“So...” My boss interlaces his fingers on the table, speaking English, the official language used in the company. “Sol.”
I wish Lars would say my name right, with the Portuguese pronunciation (sounding similar to Saul). Sol is also “sun” in Danish though, and my boss calls me that, with the closed “o” (more like soul). I could tell him to call me Marisol instead, but I didn’t correct him the first time, and doing so now would be awkward.
“It’s been more than a month since we had a one-to-one, so I’d like to hear how it’s all going.”
These monthly meetings have been meaningless because I always say, “It’s all great, no problems!” That won’t happen this time though.
I woke up ready for this moment, but now that I’m here, a void opens inside me, sucking down all my dreams and hopes.
I take a deep, painful breath. “I think it’s time we talk openly.”
“What about closely? I need that door shut, sorry,” he says, laughing at what he seems to consider genius wordplay. He rises to close the door and sits back heavily, hands clasped. “Go on!” He smiles. Lars is a friendly guy. He’s always joking around and seeing the glass half full.
If you told me to think of a stereotypical Danish person, I’d think of him. He’s tall, slim, blond, and blue-eyed. He has good taste in design and dresses soberly. He has a wife named Lotte and two teenage sons, and they live in a beautiful white house in Frederiksberg, one of the best neighborhoods in the city. He bikes to work every day and is a fundamentalist when it comes to eating organic food. I know all this because he’s not afraid to share details of his life with anyone in the office, no matter their role.
Unlike me, who stays quiet unless I’m positive people won’t think I’m the odd one out.
“Lars, I...” The words are stuck in my throat. After a moment of awkward silence, my boss takes over.
“Listen, I think your ideas are great.”
Wait, what?
“You’re a very promising young woman, Sol. I’ve been impressed with your performance.”
Okay, I was not expecting that. I lean back and let him speak.
“In fact, I think you might be able to handle more responsibility.”
“What? Yes, absolutely,” the words rush out of my mouth. “I’d love that!”
“The question is where we should place you.” He scratches his shaved chin, thinking to himself. “You’ve only been with us for six months, but I haven’t forgotten that you’ve worked with games for five years in Brazil at Vortex.”
I nod, a prickle of gratitude tickling my stomach. It was thanks to my hard work at the Brasília-based indie game studio that I got my opportunity at Scorpio.
I joined the Vortex team the year the company was founded. Their mobile games didn’t have the scope and reach of Scorpio’s high-budget, high-profit games, but we were innovative and passionate—which, to be honest, was our driving force, considering how little we got paid. At one point, I earned a low salary. Then I worked part-time unpaid for half a year in the hopes our game would sell enough to keep me there full-time on a livable wage.
That didn’t happen.
And then fate intervened.
One of the three founders got sick and couldn’t go to São Paulo for the biggest video game convention in Latin America, so I offered to take his place. There, I met some amazing people from several international game studios, including Scorpio Games.
That day changed everything for me. I had a pleasant talk with Scorpio’s recruiter and got an interview with Lars a few days later.
I look at him now, remembering our first video call, how nervous I was. My English kept failing me, but that didn’t ruin my chances. He saw how much I wanted the opportunity, how ready I was to move across the world and make it happen.
Maybe the dream doesn’t have to end yet.
“After the Fun Season, we’ll be doing some rearranging and internal hiring,” he says.
“Fun Season?” I ask, not familiar with the term.
Lars smiles. “Every year, from October to the end of December, we have a series of fun events to warm up the team, lift the spirits, and get to know each other better.” I nod, listening eagerly. “You might call it a tournament, but we are a game company, so we’re not so competitive,” he says sarcastically.
I laugh, curious to hear more.
“New people are joining the company all the time, and I appreciate the opportunity to get to know my coworkers on a more personal level.” Lars rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, staring at me. “I look forward to learning more about you, Sol, and finding the best place for you in this company.” He then adds, “Oh, that sounded weird. Please don’t misinterpret me.”
I smile back at him and wonder if what he means is “If I like you enough, you get a promotion.”
“We’ll start to work on a new project next year,” he continues. I sit straighter, my heart pounding. “There’s nothing defined yet, but we want it to be different from what we’ve been doing so far. It could be any kind of game. We’re open to innovation.”
If I could use one word to describe what I love most in this field, it’d be innovation, so my heartbeat rises another level.
“That’s great news!”
“We’ll be hiring a game director internally to lead this project. We want someone creative, proactive, and full of ideas. A leader with vision. Someone who’s really in for the ride.”
Instead of beating even faster, my heart stops for a fraction of a second. Did he say game director? I thought I was at the descent of the roller coaster when I’m actually on the climb. Or the loop, perhaps.
This should be the moment when I pitch myself as a great fit for the position. I sense that it’s not necessary though, from the way Lars is looking at me. Just from telling me all this, it’s obvious he’s already considering me. But he can’t promise anything yet. He wants the right person.
Someone who won’t just suddenly go back to Brazil.
Someone he likes.
I’ll have to work for this promotion, but I’m so in.
