First day
**Crunch**
“Oh, God,” I mutter under my breath.
I step out of my car carefully, my black leggings hugging my hips before flaring at my knees. The company-issued white T-shirt falls just below my waistband, slightly tight but still neat. My long brown hair is twisted into a claw clip at the back of my head, a few strands brushing my cheeks in the morning breeze. My black non-slip shoes hit the pavement with an unpleasant crunch.
My heart drops.
I glance down quickly, panic flashing through me—only to find a few crushed pieces of trash beneath my heel. No broken glass. No damage. No disaster.
I exhale and allow myself a small smile.
I definitely cannot afford to fix that car. Not when it’s more than transportation. It’s everything.
I shut the door gently—always gently—and turn toward my new job.
At nineteen years old, I’ve somehow been hired as a Manager in Training at Pizza Pizza. The title still feels too big for me. I barely landed it, and I know why—years of experience working in my parents’ restaurant growing up. Long shifts. Burned fingers. Cash registers before I was tall enough to see over the counter without standing on my toes.
Experience earned the hard way.
My chest tightens as I think of them.
The anger. The shouting. The night I packed what I could carry and walked out at freshly eighteen, pride and fear battling in my throat. That was a year ago. A year of sleeping in my car. A year of rotating parking lots. A year of surviving off DoorDash orders and gas station bathrooms and telling myself it was temporary.
And now… this.
The interview with HR had been over the phone, rushed but efficient. The offer came quickly. Almost too quickly. But I can keep up. I have to. The moment they offered me the position, I made a promise to myself:
I will be the best manager they’ve ever seen.
I will lead with kindness—but I will lead.
And I will absolutely be sweeping this parking lot every morning. I can’t risk losing my transportation and my home at the same time.
I push the restaurant door open. It swings inward with a satisfying swish, carrying the faint scent of dough and tomato sauce.
“Hey, hon! We don’t open for another half hour,” a cheerful voice calls out. “But if you want, I can get you a soda to wait outside with.”
I smile as I step further inside. A gray-haired, plump woman is wiping down one of the ten tables in the dining room. She moves with practiced efficiency, but her eyes are warm.
I walk up and extend my hand. “Hi, I’m Elizabeth—but you can call me Lizzy. I’m here for my first day of training.”
Her face lights up. “Well, I apologize! I’m Dolly—like Dolly Parton.” She laughs softly. “I’m the current manager of this store.”
I immediately like her.
“I understand our District Manager, Alexander Stone, and our Area Manager, Mason King, were supposed to meet you here today,” she continues, her tone shifting slightly, “but they seem to have… other business at one of the other stores. However, I’ll be training you.”
There’s a flicker in her eyes when she says it.
I frown for just a second but smooth it over. Honestly, I’m grateful. I’ll take kind and competent over intimidating executives any day.
Dolly motions for me to follow her behind the counter and into a small office tucked in the back.
“Okay,” she says, settling into her chair. “Today will mostly be paperwork and orientation videos. In about half an hour, I’ll introduce you to the team.”
I nod, trying to absorb everything.
Once she gets my account set up, we step back out just as the rest of the staff filters in. Two women. Two men. Sleepy but alert. Dolly claps her hands once.
“Okay, morning meeting, everyone.”
They gather at the largest table.
“Quick acknowledgment—this is Lizzy. She’s starting her management training with the company.” Her smile softens before shifting into something firm. “Please treat her with the same respect you treat me—or you’ll deal with the repercussions.”
A few chuckles ripple around the table, but the message lands.
They smile at me. I smile back, trying not to look nervous.
“Alright,” Dolly continues briskly, “let’s talk goals for Monday.”
The rest of the day passes faster than I expect. Dolly spends most of her time in the back making pizzas—hands moving confidently, efficiently—while I work through the training modules.
Food safety. Inventory control. Conflict resolution.
Managerial presence.
She stops by once and says casually, “Oh, and management gets two free meals a day.”
Two.
My stomach tightens with relief I don’t let show.
I choose the lunch special—a slice of pepperoni pizza and a small salad—and wrap a couple extra slices in foil to take “home.”
Home.
The word still feels fragile.
As first shift winds down and Dolly finishes up on the floor, she slips into the office and sits across from me.
“Almost done with the videos?” she asks.
I nod. “It says this is my last module.”
She smiles. “Good. So tell me—what makes you want to be a manager?”
I hesitate, then give her a semi-honest answer.
“I like making a difference. Management has the opportunity to help people. To set the tone. To lead.”
I don’t tell her about the signing bonus. About how in just a few months, if I complete training and take a store, I could finally afford an apartment of my own. A door that locks. A shower that’s mine. A bed that doesn’t recline in the front seat of a sedan.
Dolly nods slowly. “Well, don’t let these people run you over.”
I wave a hand lightly. “Tough employees hating their manager is part of the job.”
She shakes her head.
“I wasn’t talking about them.” Her voice lowers slightly. “I was talking about the two goons above us. They can be pretty… tough.”
I frown.
“Don’t let them run you off like they did the last MIT.”
A bubble of anxiety blooms in my stomach, slow and cold. But I push it down as I click through the final screen.
Ding.
Module complete.
Instantly, Dolly’s face shifts back to sunshine. “Well! Since you’ve finished that, why don’t you head home? Alexander and Mason should be here tomorrow to finish the last bit of paperwork and start your floor training.”
I stand, smoothing my shirt.
“I made it through day one,” I say lightly.
But as I step back out into the parking lot, the air feels heavier than it did that morning.
I made it through the first day.
And somehow, I know—
The real challenge hasn’t even started yet.
