My future smelled as smooth as raspberry vanilla with a hint of almond. Of course, the employment application for Koala Gelato just smelled dry and inky. Still, it felt like fame and fortune in my hands.

"Did you just smell that application?" Clara asked, squinting one eye in disdain. Clara, the cashier, always kept her nails blue. I bought gelato-rich italian ice cream from her at least twice a week. But now, elegant Clara thought I was weird for smelling paper.

I was determined that my first job would be at this sleek gelato shop. And now, one of its employees already thought I was weird. Great.

"Yes," I said. "Haven't you ever smelled something because it was exciting or important? Like your first driver's license? Or the newest book in your favorite series? Or your locker on the first day of school?"

"No. Definitely not . . . Melanie Parson," she said, reading my name off the application.

Now she thinks I am even weirder! Surely, she would tell her boss which girl was the freak. Why do I have the gift of always saying the wrong thing?

"Oh. Umm. I was just trying to say that I'm excited about this application because I believe in your company."

"Yeah. The lazy Mexicans across the food court believe in their company, too. And it hasn't gotten them very far."

Forget about racist Clara, I told myself. She isn't the one who hires people. Soon, I would be wearing a thin gray apron with blue trim. I would build cookie sculptures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa with honey flavored ice cream. The mall would hum and shuffle all around me as I watched from the center of the food court. They would pay me to chat with shoppers and smile at boys.

A cute boy stood behind me in line right then, actually. I practiced a smile on him as I turned to go.

"Do you seriously smell your locker?!" he smirked.

My future smelled as stale as cold fries and old salsa.

I stopped by Koala Gelato to ask about my application for the seventh time. First, I spent $4.16 on a medium-sized scoop of coconut breeze. Then, the manager told me they had no openings.

Actually, he asked me to repeat my name, then glanced at a note on my application. Then he told me that they had no openings. As if to say that they might have had an opening if I were someone else.

I couldn't accept defeat. This was my dream! Everybody's first job had to be food service. It was like a rite of passage. But Koala Gelato made the food court look stylish and cool. The teen employees there acted like they had already started careers and just did school on the side.

One day, I planned to be an engineer or an architect. For now, I was going to work at Koala Gelato. I was sure of it. I would do whatever it took to work there: apply again, beg the manager . . . anything. Maybe they'd need more workers in a few months.

My mom had never tried gelato, so she didn't understand my passion. She came home the next evening with an application for Mexicandy America, the restaurant that was trying to combine Mexican food with desserts and burgers. It was failing at all three.

"You wanted to work in the food court, right?" Mom said. "Mexicandy America is right across from Koala Gelato! You could get ice cream on your breaks."

"Mom. That place is revolting."

"You don't have to like the food to work there, Melanie. The way to get a job is by applying to lots of places. This is just one of the many jobs you can apply for."

"That place gives me the creeps. I'd rather not have a job than work there."

Mom pointed at the bills clamped to the refrigerator. "You know that's not an option, honey. I'm sorry, but that's how it is for us."

Ten months ago, Mom went to urgent care feeling lightheaded and short of breath. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital waiting room while Mom had heart surgery. She was in the hospital for five days. I went home to sleep because she made me. I went to school two of those days because she made me. Otherwise, I didn't leave her room.

I didn't cry, not once. I also didn't eat anything other than Doritos that whole week. Some people leak grief out of their eyes. They think they can drain it out of their system. I shoved mine into my mouth and tried to crush it up into microscopic cheese dust.

Everybody told us afterward that they were so thankful Mom made it. No one was thankful enough to help pay the hospital bills. Those bills put all the stress that the doctors had tried to suck out of Mom's veins right back in. We'd been keeping up with living expenses before the surgery but just barely. Mom needed help. That meant I needed a job. I didn't mind. At least, not until now. Not until it came to this.

I stopped complaining to Mom, but I also didn't surrender. Hutson County wasn't exactly overflowing with strip malls or major chains, but it had enough businesses that I knew I could get a job somewhere else. I'd sell clothes, scan groceries, or even pick up dog poop. Anything that offered a little more social standing than Mexicandy America.

The weeks ticked by, and Mom was right. No one was hiring.

"We just filled our opening last week," one manager said.

Another shoved my application under the counter. He never took his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. "Thanks so much. We'll give you a call," he muttered. Forget about that liar, I told myself. He smelled like wet laundry anyway.

"Sorry," said an older woman. "It's nothing personal, hon."

I stepped up my game for the next few weeks. I practiced my brightest smile in the bathroom mirror. I switched my Dr. Who hoodie for an Old Navy polo. Nothing said hire me like wearing a square of industrial carpet topped with a man's collar. For some reason, that still didn't work. I was reaching the end of my list.

Mom was nagging. Don't get me wrong, she didn't want to make me work, but we needed the money. We both knew it.

One morning, I found the Mexicandy America application on the kitchen table. It was already filled out in Mom's bubbly handwriting. A Post-it note marked the signature line. I stood over it, uncertain.

"Drop you off after school today?" she asked. Her eyes added, Please?

What could I do? I'd tried my way, and I'd lost.

I still didn't think it was really going to happen, but I had been defeated. So I handed my application to the man behind the register at Mexicandy America. Still, I figured they wouldn't hire me because I was too white and too blonde. Everyone who worked there was Mexican, not to mention male.

Instead, the manager didn't even read my paperwork. He said he would interview me. I thought he meant in a day or next week, but he meant right then at the side of the counter.

"Do you work hard?" he asked. José, his nametag said. Owner.

"I don't actually know. I've never had a job before."

"You will work hard," José said. "Okay then. Are you friendly with customers?"

"I think so. I mean sometimes I get annoyed or blurt out dumb things, like now."

"You will be friendly with customers. All the time."

Two out of two answers wrong. I didn't actually want the job, so I wasn't worried.

"Can you start tomorrow?" José asked.

A guy standing by the back leaned out and yelled something in Spanish. I didn't speak Spanish. That was another reason I shouldn't work there. I recognized one word from Dora the Explorer: bienvenidos. Welcome. He wore an apron the color of hot peppers. His hair was gelled up into a triangle in the middle of his head.

I was about to dazzle him with my stunning Spanish vocabulary: gracias. But then he chucked a long wooden spoon at me. I tried to catch it. Instead, I knocked it into my nose.

I blushed and turned to leave. This place was downright abusive. Then I saw Mom strolling into the food court to pick me up. She saw that I was talking to the manager. She threw on a cheesy grin and a double thumbs-up. Then she ducked around the corner to wait.

Dang it, I couldn't do this to her. What could I do? Lie to her and pretend I didn't get the job? Sorry, Mom. I'd rather you died of a heart attack than help pay for your recovery. See, I just dont want to spread pico de gallo on hamburger buns. Nothing personal.

"Yeah, I can start tomorrow." Like I said, I always gave the wrong answer.

I threw the spoon back at the rude cook. It missed him and flew into a chunk of metal above the grill. The cook rolled his eyes. José muttered a string of words that I assumed were curses. I glanced at Koala Gelato across the hall. Clara had her hands over her ears and a perfect-for-Instagram pout on her face.

Fries and salsa with a burnt tortilla cookie on the side. Great.