Eliza took a deep breath. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. She quickly recalibrated. She knew the side streets. It would be risky—more stop signs, more pedestrians—but it was her only shot.
She watched a line of six-year-olds holding a rope, walking with the speed of a glacier. The crossing guard, a sweet older man named Earl, tipped his hat to her. Eliza forced a smile, though her internal monologue was screaming. She resisted the urge to inch forward. She took a sip of the coffee she had managed to grab—a lukewarm lifeline—and tried to steady her breathing. There was no point in rushing and endangering anyone. What would be, would be. eliza ibarra late for work
Ding.
Eliza wasn't fired. She was promoted to "Office Morale Coordinator" later that week. The official HR note read: "Eliza is habitually late but exceptionally effective in crisis management. Also, she makes a great bagel run." Eliza took a deep breath
Mr. Henderson stared at her for a beat, then cracked a small smile. "Actually, Eliza, you have impeccable timing. My computer just crashed, and I was about to ask if anyone brought the hard copies of the report. I assume you have yours?" She knew the side streets
Witnesses say Eliza didn’t tiptoe in quietly. She owned the entrance. Her hair was in a messy bun that looked suspiciously like last night’s ponytail. She was clutching a to-go bag that was actively leaking maple syrup onto the carpet. Yet, she had the swagger of a CEO arriving early.
Eliza checked her watch. 8:17.