Read The Devil Wears Prada for Free Online Page B

really is.”
     
     “So
you really think it’s a good opportunity? I know we talked about it, but
they didn’t even give me a chance to decide. She just assumed that
I’d want the job.”
     
     “It’s
an amazing opportunity. Fashion isn’t the worst thing on
earth—maybe it’ll even be interesting.”
     
     I rolled
my eyes.
     
     “OK,
so maybe that’s going a little far. But withRunway on your
résumé and a letter from this Miranda woman, and maybe even a few
clips by the time you’re done, hell, you can do anything.The New Yorker
will be beating down your door.”
     
     “I
hope you’re right, I really do.” I jumped up and starting throwing
my things in my backpack. “Is it still OK if I borrow your car? The sooner
I get home, the sooner I can get back. Not that it really matters, because
I’mmoving to New York . It’s official!”
     
     Since
Alex went home to Westchester twice a week to babysit his little brother when
his mom had to work late, his mom had given him her old car to keep in the
city. But he wouldn’t be needing it until Tuesday, and I’d be back
before then. I had been planning to go home that weekend anyway, and now
I’d have some good news to bring with me.
     
     “Sure.
No problem. It’s in a spot about a half-block down on Grand Street. The
keys are on the kitchen table. Call me when you get there, OK?”
     
     “Will
do. Sure you don’t want to come? There’ll be great food—you
know my mom orders in only the best.”
     
     “Sounds
tempting. You know I would, but I organized some of the younger teachers to get
together tomorrow night for happy hour. Thought it might help us all work as a
team. I really can’t miss it.”
     
     “Goddamn
do-gooder. Always doing good, spreading good cheer wherever you go. I’d
hate you if I didn’t love you so much.” I leaned over and kissed
him good-bye.
     
     I found
his little green Jetta on the first try and only spent twenty minutes trying to
find the parkway that would take me to 95 North, which was wide open. It was a
freezing day for November; the temperature was in the midthirties, and there
were slick frozen patches on the back roads. But the sun was out, the kind of
winter glare that causes unaccustomed eyes to tear and squint, and the air felt
clean and cold in my lungs. I rode the entire way with the window rolled down,
listening to the “Almost Famous” soundtrack on repeat. I worked my
damp hair into a ponytail with one hand to keep it from flying in my eyes, and
blew on my hands to keep them warm, or at least warm enough to grip the
steering wheel. Only six months out of college, and my life was on the verge of
bursting forward. Miranda Priestly, a stranger until yesterday but a powerful
woman indeed, had handpicked me to join her magazine. Now I had a concrete
reason to leave Connecticut and move—all on my own, as a real adult
would—to Manhattan and make it my home. As I pulled into the driveway of
my childhood house, sheer exhilaration took over. My cheeks looked red and
windburned in the rearview mirror, and my hair was flying wildly about. There
was no makeup on my face, and my jeans were dirty around the bottom from
trudging through the city slush. But at that moment, I felt beautiful. Natural
and cold and clean and crisp, I threw open the front door and called out for my
mother. It was the last time in my life I remember feeling so light.
     
      
     
     “A
week? Honey, I just don’t see how you’re going to start work in a
week,” my mother said, stirring her tea with a spoon. We were sitting at
the kitchen table in our usual spots, my mother drinking her usual decaf tea
with Sweet’N Low, me with my usual mug of English Breakfast and sugar.
Even though I hadn’t lived at home in four years, all it took was an
oversize mug of microwaved tea and a couple Reese’s peanut butter cups to
make me feel like I’d never left.
     
     “Well,
I don’t have a choice, and, honestly, I’m lucky