‘Spitfire,’ a novel by Annette Sandoval (Chapters 1-2)

Samantha, or Sam, is a year older than me and a jogger. She tends to dress in black and understated outfits that flatter her curvy yet athletic shape. She has sleepy brown eyes and thick, dark, tousled hair. I went to the salon with her once. It cost her two hundred buckeroos to get that just-rolled-out-of-bed look.

I don’t remember how we got on the subject, but Sam is the only other person I have ever met that shares in my passion for Yo Mama jokes. We could probably cap each other for hours without running out of material if our stomachs didn’t hurt from laughing so hard.

“Okay. Let’s examine the benefits to the promotion,” Sam says, leaning against my desk. “You can go pee anytime you want. It’s a promotion. A lot more money.”

She’s right. As a receptionist, I make crap-fifty an hour and take home less than $20,000 a year. I can’t argue with her list, but I try. “Pitfalls. More responsibility. I’m not even sure what the job is. I’ll be Scott’s office bitch.”

We go round and round until we hear the swish of the glass door opening. It’s got to be Scott’s appointment. Oh good! He can decide for us.

Sam is about to glance up when I tug her close to me and stare into her eyes. In a rapid whisper, I say, “If his hair is parted on the left, I’ll take the job. If it’s parted on the right, I’ll stay where I am.”

“What if it’s parted in the middle?” Sam says.

“I’ll…do the Hokey Pokey?”

Sam grins. “That’s what it’s all about.”

“Hi…Andy Bosc to see Scott Martin,” he says.

Sam looks up. Enjoying the suspense, I wait a beat. I smile into Mr. Bosc’s eyes before glancing at the part in his hair.

Continued @ Amazon.com

Copyright Annette Sandoval. Used with permission.