Page 33 of Famous for a Living

“Roomies,” I say, suddenly aware that Mina is waiting on me to reply. I look down at the wad of sheets in my hands. “Terrific. Roomies.”

Chapter 5

The 9-to-5 Life

I step inside the primitive log cabin that, aside from the sign describing it as the “office,” looks no different than any of the several other log cabin–style buildings I’ve seen along our walk.

I clasp the thirty-two ounces of cold-brew coffee Mina insisted on pouring into a mason jar. My hand is freezing, begging to be tucked inside the pocket of my heated coat instead of holding the iced beverage. But with Mina smiling at me every five seconds as she glances from the drink to me, watching my progress, I hang tight.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her I went vegan two years ago. So instead, I took every moment I could on the short walk through the woods to let out a little onto the snow as I went, sprinkling the path with iced coffee like a grown-up version of Hansel and Gretel.

Thankfully Mina is one of those people who likes to talk a lot, and as expressively as possible. Most of the walk she was so busy throwing her hands around while describing the “thrills” of her job that she didn’t have the space to notice.

The weather is just as icicle-cold as it was last night, only now a little golden ball of sunshine shines overhead on the glittering snow.

Everything looks less ominous in the daylight. Even the three Dracula-fang mountains in the distance.

A young ranger, late teens to early twenties, with thin hairs of goateed chin quivering, speaks as I shut the door behind me. “For the hundredth time, that’s not what happened. I had to go to the bathroom.”

A second ranger, far bulkier than the first, laughs. “That’s the story you’re going to stick with, Kevin. You stepped on that hose and threw two hundred programs on the ground while hightailing it like your clothes were on fire, all because you had to whiz. It had nothing to do with thinking you stepped on a snake.”

Quietly, I step away from the door.

The office is everything and also nothing like what I expected. A bear rug lies on the floor, and dull, standard-issue waiting chairs sit in the corner. Official government posters hang on the walls, reminding people of commonsense rules: Do Not Feed the Bears and Leave No Trace. The air smells of microwaved ramen noodles, coffee, and like everything else here, wood.

All of this I expected, down to the little empty corner desk where I, presumably, will take up residence. Above it, an ancient-looking saddle, dark as espresso beans, hangs on the wall.

The younger ranger pushes up his bony shoulders. “I told you, Jax. No.”

It’s only now that I realize something is slithering slowly on the bulkier ranger’s open hand.

“Because that would be really, really stupid, wouldn’t it?” Jax moves the small, vibrantly colored red, yellow, and black snake away as it tries to sneak its head inside his sleeve. “Given all the snakes are hiberating—”

“Brumating, you imbecile,” Kevin interjects.

“—and you won’t find a snake up and at it for a thousand miles. Well, except for Daisy.” He moves the snake into the hand closer to Kevin, who takes three steps back.

“Stop it.”

“C’mon, Intern Lilly. This is part of your job. You’ll never make it to the big leagues with that attitude.”

“Having a healthy respect for wildlife is my job.” He takes another step back. “There is nothing in my job description that says I have to touch them.”

“They aren’t venomous and don’t bite.”

Kevin’s frown deepens. “Of course they bite. The Lampropeltis gentilis species rarely bite. That doesn’t mean they can’t. And given you keep it up during the day, agitating its crepuscular and nocturnal habits, I wouldn’t be surprised if it does get you, which you’d rightfully deserve.” The snake’s tail slowly lifts, and Kevin’s eyes widen as he shakes a finger at it. “Look at his tail. He’s vibrating it! Now you’ve done it!”

Jax lifts the snake to his face, looking at it eye to eye. “Kevin. Six-year-old girls handle Daisy—”

“Unlike you, I don’t aspire to the lifestyle decisions of six-year-old girls—”

An elderly woman raps on her receptionist desk with a purple cane. “Boys, stop fighting before you scare off our company.” She adjusts a tilted photo frame. “And get off my desk.”

Jax, who to this point had been sitting on the corner of it, is pushed to standing by the butt of the cane. He and his coworker turn to see who’s at the door.

Immediately the skinny, skittish ranger sees Mina and jolts upright as if his hand were caught in a candy jar. As for the guy with the snake . . . well . . .

“Well, hello there.” His voice and the way he slides my way hit somewhere between used-car salesman and playboy. Or both.