Brooklyn Girls Read Online Free PDF Page A

very second, exactly eight dollars to my name. And nothing left in my checking account. At all.
    So walking out of this interview is not an option.
    “Take a seat.” Bridget takes a small bottle of sanitizer out of her pocket and rubs a glob between her palms. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
    “Well.” I try to look confident, and not like I am broke and desperate. “Um, my name is Pia Keller, I’m twenty-two years old, and I have a degree in art history from Brown—”
    “Why art history?”
    “I’m fascinated by the way that art reflects the political-social climate in which it was created,” I say. That sounds good, right? “Sadly, it’s not that useful, unless you want to be an art historian!” I smile. She doesn’t. They never do. I should really drop that line.
    “And your internships?”
    “Uh, well, my parents live overseas, and we’re a really close family, so I spent vacations with them, which unfortunately didn’t leave much opportunity for internships.” As you can probably guess, this isn’t entirely true. I just never knew what kind of internship I’d want to do, and Angie always had something fun planned, so I joined her instead.
    “And now you want to work in PR. Why?”
    “I love public relations! I like helping to channel information to people through the right mediums, I like—” I pause, trying to remember again why I thought I’d like PR (because it sounded fun and I didn’t know what else to do?). “Helping companies, I mean, brands, build the right image, and organize events that create a buzz in the marketplace, and make a difference to modern society.” Oh, Pia. You utter tard. That was pathetic.
    “Here’s my problem, Pia.” Bridget clasps her hands together like she’s praying. “You are very young. You have no relevant qualifications. You have no experience. You have no skills. You are fundamentally unemployable.”
    “Um—”
    “Why would any company pay you a monthly salary when you can’t help them make money? Not to mention the time and human resources they’ll waste training you. And they have no way of knowing if it’ll even be worth it.” She holds out her hands, palms up, as if testing for rain. “No experience. No job.”
    Every single interview I’ve had so far has ended right here. “But I can’t get experience unless I have a job!” I can’t keep the panic-squeak out of my voice. “What am I supposed to do?”
    She offers a smug smile. Some people are inordinately happy to tell other people that they’re screwed, have you ever noticed? “It’s a tough market. It’s the same across advertising, marketing, digital media … the roles are only going to the very best and brightest.”
    “Not me, then,” I say, trying to get a smile.
    A smile-free Bridget stands up. “Before you go, we have a ritual here that every candidate creates a digital intro of themselves, no matter how unpromising they are.”
    “A … what?” Unpromising? Bitch.
    “A digital intro. For our records,” she says, leading me into an open-floorplan office. She claps her hands to get the attention of her colleagues. “Everyone! This is Pia. Dave, do it!”
    A guy with overly gelled hair points a digital camera at me. “Who are you? And what are you looking for?”
    As the entire room stares at me, their expressions ranging from uninterested to indifferent, pure fear washes through me.
    I hate public speaking. Even if my voice shows up, I hate myself for being so hopeless. It’s like I’m standing beside myself saying “you are such a moron” the whole time.
    I can’t do this.
    “Go!” says Dave.
    “My name is,” I start, and my voice breaks and disappears. My brain is thumpety-thumpeting as Dave’s words ricochet around. Who am I? And what am I looking for?
    “Speak up!” shouts Bridget.
    I clear my throat quickly and start again, mumbling and racing through the words. “My name is Pia Keller. I’m twenty-two years old.” They’re