He is himself Magnate?

(Renata Pellegrini)

Watching the clouds, I can equate my mood to them. Gray. It seems that the days go by and one is more stressful than the other. I need to improve more in my calculus subjects, I don't want to have to do the final exam. My head hurts just remembering the formulas.

I hope I don't get robbed, I think as I sigh and put my headphones on. A music by James Arthur plays and I allow myself to close my eyes, leaning my head on the window of the crowded bus. The traffic today is, as usual, terrible.

It's almost six o'clock in the afternoon, and judging the way things are going, I won't get home until seven. What a horrible routine, I get up at four thirty in the morning, and only return at seven o'clock in the evening, all this only because I can't afford to buy even a lousy little bike so that I don't have to stand at the bus stop, and it is still a profit when I manage to return sitting down.

I was born and raised here. I have lived in this slum of a town for twenty-four years and it used to be a good place to live, but today? It is known as the most violent slum in Rio de Janeiro: Jacarezinho.

The policemen? The politicians?

I don't trust them, they are a bunch of corrupt people who only want to extort the population and spread terror, because Jacarezinho is not a noble area, they think we are garbage that can be stepped on and killed, having our bodies dumped in the gutter... The businessmen, tycoons, and famous people? It's all part of the same bag of shit. I hate them!

I am the daughter of Giovanni Pellegrini and Sandra Moreira, and the story of my parents is beautiful as well as tragic. Both of them are no longer with me, unfortunately, they were taken from me nine years ago, when I was fifteen. I have no one else, my relatives never accepted me and never even told me the reason, my mother always told me not to give a damn. Maybe I even had some relatives on the Italian side, but I have no idea who my dad's relatives are, I only know that he is Italian, so maybe they would reject me too.

"I want you to succeed in life, my little one," these are the words that make me endure this routine and not give up my studies: My mother, she had no opportunity to study, the only thing she could do was to write her own name and it took her a long time to get it.

I feel my stomach turning in search of some source of energy, the end of the month is always very tight, even if I regulate from the beginning, in the end there is always very little left. Since my parents died when I was still a minor, my grandmother didn't let me stay in her house and made a deal with me, because of my mother's work, I had a state pension entitlement, my grandmother wouldn't leave me in an orphanage and in exchange, she would keep half of the pension.

So I have only $150 a month, and thank God I don't have to pay for transportation to go to college. They gave me a scholarship and I use that money to go back and forth.

I need to prepare myself mentally, Friday next week is an important day, I will travel to the United States and have my first job interview. I try my best to control my anxiety. I really want to get the job and the salary will be very good, I will have a full fridge for longer and better yet, I will be able to say goodbye definitively to this horrible place.

It's not my dream job, but being the personal assistant to the richest tycoon in the world today would come in handy. I have to thank my teacher, Juliana Lueni, she is the one who got me this interview and is paying my fare. I just hope I don't disappoint her, it is remarkable how much she cares about me. Besides paying for my ticket, she also paid one month's rent for me. A friend of hers, who also works for the magnate Filippo Valentini, will be waiting for me at the airport.

I don't expect him to treat me well, or to have compassion for my life story, maybe I will even be eliminated because of my origin. I wish I could lie and say that I lived somewhere else, a luxurious place in Brazil, but my mother always taught me to be honest and never be ashamed of who I am or where I came from.

Filippo Valentini in the magazines is regarded as the most handsome man in all America. I looked at him in a photo, he appears to be no less than six feet tall, his hair is black as night, his eyes are amber with some green streaks. I was enchanted by the look in this man's eyes. You could see the muscular body underneath his suit.

I can't lie, this man is very handsome. But that doesn't fill my eyes, surely he is like all the others. An arrogant asshole!

The jolt of the bus brings me back to reality, I squeeze between the other passengers and get off this old junk. It is such a disregard for the residents here, the bus looks like it is going to fall to pieces and nothing the politicians can do to fix it.

People in this community think I'm a meddler, but my papa always told me not to trust anyone and never to talk more than necessary. People like to hurt others. And I have seen so many good people get hurt because of bad people. I don't want to be one of them, so I don't make friends with anyone here. In the world, it is me for me. And God for everybody.

Finally I get home, take a quick shower and go to see what is still in the pantry. There is still a pack of crackers, I'm going to split it in half, then have coffee tonight and tomorrow before I leave.

Just one more week, I think and cross my fingers.

One week later:

I can't stop shaking! I thought about ten times that I was going to die, with every bump the plane made, my soul went out of my body.

Keep calm, I think. Thank God I'm already out of the plane and have picked up my suitcase, now all that's left is to find my teacher's friend.

"Renata Pellegrini?" a female voice calls me.

"That's me," I answer and feel relieved.

Now I can breathe easily. New life, here I come!