“I consider this the big boss level,” I said, pointing to the plaque with Dean Collins’s name etched in gold.
“Oh, please, big boss level is senior year.”
“Or actually landing a job.” I gripped my sketch pad closer to my chest.
“True. Good luck,” she said. “It was nice to meet you, Norah.”
“You too. Hopefully I’ll see you in a year.”
“Maybe. I’m set to graduate in the spring.”
“Oh, right. Congratulations.”
She left and I knocked on the door and heard a muffled, “Come in.”