THINGS WE NEVER SENT

AMELIA FOSTER

Today is my first day at the internship, and I was already jittery with excitement, maybe a bit of panic too, as I stepped into the glassy modern offices of Greywood Publishing for my first day on the job. I had scored an assistant position among other interns, and I was determined to make a good impression.

I picked out a professional-looking blouse, even if it was a bit stiff for my usual style. I wanted to look like I knew what I was doing, but I quickly realized knowing and doing were two different things.

I clutched my coffee taking a deep breath and stepped in confidently towards my desk. In my head I looked every bit competent professional. But in reality, my foot caught on the edge of the carpet and I went flying forward. My coffee slipped out of my hand sending a caramel macchiato through the air and land with a spat directly on my boss desk.

Oh my gosh!

The whole office went quite.

My boss- Mr. Nathan Whitmore, head of editorial and famously stern, stared down at the caramel stain spreading across his stack of manuscripts. He slowly looked up, his eyes meeting my horrified gaze.

Great. Day one and I’ve already became an office meme.

I cleared my throat as I plastered on a nervous grin. ‘Um...hey MR. Whitmore. I’m Amelia. So, um… sorry for the splash entrance. Guess I got a little too… uh, yet-happy?’

Mr. Whitmore blinked, clearly trying to understand what I was saying. ‘Yeet… what?’

My nerves were bubling as I began thinking I should apologize but my monologue quickly turned into chaotic slang.

‘oh, you know, like yet,’ I explained, waving my hands like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘ its just… me, you know? Anyway ,total cringe on my part. Definitely didn’t mean to send a caramel macchiato your way. That was, like so not the vibe I was going for. Major oof’

Mr. Whitmore expression shifted from confusion to mild concern. ‘Im… sorry?’

Oh! He doesn’t speak gen z. omg, did I screw up? On my first day?

I tried again,’ I mean… that was totally my fault. I promise, I will clean up and get everything looking fresh. Like, I just really didn’t mean to… uh spill the tea? Not actual tea, obviously, more like coffee. You know, metaphorically.’

His eyebrows climbed a little higher. He stared at me like I was a military code that needed cracking.

‘Ms. Foster,’ he rasped, ‘while I … appreciate your enthusiasm, I would prefer that you use regular English. And please explain to me what exactly…oof means?’

I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment. ‘Oh! Yeah, right. Oof is, like…well, its basically a way of saying something is a mess up. Like, yikes, that was a big fail, or…not the look.’

He sighed, his lips twitching slightly as if he were either trying not to yell or flash a smile. ‘So to clarify… you are, in fact, apologizing for spilling coffee all over my desk?’

‘exactly’ I gave him finger guns, immediately regretting it soon as I did it. ’And I just wanted to say, no cap ,I'm seriously vibing with this job already. Total dream gig. And I know today was kind of hot mess- literally but I'm, like totally stoked to be here.’

He looked at me in shock. ‘Ms. Foster, did you just say no cap?’

‘Oh, right,’ I gave him an awkward laugh. ''that means…like, 'for real’. Or you know, 'no lie’. I'm telling the truth’'

Mr.Whitmore rubbed his temple. ‘Understood. Well, lets keep the …macchiatos off the desk, shall we?’

‘Absolutely!’ I chirped in feeling hopeful at his small attempt to humour. I wasn’t sure if I had gotten through to him exactly, but at least I avoided a full disaster. ‘wont happen again. I swear I'm usually, more like…put together.’

‘Good to know,’ he replied, deadpan. ‘why don’t you head over to the break room and find something to clean this up with?’

I nodded spinning around to head to the break room where of course I almost tripped again on my way out.

Minutes later, I came back armed with a roll of paper towels and my most apologetic smile. I attacked his desk like I was on a mission, wiping furiously, as if I could erase the mess faster than I’d made it.

“You seem very… passionate about your work, Ms. Foster,” Mr. Whitmore said.

I glanced up at him, and the way he was watching me—calm, observant, like I was some kind of rare experiment—almost made me laugh.

“Oh, totally,” I said, straightening up and clutching the now very soggy paper towels. “Publishing is my thing. I mean, I’m low-key obsessed with books. Especially sci-fi and fantasy. Just thinking about helping bring stories to life is… it’s kind of a dream come true. For real.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away somewhere important. “And I’m sure it will be rewarding for you—once we work out the… language barrier.”

I blinked. Then it hit me.

Oh. Right. I did it again.

I laughed, a little embarrassed. “Yeah… I guess I could, like, tone it down. Or, you know, vibe check my vocabulary before I speak.”

He just stared at me.

Blank. Completely blank.

I winced. “Uh—vibe check. Like… check myself before I say something weird?”

He cleared his throat, and I swear I saw the tiniest hint of a smile trying to escape. “Yes. Well, perhaps that might be wise. And while I appreciate your enthusiasm, publishing requires a certain… precision. Clarity is key, and I’d hate for us to… lose anything in translation.”

“Got it,” I said quickly, miming zipping my lips. “Lingo on a low simmer.”

“Excellent.” He gestured toward the door. “Why don’t you get settled into your workspace? I’ll send you an email outlining your tasks for the week.”

“On it, boss!” I grinned. “Catch you on the flip side!”

I didn’t even give him time to question that before I slipped out of his office.

The second I reached my desk, I dropped into my chair and stifled a laugh.

Okay. So. We were definitely from different planets.

But honestly? The way he looked at me like I was speaking an entirely different language… it kind of made me want to impress him even more.

Maybe my first impression wasn’t perfect. Actually—scratch that—it was a disaster.

But if I could learn to speak his language… and maybe teach him a little of mine?

Yeah.

We might actually work pretty well together.

I leaned back in my chair, a grin slowly spreading across my face.

Challenge accepted.