Cassandra

I'm not sure how this came to me, it just did. It'll be something to tie me (and you guys, I think XD) over until I upload the next big story.

Um, I was considering having this be solely a one-shot -- you can see my frustration with that on my tumblr, haha -- but I think it'll be a little longer than just a one-shot. I can't tell you how much longer, because I don't even know yet! :)

Anyway, enjoy!

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Her name was Cassandra.

No, her name was not Cassie. Her name was not Cass. Her name was not Sandra. Her name was not Sandy. Her name was not Mrs. Wilton. Her name was not Ms. Wilton. Her name was not any of those names.

Her name was Cassandra.

She lived in one of those big houses in Shephard's Valley. You know, those mansions with 30+ stained-glass windows and wooden doors standing over seven feet tall. With bricks mounted to the heavens, topped with jet-black tiles for the roof. The garden surrounding the patio was always colorful -- yellows, reds, whites, pinks, purples, and blues -- and the grass was always freshly cut and weedless. A pond, even, was in the back corner of the lot, dabbed with lily pads and silver stones. Everyone called that house Wilton Mansion.

I called it Cassandra's house.

Early that summer, my father lost his job at the local lumber factory. "Too many people for too little work" was the excuse. My father had made good money at that place, working nearly 12-hour shifts every weekday. My mother worked as well, but didn't get paid nearly as much as my father did.

"I'll work two jobs," my mother had volunteered, wiping sweat from her brow after working in a steaming bakery for six hours. "But you'll still have to look for work, too, love."

My father did find another job -- one not nearly as beneficial as his old one -- after a week or so, and Mom wasn't getting a call-back like she'd hoped for, so I offered my own free time to get some money to help out.

"That's sweet of you, darling," my mother cooed from her seat on the couch, Dad's slumbering head on her lap, "but we don't want you to work so early. We can handle it."

Firstly, I was sixteen at the time. Not too young. Many of my other friends had gotten jobs as waitresses or as bus-boys at restaurants. I was clearly of-age. And, it turned out, they couldn't handle it. Bills came in and my parents were swamped, stressed, scared.

"Maybe it is a good idea..." Dad murmured to Mom over a cup of coffee one night. I was listening from the stairwell above. "She is mature and well-mannered. She works hard in school and does her chores around the house. I'm sure there's something that she can do."

Two days later, after searching online and in the newspaper for hours and hours, my mother came home with exciting news. "A couple in Shephard's Valley is looking for a part-time maid! Any age, male or female, hard-working, polite, yes, yes, yes! You're qualified, sweetie! Open interviews are tomorrow at nine. I'll wake you up before I go to work." Her smile was so broad and bold, it cracked her face in half.

Anyway, that next morning, I drove my beat-up car through Shephard's Valley, and saw that at least a dozen other cars were already parked outside the gigantic home of the maid-seeking couple. After parking behind a convertible, I killed the engine and looked up in the rearview mirror, noting that my hair gotten tousled from the windows being down. I attempted to smooth the musky-brown locks, but I was just making it worse. Groaning inwardly, I grabbed my purse that Mom had bought me just for this occasion and walked up the neat, stone pathway to the front entrance.

Women of different shapes, sizes, colors, ages were there, waiting for their turn to be interviewed. There were five of them presently sitting on all of the open seats in the front lobby of the home, decorated with modern paintings and plain, creamy wallpaper. I stood in the corner, taking in the neat surroundings of the home. It was very clean and orderly, which made me wonder why the couple would even need a maid. The wooden floors were waxed and shined; the rugs were vacuumed and fixated exactly; the picture frames and paintings were aligned at perfect right angles. Clean. Very clean.

Soon the five other women made their way into the room, each one leaving each time with a different expression: angry, proud, unsure, sad, ecstatic. I wondered what my face would look like afterward. Once the fifth girl strolled past me, I gripped the scratchy material of my handbag and walked through the door where all the other girls had walked through.

In the room sat the couple on a beige loveseat. "Hello," the man greeted, his eyes looking down at a clipboard in his lap. He looked to be about 40 years old with light hair, tan skin, and green eyes. "And your name, please."

"Taylor Ruine," I told him softly, standing before them. I glanced at his hand jotting down my name and already noted that he was writing down other things. He hadn't even looked at me yet. Unless it's for someone before me...

My anxiousness started to show, apparently, for his seated partner kindly gestured with her ringed-fingers towards the armchair behind me, mouthing, "Sit down," with a smile.

Blushing, I smiled slightly back and sat down. The woman's smile curled and faded into a serious one once the man beside her lifted his head in my direction. "So, Taylor, why do you want this job?"

I cleared my throat, deciding not to go with the reason that my parents weren't bringing home the big bucks. "I think it would be good for me to start working at a young age. I could always use the extra money. Um... yeah, good work experience..." This may have been easier if his eyes weren't staring through me.

"You're how old?" he asked.

"Sixteen," I replied, fooling with my purse.

He mumbled a noise and scribbled more things down. He was dressed in a nice suit the nearly the same color as the loveseat, and I could see his five-o'clock-shadow already. I could tell that he didn't want to do this, but it was a necessity.

"What hours would you be able to work?" inquired the woman sitting next to him. Her voice was much sweeter than his, of course, and made me relax. She certainly didn't look stressed like he did. She had long, layered black hair that flowed down her shoulders. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes were small almonds staring at me with a kind smile. She looked too young to be his girlfriend or wife. Hell, she looked to be in high school, maybe college.

"Any hours," I answered quickly. "Whenever necessary."

She let her smile broaden before it faded like the first time she mouthed for me to sit down.

The man asked me a few more questions that made me wriggle a little in my seat, but it was done soon after. "Thank you for coming out, Taylor," he said, scrawling something else before standing up with the young girl at his side. I followed them out of that room and into the entranceway that was now empty. "We'll give you a call regardless of you getting the position or someone else."

I smiled at them both. "Thank you very much, Mister..."

He finally smiled -- a tight smile, but a smile, nonetheless. "My name is Dave and this is my wife, Cassie." Her smile faltered marginally. "One of us will call you sometime in the next few days. Thank you, Taylor."

When I got home, Mom was wide-eyed, grinning and holding out her hands as if to give me a bear-hug. "Soooo?! How'd it go?!"

I shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

She slouched, everything on her face turning into pudding. "Fine, huh?" she echoed. "You don't think you got it?"

I shrugged again. "I really don't know, Mom."

Two days later, the phone in the kitchen rang. "Hello?"

"Taylor? Hello, this is Dave. I've got some bad news."

My eyes dropped to the sink. Oh. I guess I didn't get the job. Well, that was okay, right? I mean, there's always a waitressing job or-or delivering newspapers or something else.

"Taylor?"

"Oh, sorry, Dave," I mumbled, rubbing my eye with the back of my hand. "Thank you for the opportunity. I hope whoever you chose works out for you guys."

"Me too," Dave replied. "So we'll see you tomorrow?"

Red light. "Huh?" I gawked at the phone.

The man chuckled. "The bad news is that you'll have to see a lot more of us and a lot less of your summer fun. Up for it?"

I laughed incredulously. "Sure, yeah! I'll see you tomorrow!"