isaiah Angelo. You're the smartest person I know."
"You need to meet more people."
"I've met enough." She hugged me.
I hugged her back.
"I'll see you tonight."
"You better." She pulled away. Wiped her eyes quickly, like she didn't want me to see. "Now go. You'll miss your train."
I opened the door. Stepped into the hallway. Turned back one last time.
Iris stood in the doorway, small and fierce and everything good in my world.
"Hey, Iris?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you, idiot."
Her face scrunched up. "I love you too, moron."
The door closed.
I headed for the stairs.
The walk to the bus stop was quiet. The neighborhood was waking up slowly, Saturday morning laziness settling over the streets.
I thought about the interview. About the Valentine sisters. About the job that could change everything.
Ten thousand a month.
That's what they're offering. Dr. Reyes confirmed it.
Ten thousand dollars. For being a personal assistant to four teenage girls.
What's the catch?
There was always a catch. But the catch here seemed obvious: the sisters themselves. Seven previous assistants had quit. Professionals with experience and credentials. They'd lasted weeks at most.
What makes me think I can do better?
I didn't know. I just knew I had to try.
For Iris. For the scholarship. For the future I keep promising myself I'll build.
The bus arrived. I got on. Found a seat by the window.
Philadelphia rolled past outside. The familiar streets. The familiar faces. The world I'd grown up in, survived in, clawed my way out of.
One more year. One more year and I graduate. Then college. Then a real job. Then a real life.
Just hold on a little longer.
I pulled out my phone. Opened the text thread with Iris.
ME: On the bus. Granola bar is good.
IRIS: told you
IRIS: good luck today
IRIS: you're going to be great
IRIS: love you idiot
I smiled.
ME: Love you too.
The bus, the train, the subway—it all blurred into one long, humming journey.
By the time I stepped out of the cab onto the Upper West Side, I was standing before a wrought-iron gate that looked like it guarded a fortress.
A small, brass plaque was set into the stone wall. It read, simply: Valentine.
I pressed the buzzer.