With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
New Year, New Recipes
It’s my first day back at school after the break, and during Culinary Arts, Chef Ayden gives us our final itinerary for the trip.
At work, I knock softly on the manager’s door. Steve doesn’t like being “loudly interrupted.”
“Steve? It’s Emoni. May I speak with you? Please.”
“Enter,” he calls through the door, like he’s some sort of king in Game of Thrones. He already sounds annoyed. I push the door open and peek my head in. I try not to roll my eyes. Although he’s quick to close the screen he’s looking at on the computer, a tab stays open for his social media. Clearly, he’s getting a lot of work done. “What can I do for you, Emoni? I hope this isn’t another schedule change.”
Even though Steve has an empty chair across from his desk, I stay standing. I clear my throat and look around at the chipped-paint walls and corners cluttered with boxes. Everywhere but at Steve. “Kind of. I was hoping—”
He slaps a hand on his desk. “I hope you aren’t going to ask me for another favor. I already make too many concessions for you as it is. You need to be home early on school nights. You can only work afternoon on Saturdays because you have to get your daughter ready for . . . something. You can’t work Sundays because you need to help your grandmother. It’s always an excuse with you. I’m trying to run a business here, Emoni. Not an extracurricular training program for struggling moms.”
I swallow hard. It won’t help to chew him out. I let go of a long breath. “Of course, Steve. I understand that. I appreciate the exceptions. I know how much work you do to make sure all of your student employees can balance both their jobs and school.” Steve likes it when you kiss his ass and if that’s what I have to do, fine. I can tell it works because he stops sitting so stiff and uncrosses his arms. He places them on the table with a long, dramatic sigh.
“Fine, what is it this time?”
I step closer to his desk and keep an equal balance of calmness and perkiness, although what I really feel is irritated I have to grovel at all. “I got an opportunity at school to go on a trip to Spain. During my spring break at the end of March. It’ll be a week long and I know you usually schedule me for three days a week, but maybe I can work six days the following week when I get back? It’s not for a couple of months but I wanted to ask in advance so I can add any hours I might need to balance it. And I worked a lot during the holidays.”
Steve leans back in his chair. “This trip sounds like a vacation. You already used vacation days before Christmas. What was that for? Taking your daughter ice-skating or something? Those holiday days you worked were already making up for previous hours.”
That was not what we agreed at the time but I don’t think correcting Steve will help right now. Steve keeps talking before he lets me answer any of his questions. “Emoni, I want to help. I really do, but aren’t you a senior? You probably won’t be here next year anyway. Maybe it’s time we start looking at other options?”
My heart stops for a second. It sounds like he’s trying to fire me. “Am I fired because I asked you for time off? Several months in advance? Even though I’m willing to work the days the following week?”
“No, no. Of course not.” Steve sits up straight and holds his hands out, like an alien coming in peace. “I was merely making a suggestion that since it doesn’t seem like you can fulfill the hours required for this job that we . . . start considering alternatives.”
And I know what he’s not saying. I’ve seen him do it to other employees: he cuts their hours until it costs more money to get to work than you make at work. I nod. “Let’s keep it all the way real, Steve. You’re cutting my hours?”
Steve folds his hands. “I’m just going to look for other workers to help you balance the hours you can’t work.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but I lean over the desk and force his eyes my way when I reply.
“You’re a nice man, Steve. So kind. I’m going to tell my grandmother to pray for you.” And I hope he can see in my face that I just sprinkled the juju of a spiteful Puerto Rican grandmother all over his life.