Sure Thing(10)

“Yes, I’m listening.” I’ve really turned into a liar in the last twenty-four hours, haven’t I?

“So it’s no biggie, Vi. Do it or don’t. Stay or go.”

“It’s no biggie? You’ll get fired if I go home, Daisy. Because this tour starts in five minutes and you’re not here. Where are you anyway? Are you in an airport? It sounds like you’re in an airport. And how can you be so blasé about getting fired? Getting fired is a really big deal, Daisy.” I would know.

“Getting fired is not that big a deal. I keep telling you that. Perspective, Vi. You’re not homeless or hungry, and getting fired is not an ending, it’s a beginning. A beginning to something bigger and better,” she says in that dreamy way that only my sister can. “Life changes every single day. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring, believe me. Seize the fucking day.”

“What is so urgent that you’re willing to jeopardize this job anyway? It’s a pretty sweet gig for you.” Daisy’s main focus is travel blogging, but these tours essentially allow her to double-dip. She gets paid for doing the tours and during her downtime takes photographs and searches out hidden gems a large tour group couldn’t do, but which are perfect material for her blog. She’s built her blog from nothing to making a good income from ads and affiliate links and she works for herself so it’s easy to manage around her schedule with Sutton Travel. It’s ideal and she’d be crazy to give it up.

“I’ve got a thing to do,” she says breezily.

A thing. I’m not sure I even want to know.

“I’m hanging up now,” she says. “Just get on the bus, Violet. You can fake your way through this tour. You’ve seen me do it, it’s not that complicated. And I gave you step-by-step notes.”

“I’m gonna mess it up.” I swallow in dread. “How can I possibly give a tour I’ve only been on once?” I did tag along on this same tour last month when it was undersold and she had a few empty seats on the bus. I wasn’t really paying attention though. I spent most of that trip spying on Mark’s Facebook page, which is idiotic. But at the time it felt so necessary.

“They don’t know that, Violet. We’ve been over this. No one on that tour is going to know you don’t know what you’re doing. None of them are even American. You can tell them whatever you want. Just smile and make sure you don’t lose anyone during a bathroom stop and you’re golden.”

“You’re making the assumption that only Americans know American history?” I question her, for the tenth time. This idea is lunacy.

“I’m making the assumption that you don’t have a job and you could use the paycheck that Sutton Travel is going to give me for this tour. Which I’ll transfer to your account.”

Touché.

But it’s true. And I have zero interviews scheduled for this week. Nada. I’ve been sending résumés for six months and I’ve done nothing but go on interviews for positions I don’t even want and don’t get offered. Which just makes me feel like shit because I can’t even turn down something I’m not interested in.

“And I know that you can follow the script I wrote well enough to fake your way past an assortment of tourists from other countries,” she adds. “You’re not an idiot. It’s not like you’re going to mistake the White House for the Capitol Building. Just follow the cheat sheet I made for you.”

“Just follow the cheat sheet,” I repeat. It’s ironic, since cheating got Daisy through most of high school.

“The bus driver has the route and all the stops are prearranged. You’re handing the group over to local experts in Washington and Gettysburg. You’re practically just dropping them off and picking them up. You got this.”

“Right.” I blow out a breath and eye the bus again. “And you haven’t done any tours with this bus driver, right? Tom? He’s not going to expect me to know him?”

“Nope. I told you there’s at least a couple hundred drivers. I rarely saw the same one twice and I’ve never met this one. You’re good.”

“Okay,” I mumble. “This is still a terrible idea.”

“It’s a genius idea,” she replies, full of confidence. “Besides, if you don’t show up all those tourists are going to be stranded.”

“That’s not true,” I reply slowly, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me.

“It’s sort of true. Your first airport pickup is in less than an hour. The company wouldn’t be able to get a replacement there that quickly. Just think of all those nice Canadians standing at the airport check-in spot wondering where you are.”