1. You're On Your Own Kid

                                    

                                          
I didn't choose this town, I dream of getting out...
***
"Can you drive any faster?"
"Miss, I'm going as fast as the traffic allows me to." The taxi driver answered unbothered over the sound of bustling crowds and loud honks.
I looked outside from the window for like the twentieth time in the last five minutes and what seemed like an endless line of cars was still ahead of us. We were stuck in traffic, my leg was anxiously shaking from all the nerves and huge amounts of caffeine that I had ingested in the morning, but most importantly, time was running. 
My job interview was meant to start at 1:00 pm. It was 12:56 pm, and we were like five blocks away still.
I wasn't going to make it.
"Fuck it." I said without giving it much of a thought before roughly opening the door, throwing a ten dollar bill into the driver's hand and then started to run, "Thank you! Keep the change!"
I ran through the crowded streets of New York for what felt like an eternity with my bag in one hand and my heavy portfolio in the other. I felt sweat running down my forehead, my hair was falling out of place and my heels were on the edge of breaking.
When the tall building that was my destination came to view, I almost let out a relaxed breath, but there wasn't time for that, I needed to hurry up.
I rushed through the reception, briefly said that I had applied for the photographer position and then ran again towards the elevator. 
Once I was in my way up to the last floor, I put my dark hair in a low ponytail, fixed my now wrinkled clothes, applied a thick layer of lipgloss and splashed some perfume on my neck and wrists. 
The heavy elevator doors opened and my heart was beating fast when I entered the huge office of Luciana Bernardi, editor of one of the most important fashion magazines in the country. 
"Aspen White?" Luciana asked from behind her desk with a firm but bored voice. 
"Yes, that's me." I smiled, trying to hide the nervousness.
"You're late."
"I know and I'm so sorry about it." I started to apologize,  "But the traffic in this city is absolute shit."
Luciana's eyes slightly popped at me with surprise. Fuck. If I wanted the job, I probably shouldn't have been cursing at my potentially new boss. 
"Sorry." I said again. 
Luciana didn't say anything, but she started scanning me from head to toe, probably thinking if I truly was material for her magazine. Then, her eyes stopped at the portfolio that was impatiently waiting in my right hand. 
"Oh, right. I'm sorry." I handed her the black portfolio with shaky hands and took a seat in front of her. Had that been the third time I had apologized to her?
The woman started going through the pictures I had taken for the last two years. Pictures of family, some friends which I had practically begged them to pose for me, the life of new-yorkers I had encountered throughout time and other stuff I felt passionate about.
Luciana appeared to be carefully analyzing my work. Every time she flipped through the pages of my picture book, my heart threatened to bump straight out of my chest. I could barely hold the nerves.
"You have talent." Luciana said a few moments after she had finished to look at the whole portfolio and I couldn't help but smile. 
"Thank−"
"Unfortunately, I don't think this is the place for you." Luciana said before I could even express any sort of gratitude.
My smile faded in an instant.
"May I ask why?" The hopes of getting a dream job were now crushed. But at least, I wanted to know why. 
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she flipped the portfolio to one of my latest pictures and showed it to me. It was a picture of last year of my sister, Olive. She had been pregnant with my second niece at the time. She looked so incredibly happy and beautiful that day that I needed to immortalize the moment.
"What about it?" I asked, "I always felt that it was a good picture."
"It is, indeed." She answered, getting me confused, "But it is too personal, all of your photos are. Readers don't care about the subjects or their feelings, they care about the clothes. Your work it's too emotionally packed, which is not a bad thing but it is not what I need either."
It was the fourth time I had been rejected that month. I wasn't unemployed. I had part time jobs, like waiting tables in a coffee shop close to my house and I was a nanny on the weekends. I also had some photography jobs at local papers or small events, but nothing permanent.
I lived in a trashy apartment in Brooklyn with two other girls. My parents had offered me countless times to move in back with them, at least until I could find a better job, but I had always refused. I needed my space, my money and my freedom, but my options were more reduced every time. 
I was getting desperate.  
"Fuck." I exhaled heavily, taking my hand to my forehead. I suppose I didn't have to worry about cursing now.
"I'm sorry." Luciana now said, a bit of pity in her voice, "Like I said, you're talented, I can see you have a good eye. But you're not the person I'm looking for."
I said nothing. I was simply scolding me mentally. I should've probably taken more pictures to show my whole potential and perhaps−
"Although," She said and my eyes immediatly went to her. I hadn't noticed she was still flipping through my portfolio. She looked thoughtful, "I might know someone who could use this perspective."
"Who?"
"Send this to my assistant and give her your number." Luciana handed me back the portfolio, "She'll call you. Now leave. I have more interviews to attend."
I hesitantly did what she told me, leaving the office confused and disappointed.
***
The days passed. A week and then two went by. 
There had been no call from Luciana's team and no more job interviews in my schedule. 
Lately, I had been feeling tired and annoyed by anything. Probably the stress of needing more money, since my rent would be going up that month.
I took pictures anytime I could, but none of them seemed to be interesting. They were all boring and lifeless.  
I realized that I was slowly starting to lose faith, when a Tuesday afternoon, a completely unspecial day, I was having a smoke in my break at the coffee shop, when I recieved a mail that had me pinching myself just to see if I wasn't dreaming.
I needed it to be real. 
Dear miss White,
My name is Georgina Bernardi, I'm a publicity manager and my sister Luciana was kind enough to send me your information and some of your work. I have to say that I'm impressed. Despite your short experience, you have something that captured my eye and might be exactly what I've been looking for.
How would you feel about working in Scuderia Ferrari?
***
author's note:
I'm so excited to write this new story and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. Thank you for reading<3
question:
who's your favorite f1 driver?