“What is it we say in this office, Peyote?”

Trey shot his hand into the air.

“Which saying are we talking about, exactly?”

“Ooh!” Trey shouted. “I know!”

“Mr. Trip?” KQ prodded.

“No excuses,” I said, my cheeks hot.

“I knew that,” Trey said.

I pulled four pens from my pen case and clicked the back of the fifth.

It wouldn’t write.

“Now that we all know that excuses are not an option, what else do we have to say for ourselves? Our numbers are decreasing. With the Internet, people are turning to different solutions for their problems. Trey? Tell the newbs which pitch you went with to land Norwood,” KQ said as she kicked her heels up on the table. I could see where her stilettos had sunk into the dirt on her walk over. I could see little scraps of grass. They reminded me of the beard hairs I used to find under my fingernails after scraping off faces with sandpaper.

“Well,” Trey said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together, thinking. He always made a big deal out of thinking. It seemed to require a great amount of concentration. “I’ve been watching this guy for a while, so when his firm’s Tokyo deal fell through, I knew I had him. You know his wife just bought that fifth horse, right? And his daughter was about to get married, in Nantucket.”

Everyone snickered.

“So I went with a standard SnowFlake, with some slight adjustments, of course.”

KQ pulled off one shoe and kneaded her foot.

“Does everyone know what a SnowFlake is? Because you’d better.”

The woman next to me put her hand up and then pulled it right back down.

“Newbie wants a turn!”

“Oh, no, I just thought—”

“What’s your name, little mouse?”

“Oh, I—”

“If you don’t have a name yet, I can give you one. How about Churchy? Or Squeaks?”

“I—”

“Disease-Carrying Vermin?”

“I’m Cal,” she said, before clearing her throat and sitting up straight. “Calamity Ganon. Like in the video game? But everyone calls me Cal.”

“Cal? Meh. I think I’ll stick with Squeaks,” KQ said. “So, go ahead, Squeaks. What’s a SnowFlake?”

Cal put her hand on her orientation binder but didn’t open it.

“It’s when the sales associate uses flattery and validation to—”

“It’s ego fellatio,” Trey interrupted. “Tell them they are special, that you’ve been waiting for them. That they have some kind of bigger purpose. Humans love that shit.”

“Did you tell him who you are? What he was trading?” Cal asked, her high and apologetic voice all but confirming the permanence of her new nickname.

Trey scoffed. “I handed him the tablet, if that’s what you mean.”