“If I start now,” I say slowly, “it means I can come in an hour late another day. Or leave early tonight…?”

“Yes!” Manager snaps upright. “Of course! This is fair. And …” He looks me up and down. “Do you have bento today?” I shake my head. “Ah! Okay, that’s great; don’t worry. I buy you lunch. And something from HORUS! More Totoro? Okay?”

Shit. He’s onto my new weakness. “What time is she supposed to be here?”

“Bucho called from her station,” Yoshino says. “They should be here soon. Is that right, Manager?”

“Yes, very soon. Because, Bucho comes from Osaka. So maybe, in fifteen or twenty minutes.” Manager offers to take my coat and bag. “Please. Get ready, in Room One, and I …” He gestures to imply he’ll put away my stuff as he disappears into the staff room. Behind the sliding door, he yells in Japanese: “Lieko! Move this bag! What do you carry in here, your first-born child?!”

Huh. This interview is important.

Fifteen and twenty minutes come and go without any sign of Bucho. The short hand on the clock above the door inches along until it points at the number ten. My Baby Zero class doesn’t start for another hour, so I really have nothing else to do but wait for her and this mystery teacher candidate. As I sit with my list of questions and a pencil in the tiny classroom, my co-workers run up and down the hall like the Queen of England is on her way. Despite all the cleaning we do around here, heads bob back and forth past the window, along with giant yellow gloves and our white rag towels. I feel like I’m in a madhouse. Then I hear the elevator doors chime as Manager yells, “Urusai! Shizuka ni shiro!” before his voice goes up three octaves to greet Bucho. A chorus of high-pitched voices echoes him. Voices continue, muffled.

Shit, now I’m nervous. I duck my head so it looks like I’m reviewing my questions. My stomach growls again, louder and more impatient. I want this interview over with so I can grab something quick, like a sandwich from Family Mart. A sandwich … multiple sandwiches. Tuna, egg, tonkatsu with lots of sauce on soft, pillowy bread. I’m so hungry.

“Cybelle!” Manager sticks his head through the door. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He stares at me until I clarify, “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Okay! Thank you for your patience.” He disappears down the hall. I hear him ask the interview candidate in Japanese if they’re all right, or if they need another minute to get ready. “Great!” Manager continues in English. “Please, right this way …”