DAVID
Milo and Karina said David could stay while he found a place, and he added an apartment hunt to his job hunt. He should have moved out of his parents’ house while things were good; nobody would rent to him now that he was unemployed. He should have canceled the appointment with Dr. Pessoa, too, held off making his prospects worse by turning off the light, but the day came, and he committed. For one moment that night, peeling back the bandage, he imagined his Pilot had finally been silenced, but the fantasy didn’t last any longer than the thought.
In the first weeks after leaving BNL, he’d applied for the kinds of job he thought that position had prepared him for: communications, outreach. Whether because he didn’t have a college degree or because he couldn’t explain why he’d left BNL, nobody bit. He needed a different approach.
The first place he applied after getting his light turned off was the prison where he’d promoted Pilots not long before. He could be a compassionate guard; his parents would flip at the danger, but it was one option. He applied for jobs at the VA, security guard positions, a few others where his military experience might be valued.
When he came across a listing for a safety officer at his high school, he threw an application that way. The interview request came two days later: his first in weeks, with radio silence on all the others.
He arrived for the high school interview twenty minutes early, which put him squarely in Lunch Period One. He hadn’t taken a pill that morning, though he craved it. He waited in the car as long as he could, knowing the school would be all noise at this hour, from the second he exited the car, and his mission through the entire interview would be to hide that it bothered him; he’d forgotten how much it had bothered him as a student. He’d learned coping mechanisms that came back to him now, though none had been as effective as Quiet: count the tiles as you walk, or the bricks, or the lockers. Focus on that and only that. Tune out the voices, the chaotic movement, the knots of students everywhere. Sweat pooled in the small of his back, and he was glad his moms had insisted that if he owned only one suit it should be a dark one.
The interview was in the vice principals’ office. He didn’t recognize their names and didn’t remember whether any of them were the same as when he’d attended. It hadn’t been that long, even if it felt like a lifetime; they probably still had access to his student records. Would that affect his chance at the job, if they saw he’d been a mediocre student whose teachers always wrote that he was strangely distracted for someone with a Pilot?
The receptionist looked at him like she was trying to place his face.
He smiled, to confuse her, since he never smiled in the commercials. “I’m here for an interview with Mr. Redding.”
“The chemistry teacher position?”
He shook his head. “Safety officer.”
“Ah. Great. Fill this out, please, and he’ll be with you shortly.”
The application she handed him basically asked for all the same information that had been on his résumé and the online application he’d already filled out. He had copies of both those documents with him, and would have liked to just hand them over instead, but he supposed this was part of the process. He balanced the clipboard on his knees to transfer the information from one page to the other in his best handwriting.
By the time he handed the clipboard back, it was five minutes past the interview’s scheduled time. The woman nodded and buzzed the intercom.
A tall Black man with a shaved head emerged from the office behind her. He looked young, maybe a few years older than David. A Pilot gleamed on his temple. “You’re David, of course—I’ve never had a celebrity in my office before. It’s an honor. Come in! Let’s chat.”
David shook Mr. Redding’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
They entered an office that breathed private endowment. The furniture was modern, all metal and glass and sharp angles, in contrast with the ivied outer walls. Redding gestured toward one of three orange chairs on the near side of the desk, then surprised David by sitting beside him, instead of behind his own desk. He had David’s clipboard in front of him and a tablet that displayed his résumé.
“So, David, is it strange to be back here?”
“A little,” David admitted. “I had to remind myself—” He was going to say that I was older than the students, but that sounded terrible in an interview. He finished with “—that it’s been a few years,” which sounded silly, but at least didn’t imply he couldn’t separate himself from the students he’d be protecting.
“I know the feeling,” said Redding. “I graduated a few years before you got here. They make it pretty easy to want to come back, I guess. I wasn’t famous like you, though. What piqued your interest in this position?”
“I wanted a new challenge.”
Redding raised an eyebrow.
David tried again. “I wanted a new challenge that didn’t involve selling something I’m not as enthusiastic about as I once was.”
“You were at BNL, I see. I wasn’t sure if you worked for them or just did their commercials.”
“Yeah. My position involved convincing people to get Pilots. They sent me everywhere: schools, hospitals, health fairs, prisons. I adapt well to new situations and meeting new people. I like being a friendly face.” He’d practiced ways to tie the two positions together. “And before that, I was in the military, so I’m comfortable in stressful and dangerous situations. I keep my head.”
There was a shout outside, and David turned toward the window.
“So what would you do in a situation where you found a—I’m sorry, I should have offered you something to drink. Do you need some water?”
David nodded, and the man crossed in front of him and left the room, returning a minute later with two mugs. The one for David had #1 teacher written on it and a cartoon cat. “Sorry for the mug; this is a coffee town. So, I was going to ask whether you have current CPR and first aid certification?”
“No, but I’ve taken them before and I can get them again. This weekend, if you want.” That hadn’t been the question he had started asking before he left the room, David was pretty sure.
“And why did you leave BNL?”
“I wanted to do something better reflecting my skill set. I’m not a salesperson.”
“What do you consider to be your skill set?”
“I’m a quick thinker. I’m good at being aware of my surroundings, and what should and shouldn’t be there. I’m good on a team. People trust me.”
“The familiar face probably helps with that.”
“Well, yes, sir, I guess, but even before that. Part of what I learned as a soldier was how to put people at ease, since my presence was by nature an intrusion in many situations.”
“And this is where your career has led you?” Something had changed around the time Redding had gone for water, but David couldn’t tell what it was. David thought he was still making a good case for the position, but Redding looked done.
“It was great to have you in, David. We’ll be in touch. Wait until I tell my wife you were here.”
It had been a bizarre interview. The one hypothetical question had been cut off midsentence, and after that, Redding hadn’t asked anything that felt applicable. What had caused him to go from enthusiastic to awkwardly uncomfortable?
It took a few days for David to realize. A few days, and three more interviews, all of which seemed oddly curt. It was his Pilot, or the lack thereof. Redding had been on the other side of him when he entered the office, and hadn’t seen that David didn’t have a Pilot until the noise outside had made him turn his head the other way. Then he’d gone for water to get a look at that side of David’s head and confirm it.
It was illegal to discriminate in a job interview because somebody didn’t have a Pilot, but how could you prove that was happening? They’d just say there was a more qualified candidate. The proof was right there on the side of your head, saying you were not as fast as you said you were, couldn’t possibly be, and even if you were, maybe something was wrong with you that you couldn’t have one.
It didn’t matter that his Pilot was still going strong, that his brain had adapted, that things were as chaotic as ever in his head. He had no light, so they didn’t think that was the case. They didn’t have to say it, or say anything; they simply wouldn’t call back. Not even at his alma mater, for a stupid security job he was overqualified for. He was screwed, and he’d brought it on himself.