XPLR | Colby Brock

~126~

Once Christmas had come and gone, I started on my brand new endeavor in New York City: a job.

I've had money saved up over years, all to pay for my college tuition, stuffed away in the bank. Though, after losing only a few thousand dollars, I had enough to live off of in New York City.

It scared me how fast it was all depleting.

"You can get a job," Logan had said Christmas Night. "I can put in some word for you at the music school I work at. Maybe you can do some lessons on the side. I bet people would pay big bucks for you to train their wannabe prodigies," he shrugged.

"That might not be such a bad deal..." I said, thinking. He grinned at me, leaning back in my desk chair. "You wouldn't mind putting in good word for me?" I ask. He snickered. "Just tell them you're a student at Juilliard and you'll shoot right up to the top of the piano list."

I knew Logan worked at a school, he mentioned once that he worked with kids or something like that.

"How did you get into that work?" I asked him. He shrugged. "I auditioned. It's a prestigious Manhattan music school, you know. Well.. it's not like it's a school school, we just teach people who pay to come. Spend about an hour a day a couple times a week," Logan smiled. "I teach this one totally awesome kid. His parents are totally loaded too, and he has the sweetest guitar. I like teaching him the most because he's not looking into classical music, he wants to be a rock star. A rock star like me!" Logan grinned. I liked seeing him get excited over something like this, it's sweet. He's someone's role model.

I felt a little bad. About Logan. He's been spending so much time with me lately, I'm afraid I'm keeping him from doing what he really wants.

He's the one who keeps coming to see you, Rose. You don't ask him to come.

Yeah. I don't. What's up with that?

Of course, I've pondered whether or not Logan actually has feelings for me. He did ask me out, but I declined. I barely knew Logan before the whole Colby fiasco.

I sighed and laid back in my bed. I looked out the window, the very bottom of it was shrouded now in tiny seedlings. It was my Christmas gift from Logan. On the window sill set two potted flowers. In the corner of my room was a box without a lid. "It's a flower box, you hang it outside your window!" He said. I had felt bad about not getting him anything for Christmas, but he told me he liked it that way.

I felt a little smile come to my face, thinking about that pleased smile of his that he wore every time he did something he knew I would like. Like take me to a restaurant that's turned out to be my favorite, one he claims he knew I would love. He still hasn't let me pay for our little outings.

But, you see what I mean, don't you? He must have friends. He must, and he must want to see them. He spends way too much time with me.

But I kind of like it that way.

Maybe one day he'll introduce me to these friends of his, because I'm sure he has a lot of them.

I'll need to find another job. I don't think one income will be enough. 

Logan was gone, and he hadn't responded to my text, asking where he was and what he was doing tonight. I was worried about him, but I couldn't wait up. I got dressed, got my bag, and left. I'm looking for a job in the Heights, something easy. Something I can take the nightshift in. 

Logan promised he would help me look for a job. So far, he's not keeping his promise. 

I walked down a street in Washington Heights at sun down. There were some people out, but they seemed harmless. Not that I was worried, I have pepper spray on me. What? I'm a woman, alone, in the big city. I have to be afraid. 

I looked around for FOR HIRE! signs. I'd walked about around this district without much luck. "Just get any job you can find. It's not like you have to stay for that long," Logan told me a few days ago. 

I looked around and my eyes landed on a sign inside what looks like a restaurant's window, and I didn't even bother looking at the title sign and I just went inside and towards the bar. "I want to apply," I said to the woman across from me, she didn't seem much older than me. "As a waitress?" she asked. "Of course," I answered. 

"Do you have any experience?" 

"No," I answered. The woman sighed and just motioned for me to follow her. "It doesn't matter. What's your name? Let's get you in a uniform," she said. 

"Oh, uh, Rose Romano. Is it that easy?" I asked. "Well, we'll see how you do tonight, then we'll see if you can keep the job. We're understaffed," she said. 

Before I knew it, I was put in a low cut, horizontally striped red shirt, and a black skirt, and a black apron. 

You know what the hardest part about being in New York has been so far? Trying to learn how to be a bar tender when you've never had a lick of alcohol besides a couple sips of cheap beer in high school. But I figured it out pretty quickly. 

Must be in my blood. 

I was popular with the patrons as well. Needless to say, I kept the job.