The Position Read Online Free

civic values of community and purity and social virtue. Also, it’s an aesthetic work of art.”  
    Lazarus stares at me for a long time. He closes the folder and tosses it onto his desk. “Why did Eva say you weren’t qualified?”  
    I clear my throat. “Well, we could start with the obvious.” I look down at my damp filthy clothes. “Plus, she says you don’t hire new graduates. That I should go get an internship somewhere. Get a little experience.”  
    “Oh, bullshit,” he mutters. He studies me as I sit squirming in my chair. My heart is racing and I realize that I’m clenching my fists in anticipation. Jude Lazarus has the power to change my life. *Oh, please. Oh, please. Oh, please.*  
    Finally, he nods to himself, decision made.  
    “Frankly, Michaela,” he says getting to his feet. “I think you were made for this position.”  

Chapter Four

      I’m in too bad a state to clean up at the gas station or try to pay my way into the YMCA to take a shower. There’s no choice but to go to Travis’s place. It isn’t too far from downtown, but the rain is falling harder than ever and by the time I arrive, I am a shivering, waterlogged wreck. And yet, I feel like I’m floating.  
    There haven’t been a lot of truly good souls in my life. In fact, I seem to be a magnet for degenerates and assholes. But Travis has been a loyal friend since our freshman year at Boulder and I always know I can count on him.  
    Though he isn’t exactly a trust fund baby, Travis’s family has money. They paid for every cent of his college and gave him a generous stipend for living expenses. Even now that he’s working as an accountant for a Denver nonprofit, he always knows they’ll bail him out if he needs it. Though I’m far too proud to take the money he’s offered me over the years, I often rely on him to keep me fed. I can only live so long eating baked beans out of a tin can in my car.  
    I stand on the porch of his cute rental house and ring the bell. He’s wired it up to play a Justin Bieber song instead of a chime. Ah, Travis and his ironic sense of humor. *Baby* gets through a whole verse and a couple of choruses by the time someone opens the door. It’s a young woman I’ve never seen. She’s got long blond hair, which is tangled and messy, a delicate, pretty face, and the kind of slender legs Travis goes for. She’s wearing nothing but one of his white tee shirts, which she pulls down self-consciously over her thighs, trying to better cover herself.  
    “Hi?” I say with a *who are you* question in my voice. Of course, I know who she is. One of Travis’s many conquests. Another factory line beauty that he will go through faster than a package of Fig Newtons. I tend to feel even frumpier and uglier just by hanging out in the same room with them. But they’re the ones who come and go, and I’m always the one who remains.  
    “Travis is in the shower,” she says, as if we’ve known each other for years.  
    She seems nice and I give her a friendly smile. “Michaela,” I say, holding out my hand.  
    “I figured,” she says shaking it with a little squeeze at the end for emphasis. “Travis talks about you all the time. I’m Liz. Come on in.” She stands to the side and nods at the front room. “I’ll even put on some pants for the occasion.”  
    I laugh. “Don’t go out of your way for little old me.”  
    This is the closest thing I have to a real home and I’m super comfortable here. Travis has tried to convince me to move in many times, saying he worries that someone is going to break into my car and rape me or worse. But there’s something inside me that won’t let him help. It’s not just Travis. I won’t take help from anyone. It’s not that I’m too proud, exactly. It’s more complicated than that. Years ago, when I left home in a major maelstrom, I swore to myself that I would make it without my parents; that I’d make it without anyone. And now I’m weirdly