The day started with boxes. Endless boxes. Boxes that were scattered all over the floors of Banks Avery’s new apartment. She had moved in the day before, and had slept on her mattress on the floor in the dining room under a low hanging light bulb that she couldn’t quite convince to turn on. Now the dim sunlight streamed into the dining room through a nearby window rain pattered softly on the glass, and Banks was very quickly finding out that perhaps the dining room floor was not such a good place to fall asleep. She rolled over on the mattress and looked at her phone to check the time. Her phone screen lit up and showed a darkened blurred version of her owl lockscreen, a missed call from her brother, and the time which was 8:07am.
Banks let out a tired moan and flopped her face into a pillow that she’d hastily thrown on to the mattress the previous night before collapsing and passing out. Her phone buzz, buzz, buzzed and she turned her head to see who was bothering her now.
Brother: Get up
Brother: Call me
Brother: Unpack things
Brother: Ur lazy
She reached out a hand and swiped left on the text and quickly typed Elliot let me sleep. She closed her eyes and tried very desperately to go back to sleep.
Brother: You never sleep anyway. Why start now?? Just unpack. You’ll feel better.
And because she knew he was right Banks Avery sat up. She was greeted by the sight of endless boxes. Banks stood up and ran her fingers through her collarbone length wavy hair pulling the mousey mess into a loose ponytail, a few stray pieces framed her face. It was a look that she was use to, one that took very little time to put together-- a necessity for art school.
Banks was an artist, or she wanted to be one. She had taken art classes all through high school, and even graduated early with a portfolio that somehow got her into art school which in turn was it its own boat load of work. For three years (graduating early again) she worked herself through art school with minimal help from Elliot, her older half brother, who had insisted on paying at least a small portion of tuition. Now that she was out of school it was her own job to take care of herself and sell her art. It seems a lot easier than it actually is.
After putting together the better part of her apartment. Banks threw herself onto her sofa to gaze up at the ceiling in her living room.
“Well that’s gonna to change.” she muttered to herself observing the bleak white ceiling. And for the time since she woke up this morning she felt completely awake. Banks ran down the hall and threw cloths that were acceptable for walking around in public, and headed out into the strange new town.
The goal was to find paint for her ceiling. Banks did not find paint. What she found instead was Jimmy’s. Jimmy’s Used Bookstore was a small, cluttered bookstore what was coated in books, and Conveniently for Banks, looking for help. Banks took the Help wanted sign from the window and walked inside.
“Hello?” she said A man poked his head out and narrowed his eyes at her. Banks smiled and held up the sign. The man nodded slightly and extended his hand
“The name’s Jimmy.”
“Any prior experience?”
“Umm I’ve sold a few pieces of art before.” She said sheepishly. He nodded
“You’re hired Banks.” her face lit up.
“Really! Urm- I mean thank you sir.” Jimmy shook his head and smiled
“Were really short on staff, when can you start?”
“Monday it is then.” And Jimmy shook her hand again.
Banks stepped out of Jimmy’s Used Bookstore and onto the rainy curb. She called Elliot. The dialing sound echoed in her ear as the rain tat tat tated on the cobblestone sidewalk of Pixie Lane.
“Guess what.” she said when he picked up
“What?” an unenthusiastic Elliot replied.
“I got a job.”
“Selling your art?”
“No at a used bookstore, it’s so---” her voice was droned out by the sound of police cars screeching past her on the street, sirens blaring. “Huh I wonder what that’s all about”
“Sounds bad.” Elliot said and went on lecturing her about how it was important to be focused on selling her art instead of finding a job to fill up her time better spent making art. But Banks wasn’t listening anymore. She was just staring after the police cars. Elliot was right it did look bad.