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Sam wants a summer job in the worst way. A poster attracts his attention with an offer that might be just that!
What started out as a way to avoid heavy labor turned into something very much else! Sam takes the first steps on what may be a journey that changes his life. Is getting a good start on his college fund worth it?

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WunderGirl

Copyright© 2020 Shauna J. Rousseau
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: Photo 30023749 © Vladimir Nikulin - Dreamstime.com)

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~ Day 0 ~
 

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* * * * *
Sam
* * * * *
 

I look at myself in the mirror and grimace. It’s hard to believe that I turned fifteen yesterday. There’s no sign of puberty, and I look more like I’m thirteen. I’m beginning to worry, to be honest. Mom is super-model beautiful, and Dad could be Mr. Universe, he’s so buff. Both started developing on the early side of the curve, according to them, which so makes me feel better—not!

Gemma, my thirteen-year-old sister, is already well on her way to following in Mom’s beauty Goddess footsteps. Chad, my seventeen-year-old brother, started working out and bulking up at fourteen—but had obviously already hit puberty at thirteen—and could probably easily bench-press me.

I sigh and picture people at my funeral. Chad speaking my eulogy, “Poor Sam—he made it to a ripe old age. He just never made it to puberty!”

I shake my head and sigh.

Chad comes into my room and asks, “Ready, Squirt?” I sigh again—speak of the Devil. I whine, “Do we really have to do this, Chad? I don’t want a summer job—and I twice don’t want one at the lumberyard. Do I look like a lumber jack?”

He snorts, “Not likely! But you know if you want to go to college, you’re going to have to save up at least half the cost. Dad won’t budge on that! Gemma will have it easy—she’ll likely be able to win a bunch of beauty contests, like Mom, and rake in the easy cash. The most she’ll have to do is get a job as an ‘aide’ for Mom at the factory, if that doesn’t pan out. You and me, though—well, you know that Dad expects us to earn it the hard way.”

He adds with a smirk and a wink, “Besides, I don’t think you have quite the assets for a beauty win, any more than a body-building contest.”

I groan and pull on my sneakers. This is just so unfair! But I haven’t found anything else that would pay as well as old Mr. Rollings at the lumberyard. It’s a combination lumberyard and sawmill—there are actual lumberjacks that work there!

I dejectedly follow Chad to his car, and he screeches down the street in his usual way-too-fast driving manner.

I groan, “Chad! I don’t want a summer job, but I do want to live!”

He laughs and just guns it more. I close my eyes until we come to a stop and I hear him put the car in park. I open my eyes in surprise and see that we’re parked at the Quick Stop across from the WunderGirl factory where Mom works in accounting. It’s the headquarters for one of the world’s largest cosmetics companies and St. Cloud’s economic pride and joy.

I’d even rather work there than at the testosterone-filled lumberyard where I’ll be expected to do manual labor that I can’t keep up with—and will only be made fun of. All to make my summer oh so enjoyable.

Chad jumps out and says, “Hang tight, Squirt! I need to say ‘hi’ to Alice and get an Icey. Be right back!”

Alice is Chad’s newest conquest—a varsity high-school cheerleader and drop-dead gorgeous. I guess she must be hanging out here for some reason.

Left alone in the car, I look around in desperation and see a poster on the wall of the building. I can make out that it says something about an opportunity to make money. I get out of the car and curiously go over to read it.

I just get to the point that says it’s an opportunity to be a paid participant in a trial—with other potential options—at WunderGirl, and am about to turn away, when I hear someone behind me say, “Are you interested? You’d be perfect!”

 

* * * * *

Rhonda

* * * * *

 

I’m just about to give up for the day. I’ve been waiting for someone to bite on the poster for a couple of hours and, so far, there either hasn’t been any interest, or those that did go up weren’t what Dr. Greene is looking for.

Of course, Lissa thinks I’m a little crazy using a poster as bait to begin with—most of the advertising is now being done on social media. But this way, I can actually assess the person on the spot.

Just as I start to pack it in, a scrawny kid climbs out of a car to go up to the poster. I can tell he’s interested—until he reads the fine print. No matter, he’s ideal!

I quietly walk up behind him before he can turn around and ask in a friendly tone, “Are you interested? You’d be perfect!”

He turns in surprise and sort of hiccups, “Oh! Excuse me… Interested? I think they’re looking for someone else on this…” I smile—I can work with this.

I say in a smooth voice, “Well, the trial is for some new body care products. Are you worried that you’re not a girl? I mean, no offense, but you’re not, right? You’re not just a tomboy? I mean—not that it matters. The trial is for anyone—but they are actually looking for some guys…”

He jumps at that and asks, “Really? I mean, sorry—who are you? And how do you know this?”

I smile and apologize, “I’m sorry! I’m Rhonda. Rhonda Brown. I work for Dr. Greene over at WunderGirl. She’s running the trials. And you are?”

He seems dazed, but answers, “Sam. Sam Brinkley.”

I raise my eyebrow at that and inquire, “Any relation to Julia Brinkley in sales?”

He blinks and replies, “She’s my mother, yes.”

I kick one hip out in frustration. I’m not sure if that’s an issue, or not—to be honest. I decide to chance it. I ask, “So, are you interested? It’s really good money!”

He hesitates, then asks, “How much? What would I have to do?”

I smile. Bingo! Hooked!

I say in a honey-smooth voice, “Well, it depends on whether you qualify for the trial—and whether you sign up. Of course, your parents would have to sign for you… Then, there are additional opportunities for those that qualify. All-in-all, it can easily be in the high five figures, depending.”

He blinks comically and seems to be doing the math in his head—how long it would take him to make that much at a minimum-wage summer job. His eyes glaze over and he focuses back on me, as he asks, “How do I sign up?”

I smile and ask, “Do you have time to come with me?”

He says, “Just let me tell my brother…”

He goes into the store, then comes out after just a minute and leaves a note in the driver’s seat of the car before climbing into the car with me.

 

* * * * *

Melissa

* * * * *

 

I get Rhonda’s text and don’t know whether to be pissed or elated. She has a guinea pig, but it’s an employee’s kid. While that’s not necessarily an issue, it is an annoyance.

I look up Julia Brinkley’s employment history and smile. Oh, this will be easier than I thought! I make a few calls.

I’m just hanging up when Rhonda and the guinea pig come in. I put on my brightest smile and hold out my hand, “Hello, Dear. I’m Dr. Greene. Rhonda, I assume this is a prospective participant in our trial?”

She plays along perfectly and nods, “Yes, Dr. Greene. This is Sam Brinkley. Sam, this is Dr. Greene—the leader of the program I told you about.” I pick up her thread, “So, you’re interested in entering our little trial?”

He shyly shakes my hand and says, “Well, yes. I would certainly be interested. What would that mean, exactly?”

I smile sweetly and say, “Well, the basic trial would be you using certain experimental body care products. They may be the actual products—or they may be placebos. You wouldn’t know.”

He nods, so I continue, “There is a slight chance that there could be some reactions. We’ll test you to make sure you don’t have base allergies to anything, so there’s nothing life-threatening—but the whole point is to see what, if any effects there are. If you’re accepted in and make it through the whole trial—following all instructions—then you would be awarded compensation of ten thousand dollars.”

His eyes widen and I finish, “Depending on how things go, we might offer you other opportunities that could significantly increase that amount.”

I let that all settle in. He seems to be looking for a job of some sort. His best option would normally be at the lumberyard, making a dollar above minimum wage—doing hard labor.

I wait a beat then set the hook, “Still interested?”

He literally stutters, “Y…y…yes, Ma’am. B…b…but don’t my p…p…parents have to ap…p…rove?”

I smile and say, “Let me worry about your mother. You just sit down right in here and take this test for me…”

I take him to my conference room and hand him a standardized psychological profile test and pencil.

I go back to my office and close the door, then call his mother on the number in her file. She answers on the third ring and I say, “Julia? This is Lissa Greene from R&D at WG. I have your son here and he’s interested in entering the body care trial, to be compensated at the standard rate. Assuming he passes the entrance tests—psychological, blood, and allergen—I need to know that you will sign the paperwork. You’re being a WG employee is not a conflict in this instance.”

I hear silence for a bit, then finally she says, “Say what, now? Chad wants to enter the trial?”

I fight a frustrated gurgle and respond, “Sorry! No, this relates to Sam?”

There’s a gasp and she says, “But he’s only fifteen. It would be bad enough it were Chad!”

I sigh and say, “Actually, he seems to be the perfect subject for what we need—again, assuming there are no red flags in the testing. His age is not a factor—and whether he gets a placebo, or not, he would be compensated with an honorarium of ten grand. Do you really think he could make that at the lumberyard? He seems to be looking for some sort of summer employment.”

She hiccups and says, “Well, that would be a perfect start to his college fund. My husband insists that the kids contribute. There’s no danger is there?”

I assuage her fears, “Not at all. Like I told your son, we’re simply checking to see if the body care products do what they are designed to do. They are a completely new line, however—not just a reformulation—that’s why we’re going through full testing. The allergen testing will ensure that there are no life-threatening allergies to the product.”

I add the sugar. “There is also potentially the option for other contracts with WG, moving forward—maybe even some marketing contracts. You know what that means—I think you’ve been trying to get into that yourself? I could maybe pull some strings. If that would help sweeten the pot. I would really love to have Sam on the trial.”

I hear her catch her breath and know that I’ve caught my fish. I add on, “But, Julia—if he signs on to this, I need you to help me make sure that he follows all instructions to a ‘T’—and finishes the trial. He won’t get a penny if he doesn’t—and it will cost me a lot of money for nothing. There would also be other penalties for breaking the contract if that were to happen.”

She says, “Give him the tests and I’ll talk to Gary. Assume that we’ll sign. Do you need me to come over?”

I grin and reply, “Yes, if you could drop by in an hour, it would be great—assuming that I don’t give you a call that he failed one of the entrance tests.”

I call Ginny to set up for the allergy test, baseline measurements, and ‘before’ pictures. Then I go in to see about his progress on the psych profile. He’s done with the exam, so I hand him off to Ginny to administer her tests and then for Becky to take the pictures.

I take his profile sheet and quickly scan it into the test reader, then check the results. They’re perfect!

Thirty minutes later, Ginny buzzes me to let me know that there are no issues with allergies and that the baseline tests, bloodwork, and pictures are done. I go to her lab and tell him, “Your parents are on the way, Sam. You’ve passed the entrance tests. So, while we’re waiting for them to come sign the contract, Ginny can tell you about the products that you’ll be using. I’ll leave you with her, and we’ll meet you back in the conference room. OK?”

 

* * * * *

Ginny

* * * * *

 

Lissa leaves me alone with our newest test subject. I first check with Becky to make sure she’s good with the pictures, which she is. Then, I smile at him and say, “Well, the good news is that you didn’t have any reactions to the products! So, now let me tell you what you will be doing in the trial.”

I take out several opaque plastic bottles and jars in different colors. They each have a colored label printed with the content in large font, like ‘body wash’, ‘shampoo’, ‘conditioner’, and so on. The labels also have instructions on them for how to use the products.

I hold up the bottles containing the shampoo and conditioner and look at his dirty-blonde hair. Then I refocus on his brown eyes as I explain, “Shampoo and conditioner. Nothing magic about them. Use them both daily on any hair above your neck. Lather with shampoo and wait sixty seconds—you may or may not feel some tingling. Rinse and repeat.”

I hold up the other bottle. “The conditioner is the leave-in variety. When you’re done showering, towel-dry your hair and massage this in. Again, use it on any hair above your neck—and leave it in. Do not rinse it out!”

I pick up the body wash and a scrubby and explain, “Body wash. Use daily. Scrub hard everywhere below the neck. Don’t get it on your face, or near your eyes! Again, some tingling is possible and nothing to worry about.”

I pick up the face wash, headband, eyedrops, day and night creams. I focus on his eyes again and say, “This is for your face and neck. Pull your hair back from your face and hold it back with the hairband.”

I demonstrate and continue, “Wash it with this every morning and night. You use the day cream in the morning and the night cream before bed. You also use the eyedrops every morning and night—they’ll totally get the red out!” I giggle, although, I know he won’t get it.

I add, “Again, tingling possible with the wash. Some slight stinging with the drops is also possible. Let us know if it really stings, though. Do not stop using unless we tell you to, however!”

I finally pick up the body lotion and say, “Body lotion—everywhere below the neck after your daily shower. Tingling possible.”

I hand him the card with the special YouTube channel and my number, then say, “Under no circumstances are you to use any body care products other than what we provide you during the trial. If you have any questions or need any more product, just call me. There are also videos at that address that demonstrate everything in detail. Your Mom would also be a good source of information, I’m sure. Any questions for now?”

He looks like he was just dumped down the rabbit hole. He doesn’t get a chance to ask any questions, though. Lissa buzzes me to bring him to her conference room. I simply say, “Come on—your parents are here. I’ll bag your things up for you and bring them over before you leave.”

 

* * * * *

Julia

* * * * *

 

I hang up with Dr. Greene as confused as I am excited. It’s our day off and Gary looks at me—waiting for an explanation. I’m just about to clarify when Chad walks in—alone.

I give him an angry look and leave Gary hanging while I ask, “Would you care to explain where your brother is, young man? I thought you were taking him to the lumberyard?”

He fidgets and mumbles, “He just…left…me!”

I look at him—you know with a ‘Mom’ look—and ask, “Did he now? And you just let him go off on his own? Did you even know he was gone?”

Gary breaks in completely confused and frustrated, “Will someone tell me what’s going on? Chad, where is your brother?”

He groans and whines, “I was only in the Quick Stop for about fifteen minutes. Alice texted that she was there getting an Icey. When I came out, the little twerp had ditched me. He left this note on my seat—something about finding another job.”

I say, “Well, you can just dream of kissing Alice for a week. You’re grounded!”

He explodes, “What? Why? It’s not like he’s really only thirteen like he looks for Chrissake! He’s fifteen!”

Gary chimes in and backs me up—thank goodness! He angrily says, “That may well be—but you just let him go off on his own without even bothering. Make that two weeks for being disrespectful to your mother!”

He stomps off, and I just look at Gary, then finally explain, “That was Dr. Greene from R&D—research and development—at WG. It seems our son is over there applying to be a paid participant in the new body care trial. I knew they were desperate to get guys in on the trial but also very picky about who they let in. Anyway, she seems to think Sam is a good candidate.”

He shakes his head and says, “I really want him to do something that will kickstart his body. Some manual labor will do him good!”

It’s my turn to shake my head as I say, “Listen, Gary! I know what those participants get paid—ten K just for making it through the trial. And he could get a placebo just as much as the actual products. The worst that can happen is that he’ll wind up with healthy hair and skin. Either way, he can’t make that at the lumberyard.”

He grumbles, and I add, “Plus, Dr. Greene seems to want him. She offered to go to bat for me to get a modeling job! You know I’ve been after that for years! It would be a huge boost in pay!”

He seems to be softening and asks, “Well…OK. That would be great! I guess… I mean is there any reason he can’t do both? This trial and work at the lumberyard?”

I shrug and reply, “I don’t know. We can ask—we need to be there in about thirty minutes to sign the papers.”

 

* * * * *

Gary

* * * * *

 

I pull into the parking lot that Julia guides me to and am still wondering how this is going to go. Do I really want my son entering some product trial at a cosmetics company? Even if it is the one my wife works for, and even if it is just for body care products—I mean, at least it’s not for cosmetics, per se.

I look over at Julia as I put the car in park, and she shrugs. I follow her inside and down some corridors with signs indicating that we are walking towards the R&D Department.

She knocks on a door that has a name plate with the wording, “Dr. Melissa Greene, Director,” on it.

We enter without waiting on a response, and I see a young woman in a white lab coat sitting in a glass-walled conference room. She stands up when she sees us and waves us into the room with her.

She introduces herself as Dr. Greene and says, “Please call me Lissa. I have Ginny bringing Sam back here now that she is finished with him.” She gestures towards a counter that has refreshments on it and asks, “Would you like some coffee or a soda?”

Julia declines but I pour myself a cup of coffee and am taking the first careful sip of the steaming hot brew when another elderly woman in a lab coat comes in with a blushing Sam.

I just look at him and Julia says, “Well, there you are! We’ll talk about your disappearance later, young man! Now, Lissa, what do we need to do?”

She looks at Julia and smiles, “Well, Sam passed all the prerequisite exams with flying colors. There were no red flags on his psych profile, no allergies, his bloodwork is perfect, and we have done all of the other baseline work, including pictures. Ginny will also have gone through what is expected of him, right Ginny?”

The older woman nods, and Lissa looks back at Julia and says, “So, all we need to do is finalize the paperwork.”

I look at Sam and am still not sure about this, so I ask, “I just have one question first. I’m still not sure about all of this. I understand that it’s good money and there is little risk.” I pause and add, “Right?”

She nods and says, “There is no greater risk of harm than any other product on the market, if that is what you’re asking. And, yes, it’s very good money for what is expected.”

I nod and say, “That’s just my point. I want Sam to learn the value of money. This seems too easy. Now, he would be stupid to turn down easy money, I suppose—as long as it’s legitimate and legal—but I still want him to learn the value of work. So, is there any reason he can’t do this and work at the lumberyard?”

Sam blows out a frustrated gasp of air, and I give him a look to let him know I don’t want to hear it.

She, in turn, gives me an absolutely vile look—but it disappears just as quickly as it appeared. She takes a deep breath and asks, “Not that it’s any of my business, Gary, but have you looked at your son? Do you really think he will be able to do much at the lumberyard?”

There’s a pregnant pause before she continues, “But to answer your question—it depends. I have a couple of versions of the contract—which Sam decides on will also impact your wife. In any case, none of them should impede him from working at another job over the summer—with the understanding that the trial comes first if there are any conflicts. He will be required—at the very least—to come in for weekly tests and follow-ups. We don’t just throw money at people, you know. It is, in part, as compensation for their time.”

I feel my face burn at her seeming reprimand. I ignore it—for now—and ask, “What about these options—and how do they affect Julia?”

She gives me a sickly-sweet smile and pointedly looks at Julia, “That, Gary, is between your wife and WG. Now, Julia, are you still interested in modeling for the company?”

Julia looks at me and gives me an embarrassed shrug before turning back to answer Greene, “Yes, Lissa. Very much so. But I agree with Gary—what does that have to do with Sam’s contract?”

She smiles more genuinely at Julia and replies, “Well—your contracts would be somewhat intertwined. Sam’s basic contract would be for one year—to include the trial. That means all of the testing of products, follow-ups with him, and documentation. There is a standard clause put in all contracts that leaves pulling participants into marketing as an option and requires them to check with us before doing anything that would negatively impact the marketability of our products.”

She nods—as do I. That makes sense. She continues, “Now, we could modify Sam’s contract to explicitly include marketing options, if circumstances are favorable. I’m not at liberty to guarantee that Sam would be pulled into marketing strategies, but this would put him first in line, if and when we are ready, and he fits our need. This would mean ten percent more money up front, but it would also mean that we would control certain aspects of Sam’s life—specifically his appearance.”

Sam sort of gurgles—and I can’t blame him—but Julia ignores him and continues, “Go on…”

She nods and says, “If you choose that option and can guarantee that Sam will fully participate in the trial, follow all instructions, complete it, and be available at a moment’s notice to step into any marketing campaigns we need him to, then I am authorized to offer you a modeling contract starting at fifty percent over your current salary.”

I feel my eyes widen, and she continues, “You and Sam likely would be pulled into certain campaigns together—which is why I said the contracts are intertwined. I’m afraid that yours is contingent on his. To be honest, though—not the other way around. Sam could enter in the expanded contract without you signing the modeling one, yourself. Not that I would expect that.”

Sam just gurgles some more, and I’m right there with him. Before I can say anything, though, Julia steps in and says, “OK. I’m in. I will guarantee that Sam will fulfill his contractual obligations—I will personally supervise his product usage. Where do we sign?”

It’s my turn to gurgle, but wind up signing Sam’s contract on the dotted line right next to hers. I know that look and there’s no sense arguing.

A smug Julia leads a befuddled Sam and me out the front door after the older woman, Ginny, gets him a large bag full of the test products to take home and sets up his follow-up meeting for a week from now.

We all get in the car and I blow out my air and exclaim, “OK, I don’t know what just happened in there! But we’re going to stop by the lumberyard and get Sam signed up for a real summer job. Whatever needs to be done for…this…whatever…is up to you two! I wash my hands of it!”

Totally pissed, I put the car into drive and ignore the discussion between the two as I drive to the lumberyard. WunderGirl, indeed! That’s just no place for my son to work!