Monkey Business. Sarah Mlynowski
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We’ll bake cookies and braid each other’s hair. “So when do we get to meet Sharon?” I asked from the front seat of Jamie’s ten-year-old Hyundai Excel, putting on my best girly voice, all high-pitched and full of fake cheer.
“I don’t know,” Russ answered. “She lives in Toronto.”
Toronto? Does it count if they’re not in the same country?
I avoided him all day. I walked straight into Strategy and sat right in the front. Big mistake, since Professor Martin is psycho. Thinks he’s still in Vietnam. I tried the front row again for Economics and IC. Barely saw Russ until he and Nick passed me on the way out and Nick asked me if I wanted to join them for a four-twenty. Decided to play it cool and say no. And I have no idea what a four-twenty is.
There he is. My mouth goes instantly dry as if a vacuum has sucked out its moisture. He and Nick are standing by the door. Nick stumbles, and the two of them laugh. Then they scan the bookstore and shake their heads in what I assume is dismay at the jungle in here.
Russ spots me and I freeze. He smiles and twirls his index finger near his temple, which I read as his this-line-is-crazy gesture.
I nod. “I know,” I mouth. I hold up two fingers and then point at my watch. I’m trying to tell him I’ve been here for two hours.
He shakes his head again. Then he points to his eyes and then at my books on the floor.
Translation (I think): Can I look at your books tonight?
My mouth goes dry again. I’m glad we’re not face-to-face because I don’t think I can talk properly. He wants to hang out with me tonight. To do reading. Together.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to wait in line.
Or maybe (it’s possible) he’s looking for an excuse to hang out with me.
I nod.
He says something to Nick that I can’t read, winks at me, and then takes off.
There’s suddenly a huge gap between my massive feet and the person in front of me in line. I pick up my five-hundred-pound pile, then drop it a foot up.
Sigh. How come the good ones are always taken? Russ is so cute. So perfect. I have the worst luck.
The person in front of me is at the cash register. I push my books forward with my foot.
First Wayne leaves me for someone else, and now the guy I want is taken.
The skinny purple-haired undergrad at the register motions to me. I’m up. I pick up my stuff in two shifts. How am I going to carry these back to the dorm? A boyfriend would carry them for me.
“That’ll be eight hundred, forty-seven dollars, and twenty-two cents.”
Good thing I didn’t buy that baby tee.
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