"interested," I mean he'd set his whole heart on that class.
Now he wasn't going to be able to take it. Dammit.
"I doubt you bombed it," I tell him. "I saw you practice. You had that shit down pat, bro."
"Well then why wouldn't they pick me? Either I was good enough or I wasn't."
I shake my head hard. "That's not how it works. You can be good—hell, you can be great, and still not get something. Be it a position in school, a job, an award." I lean down a little to try and catch his eye. "A girl you like," I add, teasing a little. "Anything."
But he turns his head, refusing to meet my eye. "If I was good, I wouldn't have failed. End of story." He frowns deeply.
"Travis, trust me when I tell you, everyone in the world has failed at something."
"I bet you never have." He sticks his chin out, but he does at last look up at me.
I shoot him a small smile. "Kid, I've failed at so many damn things I've stopped being able to count. You think I got the first job I wanted? Or even the dozenth? I've been on probably a hundred interviews in my life, for everything from internships to college scholarship boards to jobs. And I failed most of them."
He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"
"My first job interview, they stopped me halfway through the interview and told me thanks for stopping by, but I could go home now." I sigh. That had been a shitty day.
Travis frowns. "But . . . weren't you sad about it?"
"Of course I was. I was devastated. I really, really wanted that job. It was, I thought, my dream job. Huge firm, working on the types of cases I always wanted to work on. Doing something that mattered. I practiced for days and days before I went into the office. And I didn't mess up or anything, that was the most annoying part. If I'd forgotten something, or said something dumb, I would've understood. But I was just me. And they didn't want me."
Travis crosses his arms as we stroll down the sidewalk, his eyes on the cars passing down the street now. We're heading vaguely in the direction of our usual spot, a coffee shop halfway between his high school and his house, where we go to work on homework assignments or practice his interview questions or sometimes just to hang out and shoot the shit before I need to walk him home at 5pm, when his mom finishes her shift at the car wash she runs.
"So what did you do?" he asks. "When they didn't want you."
"I went home, spent a night being sad and pissed and angry at myself and at them. Then the next day, I started my next application for the next job that sounded good." I offer him a shrug. "Confession: I didn't get that one either. Or the next five. But you know what?"
He shakes his head, watching me now.
"Eventually, I did get one. And it wasn't my dream job. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't what I thought I wanted to do. But I was surprised, too, because I liked it anyway. And then, after a year of doing that, I realized that my dream job from the year before, the one that I thought I wanted so bad? It wasn't actually what I wanted to do at all. I changed my mind. And then I applied for new types of jobs, went a whole different direction at work, into a side of law that I never thought I wanted to work in, and now I'm here." I spread my arms wide, and let my smile grow a few sizes, too.
Travis lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "And you like it? Your job now?"
"I love it," I tell him, and I mean every word of it. "I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . sometimes, when we fail, it's because there's something we never saw coming right around the corner. Something else that we're going to love even more, even if we don't know it exists right now."
He bobs his head from side-to-side, like he's considering my words. "I guess." He puffs out a long sigh. "But failing still sucks right now."
I laugh, softly, and clap him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Can't argue there, kid. It definitely still sucks now."
My eyes dart from the coffee shop to, farther up the street, a row of balloons, and a little
Now he wasn't going to be able to take it. Dammit.
"I doubt you bombed it," I tell him. "I saw you practice. You had that shit down pat, bro."
"Well then why wouldn't they pick me? Either I was good enough or I wasn't."
I shake my head hard. "That's not how it works. You can be good—hell, you can be great, and still not get something. Be it a position in school, a job, an award." I lean down a little to try and catch his eye. "A girl you like," I add, teasing a little. "Anything."
But he turns his head, refusing to meet my eye. "If I was good, I wouldn't have failed. End of story." He frowns deeply.
"Travis, trust me when I tell you, everyone in the world has failed at something."
"I bet you never have." He sticks his chin out, but he does at last look up at me.
I shoot him a small smile. "Kid, I've failed at so many damn things I've stopped being able to count. You think I got the first job I wanted? Or even the dozenth? I've been on probably a hundred interviews in my life, for everything from internships to college scholarship boards to jobs. And I failed most of them."
He lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"
"My first job interview, they stopped me halfway through the interview and told me thanks for stopping by, but I could go home now." I sigh. That had been a shitty day.
Travis frowns. "But . . . weren't you sad about it?"
"Of course I was. I was devastated. I really, really wanted that job. It was, I thought, my dream job. Huge firm, working on the types of cases I always wanted to work on. Doing something that mattered. I practiced for days and days before I went into the office. And I didn't mess up or anything, that was the most annoying part. If I'd forgotten something, or said something dumb, I would've understood. But I was just me. And they didn't want me."
Travis crosses his arms as we stroll down the sidewalk, his eyes on the cars passing down the street now. We're heading vaguely in the direction of our usual spot, a coffee shop halfway between his high school and his house, where we go to work on homework assignments or practice his interview questions or sometimes just to hang out and shoot the shit before I need to walk him home at 5pm, when his mom finishes her shift at the car wash she runs.
"So what did you do?" he asks. "When they didn't want you."
"I went home, spent a night being sad and pissed and angry at myself and at them. Then the next day, I started my next application for the next job that sounded good." I offer him a shrug. "Confession: I didn't get that one either. Or the next five. But you know what?"
He shakes his head, watching me now.
"Eventually, I did get one. And it wasn't my dream job. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't what I thought I wanted to do. But I was surprised, too, because I liked it anyway. And then, after a year of doing that, I realized that my dream job from the year before, the one that I thought I wanted so bad? It wasn't actually what I wanted to do at all. I changed my mind. And then I applied for new types of jobs, went a whole different direction at work, into a side of law that I never thought I wanted to work in, and now I'm here." I spread my arms wide, and let my smile grow a few sizes, too.
Travis lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "And you like it? Your job now?"
"I love it," I tell him, and I mean every word of it. "I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . sometimes, when we fail, it's because there's something we never saw coming right around the corner. Something else that we're going to love even more, even if we don't know it exists right now."
He bobs his head from side-to-side, like he's considering my words. "I guess." He puffs out a long sigh. "But failing still sucks right now."
I laugh, softly, and clap him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Can't argue there, kid. It definitely still sucks now."
My eyes dart from the coffee shop to, farther up the street, a row of balloons, and a little
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