John arrived at the Department of Education at 7:45 AM, fifteen minutes early.
He’d spent the morning getting ready, showering, shaving, dressing in his new clothes, and eating a small breakfast at a diner near the motel.
He felt nervous in a way he hadn’t felt since his first day of teaching, all those years ago.
The butterflies in his stomach were the same, that familiar flutter of anticipation and dread.
The building was a stately brick structure on the edge of the capitol complex, with a sign out front that read “New Hampshire Department of Education.”
John walked through the doors and found himself in a lobby that smelled of old paper and floor wax.
A security guard sat at a desk near the entrance, a middle aged man with a bored expression and a cup of coffee.
“Can I help you?” the guard asked.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Henderson,” John said.
“I’m starting work today.”
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
“You’re new?”
“Yes. I’m Sam Wallace. I’m supposed to report to Room 307.”
The guard studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
He picked up a phone and dialed a number, speaking into it in low tones.
After a moment, he hung up and gestured toward the elevator.
“Room 307. Third floor. Take the stairs or the elevator, your choice. Make sure you sign in at the front desk.”
John took the stairs, his footsteps echoing on the concrete.
The building was quiet at this hour, the corridors empty, the offices still dark.
He found Room 307 and knocked on the door. New chapters come out on novelping.com first.
“Come in.”
He pushed open the door and found a small office, cluttered with papers and books.
A woman in her late forties sat behind a desk.
Margaret Henderson, the HR director he’d met the day before.
She looked up as he entered and smiled.
“Sam. Good to see you. Right on time.”
John stepped into the office and took a seat.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mrs. Henderson.”
She waved a hand dismissively.
“Call me Margaret. We’re not formal here.”
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the desk.
“This is your employment packet. It’s got all the forms you need to fill out, tax withholding, direct deposit authorization, emergency contact information. I’ll need your Social Security number when you get it.”
John opened the folder and glanced at the forms.
They were familiar.
He’d filled out versions of these a hundred times before, in his old life.
But these had a different feel to them.
The typeface was different.
Everything was just a little bit older, a little bit slower.
“We have a small orientation session this afternoon,” Margaret continued.
“But first, I need to introduce you to Harold. He’s the one you’ll be working with directly. He’s in Room 402, just up the hall.”
John followed Margaret out of the office and up another flight of stairs.
Room 402 was larger than the HR office, with a window that looked out onto the capitol building.
A man sat behind the desk, his sleeves rolled up, his glasses perched on his nose.
It was the same man John had met a few days earlier, the one who had been struggling with the curriculum draft.
“Harold,” Margaret said, “this is Sam Wallace. He’s our new research assistant.”
Harold looked up, and his face broke into a wide smile.
“Sam! I knew you’d be here. I got a good feeling about you.”
John shook his hand, the same hand he’d shaken in the library a few days before.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Morrison.”
“Call me Harold. And trust me, the opportunity’s all mine. I’ve been drowning in this curriculum draft for weeks. You have no idea how much I need someone who can actually write.”
Margaret excused herself, leaving John and Harold alone.
Harold gestured to a chair, and John sat down.
“Let me tell you what we’re working on,” Harold said.