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Callie glances up at the clock on the wall as she begins preparing her customer's sub.
727.
Thirty-three more minutes until she could go home, finish her artwork, and possibly watch her favorite show: "Manifest".
"Your total is $10.4--"
"Hey you," a familiar voice calls, tapping Callie's shoulder firmly, causing her to look their way, "break room. Now." It was no one other than her boss, Pete: tall, chubby, grumpy, and thinks the the world revolves around him.
"You take over," he says, to a co-worker standing nearby.
The two go to the back with Callie already annoyed with whatever was about to be said.
"Give me your apron, you're fired," he says, flatly, holding out a dry hand.
She scrunches up her face and steps back. "What? Why? Look, if this is about me being late I told you it won't happen again--"
"Well it is, it's been too many times where you've been late and your co-workers have to work more than they should. Also, customers have to wait in long lines and they become angry. I don't like angry customers because angry customers mean LESS customers and that means less money, and I don't need that," he said, pointing to himself.
Callie shakes her head. "I can't afford to lose my job right now, YOU know that."
"And I can't afford to lose my business so whose problem is bigger?" he pointed behind him with his thumb. "Get outta here kid before I call the cops."
Callie clenches her jaw as she stares him down before snatching the apron off and throwing it at him. Grabbing her belongings, she speaks up. "You always had something slick to say because of the color of my skin."
He nonetheless ignores her and she rushes out, leaving the deli as everyone watches.
When she gets home, her reminder of paying the bills resurfaces once she notices the mail on the kitchen table. Sighing, she goes to her room and strips down to her boxers and sports bra. It seemed like everything was falling apart. First, she lost her bestfriend just a few weeks ago. Then, her mom kicked her out with little to no money; now this. She was back at square one when it came to trying to get her life together.
Laying on her bed, she closes her eyes only for a knock to come from the front door. She groans and gets up, slipping on a pair of basketball shorts and a wife beater.
"Hey Callie!" exclaims her elderly neighbor when she opens the door, "just letting you know the mail came today and I got yours!" She holds out two envelopes.
"Thanks, I really appreciate that, Ms.Cline," Callie says, forcing a smile.
Ms.Cline laughs. "Oh, no problem. So how are you, have you been getting along okay?"
"Uh well," Callie hesitates, "y-yeah I've been good. How about ya' self?"
It was evident to the lady that Callie was lying, but she didn't push her. "I've been good, great actually. Sammy misses you though, he's always at the door expecting you."
Callie's smile is genuine this time as she thinks about the giant, yet friendly dog. "Well I can come over now, if that's alright with you."
"Of course," Ms.Cline says, gesturing for the younger girl to follow her.
Callie notices the new doorbell Ms.Cline had gotten installed right under her apartment number: 727.
"Sammy!" Ms.Cline yells as Callie closes the door behind them. A gold retriever came running from one of the back rooms with his tongue hung out.
"Hey boy!" Callie exclaims, bending down to scratch him behind his ears. "I missed you." Sammy licks her face and barks causing her to laugh.
Ms.Cline smiles at the both of them. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" she asks, going into the kitchen to check the food in the oven.
"Oh no, that's alright I just came to see Sammy," Callie answers, giving him one last pat before standing straight.
Ms.Cline comes over to her. "You sure?" There's plenty for the both of us."
Callie nods her head. "Yes, thank you for the offer."
"Okay," Ms.Cline pauses, "if you ever need help I'm here okay?
Callie shoves her hands into her pockets. "Ye-yeah thanks." She waves her and Sammy goodbye before going back to her place.
Slipping off her slides, she sat at the table and looked at the mail from Ms.Cline. "Ughh," she groans, putting her head in her hands once she realizes it's a late notice for the light bill.
The next morning, Callie ate a bowl of cereal and began applying for as many jobs as she could online. She was even contemplating accepting more than one because she didn't have any extra money of family to fall back on.
In the evening, she decided to finish the painting she began months ago; too busy with work to finish it.
She gathers her materials and was off to the local park, in hopes to uplift her current mood.
The sun shines down on her as she takes her time walking. It gave her a sense of peace, something she's been wanting since yesterday.
"Hey, California!"
Callie turns her head toward the voice, her vibration increasing at the use of the nickname. "Hey, Joe." She walks up to his ice cream truck and leans against it.
"Want some ice cream? I have your favorite this time and get this. " He sticks his arm out of the open window and points at the prices on the outside of the truck. "Buy one get one free AND, it's 5% off the first one. So it's $7.27."
727.
727.
It replays in her head like a broken record.
"Callie, you alright?"
She snaps out of it. "Uhh, yeah. I have to go. Maybe next time?" She speeds off as her mind races. She was aware of angel numbers but she's never encountered synchronization, until now.
Once she got to the park she sat on a bench, put her materials next to her, and pulled out her phone to begin searching.
"Angel number 727 is an indication that positive news will enter your life in the very near future," she reads, with raised eyebrows as something sparks in her.
Coincidence? She thought
Although deep down something told her it wasn't.
A pair of black shoes appear in her peripheral vision. "That's quite outstanding," they say, startling Callie.
She looks up, a pale, elderly man in a grey suit and matching top hat. "Oh, uh thanks," she mumbles, glancing over at her unfinished artwork.
"Mind if I take a seat?"
She hesitates, taking in her surroundings. "Uh...sure."
He sits, leaving a gap in between them " I haven't seen anything like this since I was a young boy," he pauses, taking off his hat, revealing his gray and white hair. "You don't mind if I take a closer look do you?"
Callie shrugs, allowing the man to pick up the canvas. "Look at the detail on this, it's magnificent," he says, in a giddy tone.
Callie looks at him strangely, she's never been around someone of his kind: proper.
"Take my card," he says, pulling it from the inside of his suit jacket with his middle and index finger "I'm interested in your work and I'd like to do business with you." He stands from the bench and puts on his hat with a wave and saunter's away.
Callie watches him in shock before slowly analyzing his card. His companies name was on it along with his personal information, but the address stood out the most.
727 Pinecohn Ln
The councilwoman's desk was terribly cluttered, with stacks of papers and old newspaper and magazine articles strewn over it. Absentmindedly, Tara peered at some of it while she waited for her return. The Ninja Head Councilwoman had asked to speak with her after training that day; it didn't sound too urgent. If it had been a mission, she would have had to meet her in the council room, just like all the other shinobi and kunoichi did. What could it possibly be about? Was she in trouble? No, couldn't be. Tara always followed the Academy rules: she never left the dormitory after hours nor did she start fights, outside of the sparring field, that is. Perhaps the young girl had received a message from her older sister, Lorinda, who was still gone on her mission in Southeast Asia, and had been called there to get an update on how she was doing. Tara shrugged the speculating thoughts away; she would find out soon enough.
To pass the time, the 18 year old was attempting to organize some of the clutter, neatly straightening up the stacks of articles , casually throwing away balled up pieces of paper, when the edge of a polaroid photograph caught her eye. Curious, the brown skinned teenager picked it up and took a look. It had never occurred to her that the councilwoman was the kind to decorate her desk with nostalgic memorabilia
It was a picture of young African American woman in her mid 20s. She was very pretty, her hair big and in a retro jerry curled style. The lady was wearing a broad shouldered pink blazer over a black dress with a matching neon belt. She was posing with her back against a fence that bordered off an area of a beach, the ocean in the background. Judging by the style and the quality of the photo, and the obvious shoulder pads, it was probably taken sometime in the 80s. Who was she? Tara wondered to herself. Was she a relative of the councilwoman Nicolette Murasaki? Although the sensei was of French and Japanese origin, it was possible to have the black woman in her family. Those days, shinobi came from all over the world took missions to aid in making the world a better place. The elder woman seldom spoke of her family, but surely she would have mentioned someone as poised and stylish as this. The more the teenage New Yorker studied the mysterious person, the more familiar she seemed. Had she seen her somewhere before? Maybe the woman had been an actress or famous supermodel in the 1980s? Or perhaps she happened to be one of the Head Sensei's former students? Tara flipped the polaroid to the back in hopes of finding some sort of description. She gasped. There, in cursive letters read, Loretta Davison, Venice Beach, 1986. The young ninja's jaws dropped in disbelief. No wonder the lady had looked so familiar; it was a picture of her mother who in her youth, had looked exactly like her older sister Lorinda!
"There you are, Tara, dear!" came the sudden voice of an older woman, from the direction of the door. "I didn't expect you to be here so early! I hope I hadn't kept you waiting long."
"No, maam," the teenage girl exclaimed, bowing customarily upon the councilwoman's entrance. The Head Ninja of the Academy, Councilwoman Nicolette was indeed a woman to be respected. Not only had she trained a reasonable number of ninjas in martial arts and delegate humanitarian missions, but she had was the one who had opened the secret shinobi school which doubled as an orphanage. Usually the school took in orphans like Tara, whose parents had died on missions, but it also took in others. All children were raised and instructed in martial arts and ninja weaponry until the age of 16, then they were given the option of continuing the shinobi lifestyle or pursuing a regular life. Either way, the Academy was there to support them and help them until they were ready to go to college and pursue careers. Madam Murasaki had been the one to pioneer the whole program.
"Oh, I see you found the old photograph," the elder woman exclaimed, her eyes lighting up, "I found it when I happened to be going through some old case files. I wanted to surprise you and Lorinda with it, but it seems that the cat is out of the bag now." Tara smiled weakly in gratitude, but she was too taken aback to reply. So, this was her and Lorinda's mother; the one whose very footsteps they were striving to walk in. Tara had only been a baby when her parents died, so she never knew what they looked like. Her older sister, Lorinda, having been at least 4 years old at the time, and had had a little more time to get to know them, but she could only remember their appearance vaguely All of the instructors often remarked on how uncanny the resemblance was between Lorinda and their mother; she was the spitting image of her, the same soft nose and full lips, the same high cheek bones, even the same height Now that Tara was able to see for herself, a pang of jealousy stabbed her heart. The teachers had all been right.
The former kunoichi seemed to sense how she was feeling. "Your mother was a credit to the academy," the graying councilwoman murmured, touching Tara lightly on the shoulder, "A female ninja with a sharp mind and a compassionate heart was rather hard to find in those days. I see a great deal of her in you, Tara."
The shy teenager thanked the councilwoman but deep down, she wished that the 70 something year old woman hadn't said that. It had been very kind of her to try to make her feel better but it wasn't true Tara looked nothing like her mother or sister, nothing! She did not have her sister's lovely almond eye shape, or feminine bone structure; her features was much plainer, understated, some even said it was slightly intimidating, a feature that was once considered more preferable for a ninja. Perhaps, when going up against dangerous people in the field, it was beneficial to look stern and unemotional, but when it came to one's social life, it didn't encourage many invitations. One sensei had told Tara that she looked more like her father, with his wise eyes and thick hair. It might have been meant for a compliment, but no girl wanted to be told that she looked like a man, even if it was her father. The head councilwoman dismissed her, and bowing once more, Tara set off for her room, which was in the girl dormitory on the other side of campus. She sighed deeply to herself, glancing at the retro polaroid again. Well, she might not have her mother's beauty, it was still nice to know that they shared a love for the ocean.
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