Scarlett Edwards - Uncovering You: The Contract

But campus feels like a graveyard.

Today is the final day of exams. Everywhere you look, sleep-deprived students are trudging to and fro like cattle. The lucky few who had their last exams last week have long since abandoned campus.

Not me. Lilly Ryder is one of the zombies.

Fey is chattering in my ear. She is one of the only people I see with a smile on her face. It’s been plastered on there ever since Robin proposed last weekend.

She said, “Yes.”

“Lilly. Lilly, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh? What? I…” I shake my head. “No.”

She makes an annoyed click with her tongue. “I said, since Robin’s parents live in Oregon, when I go there this summer, we’ll take a road trip down the coast and visit you.” She beams. “Isn’t that great?”

I fake a smile. Normally, I’d be thrilled with her exuberance. But, today my mind is full of worry.

After today’s exam, I have exactly two hours to pack and rush to the airport. The little commuter plane will carry me to Logan International, where I have to run—no, outright sprint—to get on my connecting flight to San Francisco.

Even if I end up being seated next to a mother and her bawling baby, the six-hour flight will be a blessed relief from the GO-GO-GO bustle I’ve endured on campus for the past two weeks.

April was a whirlwind. I won the Barker Prize. Officially, the prestige of it is reward enough, but one unspoken perk—that I only learned of after I had accepted the certificate—is that winning puts you on the radar of the best consulting firms in the country.

In the span of one week, I received three different, unsolicited internship offers from the most prestigious firms in America. Forget Bain and McKinsey. These were firms where the only way in is if you are a son or daughter of a managing partner.

To say I was blinded by the offers is an understatement.

I had never considered a summer internship before. I had always preferred to work at some minimal wage outfit that would let my mind lie fallow during the precious summer months. Flipping burgers might not offer ideal working conditions, but I needed the time to recharge for another year of school.

The first two offers I rejected immediately because they demanded too many hours. But the third… the third caught my eye.

It came from a boutique firm called Corfu Consulting. It was in glorious, sunny Palo Alto. I would be set up with a team in charge of creating new advertising campaigns for the richest companies in the world.

I’ve never had a chance to flex my creative muscles before. The internship was everything I aspired toward. I would work with a professional team consisting of brilliant people. I would have a chance to apply my psychology education in the real world.

I pride myself on understanding people. I pride myself on knowing what makes them tick. I could channel all the insights I’ve gleaned from both my studies and from real life into creating the best advertising campaign the firm has ever seen.

In short, the third offer was perfect.

But accepting came with its own set of challenges. Suddenly, I was responsible not only for my six college course, but also for planning and officially signing my summer contract. I received phone calls from people at the firm congratulating me. Two Yale alumni who were former employees took me to dinner. And I had to write out an entire acceptance speech for the Barker Prize…

I did that the morning of the awards ceremony.

To say that I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of cows is an understatement.

“Well, aren’t you excited?” Fey prompts.

“Thrilled,” I sigh.

She stops and takes my arm, turning me toward her. “Lilly.” She says my name with conviction. “Are you sure the pressure’s not getting to you? You’ve always worked so hard. You deserve a break. This summer doesn’t have to be about work for you, you know. Think about it—this is the last summer we have as kids before the responsibilities of the real world come crashing down on our shoulders. Maybe we can go backpacking across Europe instead—just you, me, and Sonja? My parents will happily pay—”

“No.” I stop her. “Fey, I can’t take any more of their money. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Come on! They love you. That’s what family friends are for. Remember New Year’s?”

I do. Fey’s parents invited me and Sonja to visit, then surprised us by an all-expenses paid trip to Whistler, British Columbia, for a week-long ski trip. Sonja and I had no idea it was coming. We suspect Fey knew.

“Yes,” I say, “and I still feel rotten about not being able to pay them back yet.”

Fey makes that irritated noise again. “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t owe them anything. Family friends do that sort of thing for each other.”

“Not where I come from,” I mutter. Fey frowns, and I quickly continue, “I can’t back off now, Fey. I need the money to pay off my loans. Can you imagine how bad it’ll be if eighty percent of my salary goes toward them for five, hell, even ten years after graduating? At least this way I’ll get a head start.”

Fey chews the inside of her lip in thought.

“Okay,” she says finally. “I know how determined you are to make it on your own.” She squeezes me in a quick hug. “But if anything goes wrong, I want to be the first person you call, understand?”

“I promise,” I smile.

(Present day)

I did not renege on that promise.

I just avoided it. When things went wrong, I didn’t call anyone at all.

A little bit of saliva goes down the wrong way and I start to cough violently. My insides spasm and scream. I feel raw, stretched, and very, very thin. My whole body is wasting away in this prison.

I keep coughing, shaking with convulsions, until the fit finally goes away. My throat feels scratchy and blistered. I taste metal on my tongue. I don’t need any light to see that I’m coughing up blood.

I pride myself on understanding people?

I sneer at the naivety I once had. You can read every psychology book in the world and still be blindsided by the cruelty of the human heart.

I am at my very limit. I am a woman on the edge of a precipice. I know that I only have one choice right now:

Die, or sign the contract.

(One month ago)

I am pissed. Seriously, I’m pissed.

I am pacing around the posh downtown apartment given to me by the consulting firm, shocked and angered by what I’ve just heard.

“Miss, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here!” I snap into the receiver. “I’m here, in downtown Palo Alto, because your firm offered me employment. Where the hell else would I be?”

“I understand this must be a trying time for you. Your severance package includes specific benefits—”

“Don’t you DARE try to sell me on those benefits!” I explode. “I can read as well as anyone. Seven days’ notice? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s seven days to—” I can feel my temper getting the better of me.

I stop, take a deep breath, and continue in a sickly sweet voice, “Seven days to ‘vacate the premises,’ which is as good as an eviction. Where am I supposed to go after, huh? Tell me that. The school semester has already started, and Yale doesn’t accept late registrations!”

It’s no use. By the end of the sentence, I’m screaming at her again.

“Miss Ryder, I am simply relaying the information provided to me. You understand that I have no authority to change things?” The tone of voice the woman uses to pose the question is clearly intended to make me feel like an imbecile.

“And you understand that I will not just lie down and take this type of treatment like a beaten dog! Tell your boss that he should expect me on the doorstep of his office tomorrow morning demanding compensation for an unlawful breach of contract!”

I jam my thumb into the onscreen “end” icon, then hurl the phone across the room. It dents the wall and falls to the ground, shattered.

Good. I feel like breaking things.

That was undoubtedly the worst phone call of my life.

I fling myself onto the couch, bury my head in the pillows, then emit one long, drawn-out scream of utter frustration.

Three weeks ago I was a key member of a professional team put together to design a worldwide ad campaign for the client company’s upcoming launch of a new tech product. A combination of Apple TV, Roku, and all the top-set videogame consoles that have been so popular since the Xbox launched in 2005. It had all the potential to take the world by storm.

I was a key member of the lead team for the entire ad campaign. I was the one with the most valuable insights, the most exciting ideas. Everyone on the team recognized that. I got along splendidly with my coworkers. And even though I was just an intern, and they were full-time employees of the firm, not once did I feel disconnected from them.

Two weeks ago, the summer internship ended. While our work was far from finished, I was proud of my contribution. I thought I could expect a glowing letter of recommendation from my boss.

What I got instead blew my mind:

A year-long contract to stay with the firm and see the ad-campaign through to its launch. The value of the contract? $120,000, base, plus another fifty percent in performance bonuses.

If I earned the bonuses, I could wipe my college debt clean when I returned to school.

Of course I signed. I was even offered accommodations for the length of my full stay, not a block away from headquarters in Palo Alto. That incentive was worth another thirty or forty grand.

The paperwork was done in two days. I emailed my resident dean and told him I’d be taking a year-long leave of absence. He replied instantly expressing his excitement for me, and reminded me that I’d be welcome back next year. All the Ivy League schools are good about things like that. They want to maintain a pitch perfect graduation rate.

Next came the hard part: Phoning Sonja and Fey and telling them that I’d be bailing on our rooming arrangement. I expected them to be pissed.

Instead, like the good friends they are, all they said was how happy they were for me.

It felt like a dream come true.

All that brought me to today.

For the last few days, the client has been increasingly distant in communications with my team. I shrugged off the warning signs. Stuff like that is expected from time to time. These are huge multinationals, after all. No matter how much they might be paying my firm, they have other products, other responsibilities to take care of.

It was a slight annoyance at the worst. Nothing to lose sleep over…

That is, until the head of my team found us at noon today and asked us to go home early.

He said we have been working hard and deserved a break. Since it was Friday, we’d essentially be getting a three-day weekend.

That should have set off alarms in my head. But it wasn’t like I was the only one who’d been asked to leave. The whole team was dismissed early. We made plans to meet for dinner and drinks tonight at a swanky hipster bar.

No big deal, I thought… until I got the phone call from HR five minutes ago.

The client pulled out. The project was over. I’d be paid, prorated, for the two weeks of work. But no more. I’d have a week to give up the apartment.

It feels like my whole world is collapsing on itself. Good-bye, financial freedom. Good-bye, start of new life. Good-bye, beautiful Palo Alto.

In the span of thirty seconds, I’d basically been told that I am homeless, jobless, and have absolutely nowhere to turn.

Yale doesn’t take late registrations. No way. Never. Even coming back for the spring term would be a stretch. They like to have their students there from the start of the year. They work hard to build up a homey community, and don’t want it disrupted by newcomers halfway through the year.

Besides, most of the kids at Yale come from rich families. It’s not like they would hurt much if they fell into the same hole I find myself in.

Belatedly, I realize the pathetic futility of my threat over the phone. If I show up at my boss’s door tomorrow morning, I will wait two full days without seeing a soul.