Rejected No More: The Genius's Revenge

The room was exactly as he had left it, a museum of his teenage mediocrity. A faded poster of Green Day hung crookedly over the bed. The air smelled of dust and old paper.

Arlis sat at the desk, the glow of the CRT monitor illuminating his face in harsh blue light. The computer whirred and groaned, the modem screeching its digital handshake as it connected to the internet.

Welcome to AOL.

He ignored the cheerful voice and opened the browser. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a URL he hadn't needed in a lifetime. State Personnel Board - Rules and Regulations.

The connection was agonizingly slow. The progress bar inched forward, pixel by pixel. Arlis tapped his finger on the desk, a rapid, rhythmic sound. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Finally, the PDF loaded. He scrolled down. Page 104.

Supplemental Candidate Protocol.

Clause 4: In the event of two or more withdrawals within the primary selection tier prior to the interview phase, the selection committee is mandated to activate the reserve pool...

In his previous life, this clause had been triggered. But nobody knew. The HR department at City Hall had quietly slipped the slot to Candidate Number Six-Kyler Craft's cousin. It was nepotism, buried under bureaucracy.

Not this time.

Arlis opened his email client. He began to type. He didn't write like a student asking for a favor. He wrote like a lawyer threatening a lawsuit.

Subject: Inquiry Regarding Supplemental Candidate Activation - Protocol 104

To whom it may concern:

Regarding the candidacy status of Jacob Miller and Sarah Jenkins... respectfully request confirmation of adherence to State Personnel Board Regulation 104... failure to activate the reserve pool would constitute a procedural violation...

He didn't hit send. It was 2:00 AM on a Saturday. Sending it now would look desperate. He set the email to schedule for Monday, 8:00 AM sharp. It would be the first thing the clerk saw when she opened her inbox with her morning coffee.

Downstairs, the floorboards creaked. His parents were still awake, whispering. They were worried he was having a breakdown.

Arlis pushed his chair back and knelt by the bed. He dragged out a dusty cardboard box. Inside was his suit. It was polyester, charcoal gray, bought at a discount store for his high school graduation. It was wrinkled and sad.

He carried it to the ironing board set up in the hallway. He plugged in the iron, waiting for the hiss of steam.

He laid the jacket flat. As he pressed the hot metal against the fabric, watching the wrinkles vanish under the heat, he felt like he was ironing out the creases of his own soul. Every pass of the iron was a correction. Every hiss of steam was a purge of his past weakness.

The next morning, Arlis walked into the kitchen wearing the suit. It wasn't tailored, but it was clean, and he wore it with a posture that made it look expensive.

Frank was watching the small TV on the counter. "Crime rate in the East District is up again," the newscaster said.

"It's a deployment issue, not budget," Arlis said, pouring himself coffee. "The new Mayor is going to restructure the Third Precinct within six months."

Frank froze, the coffee pot hovering over his mug. "How do you know that?"

Arlis paused. "Just a guess, Dad. Can I borrow twenty bucks? I need to go to the library to print some documents."

Frank dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled bills-his tips from the entire previous day. He handed them over without hesitation. Arlis took the money, the texture of the worn paper feeling heavy in his hand. This is the last time, he promised himself.

The library was cool and quiet. Arlis printed the protocol and his updated resume. As he walked out into the bright sunlight, a shadow fell over him.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Dumped," a voice sneered.

Jody Hebert. Hailee's best friend. She was leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette, looking him up and down with disdain.

"Here to cry over a book? Or looking for the classifieds?" she asked, blowing smoke in his direction.

Arlis stopped. In his past life, Jody had been the poison in Hailee's ear, constantly whispering that Arlis wasn't good enough.

He rolled up the documents in his hand. He stepped closer to her, ignoring the smoke.

"Jody," he said calmly. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about your internship at the County Clerk's office. I hear they're doing budget cuts next week. Last in, first out."

Jody's smirk vanished. The cigarette hung loosely from her lips. That rumor hadn't gone public yet. It was her deepest fear.

"What... what are you talking about?" she stammered.

Arlis didn't answer. He walked past her, his shoes clicking on the pavement, heading toward the post office. He didn't look back.