Not Enough to Survive - Short Story! RobinRone 4 2
No Nice Girls
Whoever said "first impressions lie" was an idiot. First impressions are the only reason I've gotten as far in the business as I have.
Mizha didn't look like an agent. She looked like Daddy's princess, fresh out of high school. Her hair was too long and too blonde, and she wore the kind of suit tailored to look less expensive than it is. If she'd been wearing heels, I might have handed in my badge right then and there.
But she wasn't, so I settled for glowering at her. She had a shabby cardboard box in her arms, which she shifted to one hip so she could knock on my door. As if I couldn't see her through the glass walls of my officeand who designs an office with glass walls? I nodded at her through the glass. She met my eyes, hesitated, and opened the door. "Are youKali?"
"Sign's on the door, sweet cheeks," I said, propping my feet on the desk. "And you must be Mizha."
She bit her lip. "That's me," she said quietly. "It's, um, it's nice to meet you. I guess we're going to be
After my mother killed herself, Mizha locked herself in her room for three days. I found out later she went out through the window, bought a dime bag of pot, and smoked it in a sitting. She also marathoned Netflix's entire cache of Mythbusters.
I tried to become the primary chef in my house, since Mom was a homemaker, but unfortunately, I can't cook anything but souffles (go figure). I was trying to cook something to coax out Mizha, but everything, from scrambled eggs to brownies, turned into a black pancake. I ate a lot of sandwiches and spaghetti that week.
And my dad turned into a character from a Lifetime movie. By which I mean he adopted a troubled black teenager, apparently thinking we would learn a valuable life lesson. Or maybe he wanted to throw money at something until he felt better.
He told me while I was constructing the most epic peanut butter, banana, and marshmallow fluff sandwich in the history of creation. He sat down at the dinner table