Ever since the time I was 6 years old, I have been desperately overdramatic. Over normal things, over things that should never have been that serious or that detailed, but I made them to be, because that's me. But this chance, this- outrageously crazy chance that I've been offered, this is the real deal.
It's a magazine job for the Los Angeles Scoop, the biggest magazine in the west coast and even though it's a long way away, it's worth it. To get away from this town would be enough by itself but to get a job to take photography at that, is perfect. My dream job if I'm being honest.
Which explains the consistent heckling of my mom starting from the moment I walk downstairs. Which happens to be now, at my 7AM personal wakeup call. Most people out of school, without a job, during summer, wouldn't even care to think of getting up at such a time but I usually end up up at this time. It's serene when everything's just quiet and the air is actually breathable. You actually get the best pictures early as well, when nothings really going on.
It's never been a real struggle in the morning when I actually want to get up, but I can attest for getting dressed. It'd be easier just to go in my pajamas, but reluctantly, I usually pull on sweats and a zipup jacket, which is what I do now before jostling down the steps.
"Mornin' mom, did it come?" I say when I reach the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter near where she stirs at a pan of eggs.
"Not yet but I think Randy's making his round again this morning for extras. Maybe then."
"It was supposed to come the first week of June," I groan, grabbing a piece of bacon off a side plate that she's picking at.
"And it's only the 18th,"
"That can't be good though, weren't they going to send letters to everyone even if you didn't get in? What if I was so far out of contention, they didn't even think to send me a letter at all?" I say, pulling back my hair into a small bun, my short hair making it tough to hold. I had cut it a couple months ago because I needed a change and it comes to around my collarbone now, with my sidebangs a little more eminent than before. I liked it better, people tell me it makes me look more mature and that could definitely give me an edge at the magazine job. Mostly because I'm already at a disadvantage by my age but it's even more so when you think about experience. I only started journalism in 8th grade, so despite having an immediate knack for writing, I'm well behind my competitors, who have a good 5 years difference in experience.
"Taylor." She says, in her scolding tone even though a small smile tugs at her lips.
"It could happen," I defend. "It could happen and you know it."
"No it couldn't. If they took the time and actually saw your pictures and your grades, I'm sure they wouldn't think twice,"
"Wouldn't think twice of letting a 18 year old on staff at the biggest magazine on the west coast, yeah sure." I say, snorting. Mom just rolls her eyes and flips the egg once more in her pan.
"Hey, you gotta be positive. Negativity isn't going to get you anywhere," She says. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Sure. French Vanilla, please. But, like, all I'm saying is that they should at least let me know if I didn't even come into the question. Save some stress."
"Which makes me think you are in contention and they just had to take longer to think it over. Probably because that decision was a hard one,"
"I probably didn't get it," I sigh as she presses a button on our coffee maker and it begins to make a growling sound. "We don't need to go into it thinking I did and then be disappointed when I dont."
