chapter 3
The Intern
Chapter 3: Fragile Balances
The gym was nearly empty at 5:00 a.m., just the way Harper preferred it. The fluorescent lights hummed softly above her as she shuffled toward the showers, her backpack slung over her shoulder. She paid for her gym membership in cash, scraping together enough from her waitress tips each month to cover the fee. It was a lifelineâone of the few places she could clean up and feel like a human being.
The steaming water cascaded over her tired body, washing away the grime of another restless night in her car. Harper leaned against the tile wall, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles. Her legs still burned from last nightâs shift at the diner, where sheâd been on her feet for six hours straight.
But she didnât have time to dwell on the fatigue. By the time she toweled off, dressed, and stuffed her damp hair into a messy bun, it was nearly 6:00 a.m. She still had homework to finish before school.
At the library, Harper claimed her usual corner table. The smell of books and the soft rustle of pages offered a strange comfort. She pulled out her laptopâan old model sheâd bought secondhand with money sheâd saved from the dinerâand powered it on.
The essay for her English class stared back at her. She adjusted the blazer she wore to cover her threadbare shirt and began typing furiously. The words flowed easily; writing was one of the few things she felt completely in control of.
By the time the first bell rang, Harper had finished the essay and even managed to skim a few chapters of her government textbook. She made her way to class, clutching her books tightly.
In AP Calculus, Harper solved equations with precision, earning a nod of approval from her teacher. In English, her essay was used as an example for the rest of the class. But the recognition didnât matter to her. All Harper cared about was staying aheadâproving to herself that her circumstances didnât define her.
After school, she walked to the diner, her stomach growling. There was no time to eat before her shift. The moment she stepped through the door, her manager barked, âHarper, table three needs water, and the counterâs a mess. Letâs move!â
âYes, sir,â she said, tying on her apron and diving into the familiar chaos.
The hours blurred togetherâplates clinking, orders shouted, the acrid smell of burnt coffee lingering in the air. Harperâs coworkers were friendly enough, but they didnât really know her. She was the quiet one, the dependable one who never complained, no matter how late the shift ran.
By 9:30 p.m., she was exhausted but relieved. Her shift was over, and she had made $37 in tips. It wasnât much, but it would keep her going another day.
Harper walked to her car, her feet aching with every step. She collapsed into the driverâs seat and leaned her head back, staring at the ceiling. For a moment, she let herself feel the weight of it allâthe constant juggling act, the gnawing hunger, the relentless pressure to keep going.
But then her phone buzzed. It was an email from Mr. Callahan:
"Great work on the McKinney summaries. Letâs talk tomorrow about a new case. Your input will be valuable."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. Despite everything, her efforts were paying off. She was proving herself, one small step at a time.
Harper pulled out a notebook and began sketching out ideas for the new case. The cramped space of her car faded from her mind as she lost herself in the work.
The world hadnât given her much, but Harper had something that couldnât be taken away: grit, intelligence, and a fierce determination to rise above her circumstances. As she worked late into the night, her exhaustion transformed into quiet resolve.
Tomorrow would bring more challenges, but Harper would face them head-onâjust like she always did.