The highway stretches out before me as far as I can see. Which, admittedly, is not very far in the wet New York weather. So far away from the city, the traffic is less murderous but the rain is merciless. The road signs tell me it's at least another hour 'til I reach Montauk.

Montauk. A new town. A new job. A new beginning. God knows I need a new start. New York City, the city of dreams, has nothing for me. I'm almost eighteen years old, a high school dropout, with no diploma and no college to go to. Even New York can't make dreams come true for someone like me. I dropped out of school to take care of Uncle Rich while he battled his cancer but now that he's gone, I have to find a way to get back to life.

Last month, the fast-food chain I flipped burgers for laid me off. My manager, a short and fat guy who looked like he greased his hair with the deep-fryer oil, had looked at me pityingly. "We're so sorry, Sally," he'd said, "You are a valuable worker but your services are no longer required."

If I'm so valuable, why are you letting me go? I'd wanted to say. But I'd kept quiet, collected my last pay packet and walked out the door like the good girl my uncle had always told me to be. The next week, one of the girls who I worked with called me and told me that the manager had given my job to his niece. Figures.

Still, I had a rent and bills to pay for. I couldn't think of a single kid my age that had to even think about things like that, but I wasn't ungrateful. I know there are people in this city who have it even worse. But the money Uncle Rich left wouldn't last forever and I needed a job. I asked in cafes, stores that sold clothes and stores that sold hardware and more. I offered to waitress or bus tables, fold clothes, deliver newspapers and even clean toilets. Every single employer looked at me and said, "Sorry, kid."

It was by chance that I came across the ad for a waitress needed in Montauk. After my uncle's death, there was no way I keep living in his spacious, expensive upstate apartment so I moved myself downtown. My new place was basically a large room with a bed, a stove and window but it was cheap. The other tenants were either ancient or recluses. On the ground floor, a Hispanic couple ran a small store out of their apartment, selling bread, milk and newspapers for cheap.

The ad was hanging on the corkboard when I went to get my milk; it's cheaper that in the supermarkets and usually a few good days left. The corkboard hangs next to the door for locals to put up notices about old swing-sets for sale, missing pets, births, deaths – whatever they feel is newsworthy. I always check the notices, partly because I like knowing if Mrs. Thomas found her cat and when Mr. Simpson's granddaughter was born, but mostly because I'm always hoping someone is looking for a babysitter or a maid – anything.

The notice was hanging next to a hand-scrawled poster for a missing dog and an advertisement for used baby clothes.

HELP WANTED – Cafe Elpida, Montauk
Waitress needed for the summer. Experience required. Will pay minimum wage.
Cooking skills are preferable.
For further information call (631) 555-0125

I called with no hope of actually getting the job. Montauk is busy in the summer and no doubt a hundred girls have already called. When I rang, no one answered until the eight ring.

"Hello, Liza speaking," the woman on the line had a gravelly, low voice. I could hear someone shouting orders behind her and the clanging of pots and pans. "You gotta speak up, doll. It's chaos in here. Y'all keep it down back there!" She'd added to the kitchen staff.

"Hello," I'd said, my voice shaking. I'd never been all that good at talking to strangers, "My name is Sally Jackson and I was calling about the waitressing job? At the, uh, Cafe Elpida?"

"Yeah, you got the right place," she'd said, "But you're a little late, darlin'. Gave the job away this morning."

"Oh." I hadn't even tried to hide the disappointment in my voice. "Well, thank you anyway."

"Hey, listen, my caller ID says you're calling from New York. You calling from New York City?"

"I am."

Liza chuckled, the sound crackly on the line. "Well, ain't they got jobs in the Big Apple?"

I laughed too, just for the sake of it. "No one wants a high school dropout, ma'am. Not even to flip burgers."

Liza whistled but I didn't know what to make of that. "That's a bust, sweetheart. Can you cook? Wait tables?"

My heart had lifted a little. "I-I can. I worked a burger joint for six months and an Italian restaurant for a couple of months before that..." I began, tripping over my words.

"Shoot, that'll do," Liza had said. "Can you make it to Montauk for the weekend? Always get a rush the first week of summer and an extra set of hands won't do no harm. Now, listen, I don't know how long I can give you this job for, doll. And it's minimum wage, no exceptions."

Liza hadn't really been overly appreciative of my gushing. "Just get here for 8 o' clock sharp on Saturday morning. I don't do second chances."

I recount the conversation now as I make my way down to Montauk. I don't know what I'll be expected to do but even minimum wage is better than nothing. Right at this moment, I don't even care. I need this getaway.