Monkey Business. Sarah Mlynowski

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      Even though I’m feeling anxious about the state of my muscles and want to get to the weights, the idea of watching her jiggle beside me is too appealing to pass up. I stretch out my hamstring beside her. “Sounds good.”

      We find two unoccupied treadmills in the corner, facing the window. She sets her speed to seven. I set mine at nine.

      Shit. That’s fast.

      We run in silence. The sun beats through the glass, and I’m starting to sweat faster than usual. Oh, man. I must be out of shape. The wall of window makes me feel as if I’m running off a cliff. I wonder if the miniature students below us can see us. Maybe the windows are tinted. I’ll have to check next time I walk by.

      It’s interesting watching below. Groups stopping, laughing. Someone doing a handstand against the side of a building. What is that guy doing? “Is that Jamie?”

      Kimmy peers out the window, then grabs the handlebars and ducks. “Yikes, hide me.”

      “Hide you? Why?”

      “I can’t escape him. What’s he doing?” A group of three girls are standing around him, laughing. He flips over and sits on the pavement. Two of the girls sit next to him. I think one of them is Rena.

      “Gymnastics of some sort. Maybe he’s working out.”

      Kimmy smirks. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking that he doesn’t look like a guy who works out. “So does that mean you’re not interested in him?” I ask.

      Her mouth flies open. Closes. Then it opens again. “Jamie? Nooo.”

      “What about what happened last week?”

      She’s flushed from my question. Or from the workout.

      She bites her lip. “You know about that?”

      “Ah…no?”

      “Very funny. Did he tell everyone?”

      “Didn’t you see the ad in the LWBS paper?”

      “Hilarious.”

      I’m worried that I’ve upset her, but then she laughs and adds, “What a blabbermouth.”

      Now I feel bad for Jamie. “Don’t be mad, we forced it out of him. Tortured him, if you want to know. Tied him up then performed Japanese water torture.”

      She raises an eyebrow. “I’ll bet.”

      “So, you interested in him or not?”

      She shakes her head no, and her ponytail swings again. Game, set, match. “That night was a mistake. He’s not what I’m looking for.”

      “What are you looking for?” I ask, now watching her pump her arms. She gets very into her workout.

      She turns toward me. “Exactly what I’m looking at, actually. You.”

      I miss a step and almost trip into the handlebars. As I steady myself, I think, me, eh? This hot chick, breasts heaving, is interested in me?

      Now might be a good time to mention Sharon.

      Okay, now.

      Now.

      Kimmy reaches over for her water bottle, pulls up the tab with her teeth and sucks the water into her mouth.

      Now.

      “Do you want some?” she asks.

      I nod. I know, I know. Shouldn’t share water bottles. She hands me the bottle and our damp fingers touch. I swallow a mouthful, not unmindful of the bulge in my gym shorts. I’m hoping for those tinted windows. I wouldn’t want this entire scene being described to Sharon via her sister via Rena.

      Bad business this sharing of water bottles.

first semester

      Monday, September 8, 9:13 a.m.

      jamie comes late (literally)

      Love that I’m late for my first class. Partially my fault, partially my mother’s. She called me at eight-thirty this morning to complain about the new development in my sister Amanda’s love life.

      Mother: Apparently Amanda has a secret boyfriend. Did you know that, Jamie? I’m not a happy woman.

      Me: I thought you wanted her to meet someone.

      Mother: I do, but I’m worried because he’s not Jewish.

      Me: I thought you were worried because you didn’t think she’d ever get married. You certainly have a lot of worries.

      Mother: Don’t be a smart mouth. How’s school? Are you going to screw it up and not go to class?

      Me: If you let me off the phone, I’d go to class.

      Mother: Sue me for wanting to talk to my son who lives on the other end of the country.

      Me: I thought my being accepted to B-school was the proudest moment of your life.

      Mother: I am proud, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been prouder if you had gotten accepted to school in Florida.

      Me: Oy. Great talking to you, Ma. Always love hearing first thing in the morning about all the things I’m doing wrong.

      That conversation made me late. The muffin and coffee I stopped to pick up made me later. Not that it matters. Organizational Behavior is a joke anyway, but not in a ha-ha kind of way. Professor Matthews is supposed to be a bastard.

      When I open the door, he’s already started the class. I climb up the auditorium stairs and slip into the seat beside Kimmy in the fifth row. She’s wearing an adorable back-to-school outfit: a short brown corduroy skirt, a tight white turtleneck and knee-high brown suede boots. Schoolgirl sexy.

      The classroom has stadium seating, so everyone faces the professor in the middle, the professor who looks like an angry Morgan Freeman and is glaring at me from behind his desk. Now might not be the best time to take out my muffin.

      “As I was saying, my second pet peeve, after students who come in late—” he looks at me as he enunciates “—are students who eat in class. You cannot eat and concentrate at the same time. If you must, coffee and water are acceptable beverages, but do not come to class half-asleep. I am not an alarm clock. By the time you are seated in your chairs, I demand that you be well rested and prepared to work.”

      No muffin?

      His eyes dissect the room. “Now that we’ve gotten my pet peeves out of the way, welcome to Organizational Behavior. I am now passing out the class syllabus and assignment sheet. Note the required reading. And required does not mean optional. It means mandatory. My TA Ronald—wave СКАЧАТЬ