Disclaimer: Like always. I don't own.
Chapter Six Chairs and Stares
The bell rang above the door, signaling her arrival into the shop that smelled like the three things she loved most in life: books, coffee, and tea. Annabeth stepped into the small shop that was crammed between two large financial buildings that towered above the small shop like two giants.
When she went for her morning runs she had spotted the quirky building, with its crooked frame which caused it to lean haphazardly to one side and it's bright purple and blue paint job. But that wasn't what caught her attention. No, it was the grass. Real grass in the middle of New York City. Annabeth had to backtrack to make sure she was actually seeing right and not just high on coffee fumes.
But it was real. And it made her smile.
So she had called the book store for an interview for a job position, there was a sign in the front that said HELP WANTED and Annabeth definitely needed a job. So where else should she look but a bookstore? It was better than working at a Diner as a waitress or doing some boring job like being a secretary for some big shot CEO.
No she wanted to work somewhere she loved, where she wouldn't mind having to go into work every day. And there was no better place than a bookstore where she'd be surrounded by words, by thoughts, by ideas of other writers throughout the years. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.
The inside was covered in books. It reminded her of her own living room. It instantly made her feel at home. There was an old spiral staircase in the back that probably creaked whenever anyone stepped on it which wound up to what Annabeth hoped was another level of books.
A lady in what appeared to be her early forties was sitting at the front counter, a book in hand. She didn't even look up when Annabeth approached. She stood there awkwardly, rocking back and forth on her heals, clutching her folder which held her very pitiful résumé in her hands. The lady didn't look up.
She cleared her throat.
The lady didn't look up.
"Um?" Annabeth began.
She still didn't look up.
"Ma'am."
No eyes noticeable at all.
"I'm here for the job," Annabeth finally said. At this the lady sighed and looked up at Annabeth, snapping close her book. Annabeth nearly jumped back at the heavy snap.
"Yes, no one else would stand there so awkwardly with a folder clutched in her hands like that," the lady said. She looked at Annabeth fully and Annabeth made a gasping noise in shock. "Well what is it?" The lady asked.
"Your… your eyes!" Annabeth said, her voice shaking.
"Yes what about them? They're eyes, they're old but they still do their job perfectly. As far as I'm concerned you see eyes every day," the lady said, rolling her eyes.
"But… but they're grey!" Annabeth said. And they were, startling grey like thunderstorms rolling in over a city, like waves angry and crashing against the rocks, like storms devouring ships and sailors in one foul swoop. They would terrify anyone who looked at them.
Except for Annabeth.
Because, they were her eyes.
"Yes they're grey. I'm sure at least ten percent of the population has grey eyes as well, just like you do. Now are there anymore problems or stupid exclamations?" The woman asked snippily. "I'd like to get this job interview done while there's not a large crowd of people in the shop."
"No… no ma'am," Annabeth said, still stumbling to make out full sentences. "I… I brought my résumé," she said, promptly holding out the folder which was wrinkled and had sweat stains on it. The woman looked at it disdainfully.
"Lovely," she said, standing up and holding it with a forefinger and thumb. Annabeth cringed inside, so much for looking professional. "Malcolm!" The woman called. "Come watch the front counter!"
A boy about Annabeth's age sauntered into view, holding a stack of books. "Aye, aye, Captain!" He said, placing the books down and saluting the woman. "This the new girl?" He asked, nodding towards Annabeth.
"Might be," the woman said casually as she rifled through Annabeth's papers.
"Well good luck, and don't let the eyes scare you. You get used to them," he said, flashing Annabeth a grin. It was only then that she noticed he too had grey eyes but they were softer and bordering closer on blue.
"Don't just stand there, follow me to the back room," the woman said, walking away from the duo. Annabeth looked nervously at Malcolm who gave her an encouraging nod. Annabeth held her head high, something that she was known for doing in the face of a nerve wracking situation and followed her.
Word for the Wise: When I get nervous I realize that the only way to get rid of my fear is to face it head on, it's to walk into the den of lions, it's to dance on a tightrope between two buildings, it's to stand up for what I believe in even if I won't be popular. It's to live my way, not someone else's way. It's to smile in the face of adversity, to hold my head up high and never, ever back down. That is how I get rid of my nerves: to pretend as if they don't exist.
The Words for the Wise which she had written in her letter weren't something that she had begun just for those letters. Ever since her seventh grade teacher told her she had so many insightful things to say, Annabeth began writing them down. She now had a beautiful stash of Words for the Wise. Some people might talk to themselves when they were nervous. Annabeth wrote to herself. When she was having a bad day, she'd pull one of the note cards out and read it.
She had stopped writing them after she had to move back to California. Why write something to cheer you up when you already know that you won't be happy? It seemed kind of pointless. But she started back up again when she went to college. Yes she went to college, she got accepted into UCLA. It wasn't her first choice but it worked. She was planning on going to NYU once she got enough money and try and earn her Masters in Language Arts and her minor in Creative Writing.
"Sit down," the lady said waving her hand at any number of chairs in the office. All of them were different, some were straight backs, others were cushioned, there were a few rocking chairs and some swivel chairs as well. All and all there were about nine chairs. The lady sat down in a straight back chair at a desk and set the file down. Annabeth chose the other straight back chair. She knew that if she sat in the rocking chair she'd rock which would probably annoy the lady with the intense grey eyes and in the swivel chair she'd be spinning left and right and through the window (she couldn't help it, she had a weakness for swivel chairs).
"Interesting choice," the woman said, tapping her pen on the desk. "Why didn't you choose a more comfortable chair?"
What kind of a question was that? Who asked about your choice in chairs? Honestly. "I didn't want to be distracted," Annabeth answered truthfully. Gods that sounded dumb.
The lady smiled.
A real genuine smile. Okay so maybe a half smile, one of the corner of her lips quirked upwards, but still! It counted for something right? But just as surprisingly as it was there, it was gone. She was back to staring straight at Annabeth with those stormy eyes. Annabeth wanted to cower under the chair. Was this what it felt like when she glared? "So your name is Annabeth Christine Chase?"
"Yes." She'd always loved her name. Except when people found out her initials and began to go around calling her Acc, which they said like Ack.
"And you want a job here."
That's why I'm here, braving your death glares isn't it? Annabeth thought to herself, but she kept it in. She had mastered the skill of the poker face (which let her win a lot in poker when she played with some of her college buddies in the dorms) and she looked at the woman straight in the eyes. "Yes."
"It says here that you went to UCLA in California and you majored in Language Arts and minored in Creative Writing as well as taking Ancient Greek and a full course on Architecture, quite the brain child are you?"
What was that supposed to mean? "Yes ma'am, I like to learn and those are what interest me."
"So you do what interest you, not what you think will make you a lot of money?" The woman asked her. Annabeth shrugged.
"I discovered earlier in my life that I'd rather do something I love and not earn a lot of money than by stuck working a boring job. I wanted to have a point in my life so even though my majoring in Language Arts won't probably get me a six figure job, I'll at least know that I spent those years of my life working towards something I love."
"You do realize that with that way of thinking you're in for a very hard life?"
Annabeth shrugged again. "It'd be a very hard life if I was doing something I didn't love anyway."
"Why did you want to major in Language Arts?" The woman asked.
"I want to be a writer," Annabeth said, her cheeks turning crimson as she admitted it.
"Have you had anything published?"
"No… I did try and publish a book once but the publisher and editor turned it down."
"But you're still writing?"
"Of course, writing isn't something you give up. It's something that lives inside of me, it's like riding a bike. Once you have it, you can always start writing again. And there's always something itching inside of me to write." She stopped talking before she embarrassed herself even more with all of her rattling on and on about words.
"Four more questions." Annabeth looked at her confused. So few questions? And most of them weren't about her experience, like the fact that she next to none. They were mostly about random things, like her writing. What did her writing have to do with working at a bookstore?
"Question one: what is your favorite book?" Annabeth grinned, there was no question to this one.
"Les Miserables by Victor Hugo," Annabeth said. It was one book you couldn't read without being changed. There were stories like that, so powerful, so perfect that they spoke to the heart, that they fed the soul. The dove into the deepest, darkest parts of your soul and shined light on it. They brought tears to your eyes when you hadn't cried in months. They became a part of you. They changed you.
The woman looked at Annabeth curiously but jotted down a note on her sheet of paper. Was she writing down Annabeth's answer? Or was she saying that she needed to get a better choice in books? "Favorite author."
"Flannery O'Connor," Annabeth said. Ever since she read Flannery her freshman year she had grown addicted to the strange yet beautiful stories. They were dark yet light, hopeless yet full of hope. They were a contradiction in and of themselves yet that was what made them beautiful.
The woman nodded. "Favorite quote."
Quote? That wasn't random at all. Annabeth had to think about this one. There were so many. Words were powerful. Her screensaver on her laptop were different quotes that inspired her when she wrote. "I have so many, it depends on the mood. But one that really sticks with me is: Don't tell me the sky's the limit when there are footprints on the moon."
"And last question, did you write this?" The woman handed Annabeth an index card with swirly letters that she only knew too well. It was her handwriting.
Words for the Wise: Can you imagine a time when the Grand Canyon doesn't make you feel small? When it just becomes a hole in the ground? Can you imagine a time when Mount Rushmore just seems like carved rock? It doesn't make your legs quiver in awe? Because you've seen it too much? I don't want my life to be like that. I want to live. I want to have earth shattering moments that seem to move the skies. I want to have moments of awe when I just fall down because my legs can't hold me up anymore. I want to live every day in captivated amazement at what's around me. I want to live. I want to hope, dream, dance, laugh, love, believe, but most of all I want to live.
"Yes…" Annabeth said hesitantly.
The woman leaned forward. "You have a gift Annabeth Christine Chase. You better use it. I better see your books in this book store one day, selling out. But until then, I'm going to give you a job here, so that you can spend your time in the words of the authors who came before you. Who I believe you will join. That piece of paper," she tapped it with her finger, "is magic. Don't forget that. Forget what everyone else says Annabeth Christine Chase. And write."
Annabeth sat there, dumbfounded. "I…I have the job?" She asked.
"Is that the only thing you got out of that speech? Yes you got the job, come back here tomorrow at 9 and I'll show you the ropes."
"Um… what's your name?" She asked nervously. Did you ask employers that?
"It's Athena."