The Way It Works by William Kowalski Page B

I’ve got a few responses from some interviews last week. Nothing very promising. Oh well. Never give up. That’s my motto.
    I print out a few more copies of my résumé. Then I wait in line to pay for them.
    The Asian lady leaves. Then it’s my turn.
    â€œHi,” Yolanda says. Real friendly. She leans forward, rests her chin on her hand. “How are you today?”
    â€œReal good,” I say. Then I swallow hard and decide to go for it. What the heck? I’ve been wanting to talk to this girl for weeks. It’s not gonna happen unless I make it happen.
    â€œDid I just hear you speaking Chinese?” I ask.
    She smiles.
    â€œYes, you did,” she says. “Mandarin, actually.”
    â€œAnd…you speak Mandarin why ?”
    â€œMy mom is Chinese. I grew up speaking to her in Mandarin and to my dad in English.”
    â€œYou’re kidding,” I say. “So, you’re half Chinese and half black?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œWow. That’s quite a mix.”
    â€œSure is,” she says.
    â€œMe, I’m half black and half white,”
    I tell her.
    â€œAre those copies everything for today?”
    Uh-oh. Maybe I’ve gone too far. She doesn’t want to talk about this. I’m just one more customer, being too nosy. Better make a joke, then leave on a high note.
    â€œBeing mixed race sure can be interesting,” I say. “I remember one time, I was in a store with my moms. The guy behind the counter whispers to her, ‘Did you know there’s a black guy following you around?’ And she goes, ‘Yeah, he’s my son.’”
    Yolanda laughs at that. Her teeth are perfect, like two rows of polished gems.
    â€œYour mom is white?” she says.
    â€œShe passed away a little while ago.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that.”
    I give her a small bill from my precious stash. I carry my money on me at all times, in a big roll. This is partly for security. I don’t trust banks. And it’s partly because I like to flash a wad from time to time. It’s a good way to impress people. Because would Yolanda be talking to me if she knew I was homeless? No way.
    Yolanda gives me my change.
    â€œYou want something to put those copies in?” she says.
    â€œSure,” I say.
    She slides them into a paper bag. But first, I notice she peeks at them.
    â€œRésumés, huh?” she says.
    â€œYeah. I’m doin’ the job-hunt thing.”
    â€œWhat kind of job are you looking for?”
    â€œFinance,” I say. “Anything to do with finance. That’s my field.”
    â€œImpressive,” she says, smiling again.
    â€œThanks,” I say. And then, before I even know what I’m doing, I say, “I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime. I think we’d have a lot of fun. What do you say?”
    She looks at me like she can’t believe what she just heard. I can’t believe it either. I wasn’t even planning on asking. It just slipped out.
    â€œDinner?” she says, real casual. “Sure.
    When?”
    I make a big show of looking up at the ceiling, like I’m running through dates in my head. Then I smile.
    â€œTonight?” I say.
    She shrugs.
    â€œOkay,” she says. “Let me write my address down for you.”

CHAPTER THREE
    O nly after I leave the postal center do I realize what I’ve done. I’ve committed to picking Yolanda up in seven hours. But there’s no way I can let her see my car. Not in the shape it’s in. I have to clean it.
    But first, I have to find someplace to put my stuff. And I still have my daily rounds to make. The world doesn’t stop just because I have a date. I still need a job. I’m going to have to hurry to get everything done in time.
    I go through the same routine, knocking on doors, sitting through interviews. But it’s the same old story. Either I don’t have enough education, or