by Sara Ney
Pop a few photos in and voila!
Done.
I’m not sure why I’m actually doing this, but I am excited to see what kind of females are in these dating apps. My only perspective has been as a woman searching for a man, so I’m interested to see what girls put in their biographies. I know from my own experience many guys on these things sound bitter with the whole experience and it shows.
It’s not long before I’m swiping, mostly left, and I actually see a few young women I recognize from my classes and parties. I wonder if I’ll see my roommate while I’m nosing around.
Oh! This Rachel is cute…
…but her blurb sounds odd. She sounds really high-maintenance, so I swipe left. Same with a girl named Molly who caught my eye right away but then turned me off by mentioning her six cats in an off-campus apartment.
That can’t be allowed, can it?
Holy pet rent, Batman!
As I get more comfortable in bed, swiping consumes most of my attention; however, there isn’t a single young woman I feel inclined to swipe right on. I’m not sure if I’m being overly critical because I like Jack as a person, or if I’m being overly critical because I like him as more than a friend.
All I know is that somewhere out there, Jack is looking at men for me, and that has me feeling a certain kind of way.
Nine
Jack
That little shite created a dating profile for me.
Don’t blame her considering I hijacked hers, but still—what nerve.
The men on those apps are shite. I could hardly stomach swiping on any of them, and the ones I did match with (as Eliza) lasted a hot five minutes before I deleted their twatty arses.
Bloody idiots, each and every one of them.
I don’t know how these girls manage it.
Briefly I wonder what kind of luck Eliza is having as me on the dating app, needing my phone back but enjoying the freedom of not having it. No interruptions, no distractions. No nonstop notifications, especially from young women like Kaylee who just want to use me for whatever it is they think I can give them.
Status?
I won’t lie and say it hasn’t been incredible moving to America and becoming a commodity on this college campus. I became somewhat of an instant celebrity, everyone wanting to meet me and spend time with me before actually meeting me in person.
People here are mad for Brits.
It’s the whackiest thing.
I’ve been invited to every party as if I were the bloody Prince of Wales himself. Fraternity parties and parties on Jock Row, the block off campus where many of the student athletes live in big, expensive houses. Located all on one long street, the houses are similar to fraternity or sorority rows, popular with the student body for drinking and socializing.
Well. Most of them are big and expensive.
The rugby house is a bit of a shitehole.
A dump, I’ve heard it been called.
However, as much as I’m enjoying this freedom not having my mobile has afforded me, I actually do require it back. I know my family has probably attempted to get ahold of me a few times; Mum reaches out a few times a day, and if I don’t respond, she will call the embassy and have them search for my cold, lifeless body.
Tossing my trainers into a duffel bag, I also throw in a T-shirt and pack up for practice later—a few blokes and I are going to throw the ball around on the field this afternoon in an attempt to help me get a little bit better. It didn’t escape anyone that I am shite at the game, and some of my mates reached out.
Coach is going to suspend me; I can feel it in my gut.
Shoes go in the bag. Shirt goes in the bag.
Protein bars go in the bag.
A buzzing sound catches my attention and I fish Eliza’s mobile from the bag as well.
It’s her, bright and early.
Eliza: Morning…
Me: Cheerio.
Really, Jack? Cheerio? You haven’t used that as a greeting a day in your fucking life.
Eliza: You ready to make the switch today?
Me: Not really. I’m having a good time being you. Your mum says hello, by the way.
Eliza: Would you knock it off?
Me: Can’t. Having too much fun. You’re very popular, your mobile hasn’t stopped buzzing since last night.
Eliza: Okay, now I know you’re lying. No one ever texts me, I’m pathetic. YOUR phone has been blowing up.
Me: Yes, well—I’m halfway across the globe and my family treats me like I’m still in nappies. They can’t help themselves, crawling up my arse.
Eliza: Where are you headed this morning, maybe we can meet?
Me: The gym, then the science building, then study group, food, playing field.
Eliza: Are you purposely being difficult? How are you not chomping at the bit to get this phone back?? Surely there are things you NEED.
Me: Nope.
Eliza: Okay well there are things **I** need. So we have to switch them back.
Me: Fine, we’ll find time today, just keep messaging me and we’ll figure it out.
Me: By the way, you might have a date this Friday.
Eliza: Stop it.
Me: His name is Jessie and he’s from Mexico City originally, plays soccer, loves movies. I think you’ll like him.
Eliza: I hate you right now.
Me: Listen, it took me hours to find a suitable mate for you, so don’t be picky. A blind date will be brilliant.
Eliza: All right—how about we make it a DOUBLE first date?
Me: Really Eliza, you would do that to Kaylee? Set me up with someone else while she’s trying to get in my pants?
Eliza: I…I…you…
Me: Have I rendered you speechless?
Eliza: Yes, you asshole!
Me: I love how Americans say ass. Much cruder than arse.
Eliza: Good day.
Me: Oh come on…
Eliza: I said good day, sir.
Me: I was kidding.
Eliza: Bye.
Her last few messages have me laughing out loud—Eliza is pretty stinking adorable, if I do say so myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to be attracted to someone emotionally. Typically I only allow surface-level stuff, not really wanting to commit myself while I am in the States, knowing I am not going to stay here.
Lust.
Physical attraction.
It’s true that I’m going to be here for at least four years, returning home only for the holidays, like Christmas and such. Easter. But at the end, when I graduate with a degree, I will not live here. That is not and will not ever be my intention. So is it wise to fall in love with someone?
I stare down at Eliza’s message with a smile on my face, grinning as I finally shove it back into my bag, and lock up when I leave the house before hopping into my truck.
My brother’s truck.
Well, my parents own it, so…whatever.
Semantics.
I go through my day preoccupied, only checking my mobile a dozen times or so an hour, expecting a message from Eliza to be there. Or maybe if I stare at the blasted thing long enough, one will magically appear without my having to reach out first.
Ugh.
Why hasn’t she messaged me? It’s been three hours.
Why do you care?
I don’t.
Yes you do.
So?
Stop talking to yourself. People will think you’ve gone mad.
No one can see you talking to yourself, halfwit. You’re not moving your mouth.
By the time I have to go to my study group for astronomy, I’ve completely lost all focus, tucking the mobile in the back pocket of my jeans, removing it every one to three minutes to stare at the screen.
The blank screen.
Eventually there is a notification, but not the kind I want to see—it’s from the dating app, and it’s Jessie, the bloke I matched with last night who I jokingly said I was going to set her up on a blind date with.
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I scowl down at the dating app notification.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, but the sight of the little red flame has me agitated.
As I stalk to the student union after my study group, my stomach growls and appears as angry as my face. The moods match.
Students greet me as I grab a tray and stand in line to get a hamburger, loading it with potato chips, a fruit cup, French fries, and condiments. I root around for the mayonnaise, almost losing my shite when I can’t find any. Luckily there’s one floating in the sea of mustard packets no one wants.
Fucking Jessie.
I’ll be damned if he’s going on a date with her.
Ha.
Good luck, lad.
Good. Bloody. Luck. Buddy.
Buddy: an American term I learned today that I locked away in my memory bank so I can use it in a sentence out loud later, perhaps at rugby practice. Also a huge fan of the word pal. An older gentleman called me pal at the grocery store the other day and I took a shine to it, always banking new words for my American vocabulary.
Sometimes it doesn’t do to sound like a stuffy British wanker.
I pull Eliza’s mobile out of my bag once again. Isn’t she the one who wanted to swap so badly? She was in such a damn rush, and suddenly she’s radio silent. Haven’t heard from her all day.
What am I supposed to do, keep it?
If I hold on to it any longer, eventually I’m going to start snooping. As it is, it’s taken all the self-control I possess not to go trolling through her text messages or her photo gallery.
I wonder if she has any nudes.
Ha! Yeah right.
She doesn’t seem like the sort. Besides, who would she send them to? As far as I know, she’s single. It didn’t seem like she was actively on the dating apps searching for love or dating or sex, wasn’t having a single conversation with anyone as far as I could see.
Not until I came along and began swiping for her, you’re welcome very much.
You’re doing the girl a favor, Jack.
Are you though? Or are you just bored?
I find an unoccupied table in the student union and set my full tray down, plop into a chair, resting my elbows on the tabletop even though I know it’s bad manners.
I’m sulking, obviously, trying to figure out the reason why.
I’m not jealous of this guy on the dating app. I’m not.
That would be absolutely preposterous! I don’t know him and barely know Eliza, nor does she know Jessie—they haven’t even gone out yet. The girl doesn’t even know what the lad looks like because she doesn’t have her bloody mobile!
Still, as I shovel French fries into my face, I stare off into the distance, over at the offices lining the walls within the union. The office of the student government and the young people inside. Watch through the glass as they go about their business doing whatever it is the student government does.
My eyes roam to the other side of the union, where campus clubs set up tables, inviting others to gather information about joining.
Fraternities.
The LGBTQ community.
Environmental clubs, a few intramural sports teams.
My gaze drops to my tray, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks that no one has approached or joined me.
This would be a first, and I’m happy for it; the last thing I want is company. I’m in no mood for it today.
If I had a fork, I’d be stabbing it into this hamburger bun. That’s how out of sorts I am with no reasonable explanation for it.
Finally, Eliza’s mobile makes the sound I’ve been waiting for this entire afternoon: it pings. It pings and I jump as if I’ve been startled or shocked by an electric current.
Halle-frickin-lujah.
Be cool, Jack.
Chill, bro.
Wiping my mouth and my hands, I set the paper napkin back in my lap and brace myself for whatever message I’m about to receive. Excitement courses through my veins. This is absolutely stupid. I’m just mates with this girl. She means nothing to me.
Why am I so eager?
Eliza: What are you up to?
Me: Eating a late lunch, how about you?
Eliza: Just finished a nonverbal communication class—are you still on campus?
Me: Indeed I am.
Eliza: Wonderful. We can meet and make the switch?
Me: Brilliant. When?
Eliza: Now?
Me: Sure, I can meet you once I’m done with this supper. I’m to be at the park for practice later. Where do you have to be?
Eliza: Nowhere. I was going to head home.
Me: Cool.
Eliza: So, Kaylee has texted you about 20 times…
Twenty times? Um…
Me: Doesn’t that seem excessive?
Eliza: No comment.
Me: Ah, so you agree that it seems excessive.
Eliza: LOL that’s not for me to say.
Me: Blah blah you’re agreeing with me without agreeing with me by not saying a word.
Eliza: Eh. Am I?
Me: Indeed.
Eliza: You sound so stuffy when you use that word. InDEED…
Me: Are you trying to change the subject?
Eliza: Indeed!
Me: Ha. Okay, I concede. 20 times messaging a bloke is perfectly normal and not at all desperate, so we can move on with our conversation.
Me: You’re ready to have your mobile back?
Eliza: So ready. You?
Me: No, I’m having too much fun with yours. A bit stodgy of you NOT to have any nudes, but that’s neither here nor there.
Eliza: Guess it’s rightfully stodgy that you have no dick pics, so there.
Me: SICK BURN, Eliza. Well played.
Eliza: *takes a bow*
Me: That a bow or a curtsy? I am British, you know.
Eliza: You can be awfully annoying, do you know that?
Me: I’m gathering I irritate you an awful lot, yes.
Eliza: Let me count the ways…
Me: Do go on, I’m interested.
Eliza: Well, you don’t actually irritate me all that much. You’re becoming like the annoying little brother I never wanted. Ha ha!
I’m sorry, what now?
Little brother she never wanted?
Excuse me?
My dick just shriveled. I swear my balls just crawled up inside my body. If ever there was a sentence in the category “things a man doesn’t want to hear from a woman,” those are the words it would be comprised of.
Little brother?
She’s comparing me to her…her…SIBLING?
No bloody fucking way. No.
Me: I’m sorry—what?
Eliza: You’re like the brother I never wanted.
Me: Your brother.
And, I’m not little, but far be it from me to point that out at a time like this. This feels very dire, and I’m having a hard time focusing my eyes on the tiny screen without tossing the bloody thing across the room so it lands in the aquarium at the far side of the union.
Brother?
Eliza: Well, that’s how you’re teasing me—it seems accurate.
I’m fucking sorry, but the things going through my mind the last twenty-four hours are not remotely familial.
I’m so shook.
Shook to my giant core.
The hamburger I just crammed down my gullet seems to get lodged, throat gone massively dry, and I have to chug half a bottle of water to get it down.
Brother.
What?
Is she bloody serious?
Stop cursing, Jack. It’s beneath you.
I’m sorry, but I cannot—this is…this…
The only reasonable thing to do would be to take her on a date, but I cannot do that either because that blasted roommate of hers sent me twenty messages in a single twenty-four-hour period even though I’ve clearly not been interested enough to reply.
Bloody hell. What a mess.
Eliza: You want your phone now or wh
at? The clock is ticking.
Me: You said you were going home.
Eliza: So? That doesn’t mean I want to wait around for you. I WAIT FOR NO MAN.
Me: Calm down Gloria Steinem.
Eliza: **shrugs** I’m not wrong though.
Me: No, you’re right.
Me: Give me ten minutes and I will meet you in front of the admin building, by the statue of the guy with the pony.
Eliza: Um, that’s the founder of this university, and that is his dog.
Me: Tomato, tomahto. Ten minutes.
Eliza: See ya.
Suddenly, the sight of her standing there waiting for me is different. As I approach and she spies me walking toward her, the smile that crosses her face has an identical one crossing mine but has my stomach doing a weird…thing.
If I hadn’t just scarfed down a burger, fries, fruit, and potato chips—almost got myself a hot dog too—I would imagine I’m still hungry.
But that’s not what this is.
This is something entirely different altogether.
“Hey.” Her hand rises and she gives a cute little wave.
Cute.
That’s an understatement, but I let it pass without more thought; I have to stop overanalyzing my own thoughts about Eliza—it’s not healthy because this cannot lead to anything more.
You’re leaving.
Kaylee is her roommate.
Kaylee would probably cut Eliza’s hair off in her sleep if she knew we were seeing one another on the sly.
We haven’t snuck around.
We’re mates.
Ugh, mates—sounds just as dreadful as being akin to her brother.
Vomit.
Gag.
Ashley would have fits if he heard the putdown, and perhaps I’ll tell him because he’d get a kick out of it. Have a lark during our next video chat, and also, maybe he’ll have some advice for me, or Georgia will?
Eliza’s arm is extended, and as I get closer, I can see she’s holding my mobile in the palm of her hand. It’s outstretched facing up, almost as an offering.
Fabulous.
I reach for it. “I missed you, pal.” That makes Eliza laugh, and I pull her mobile from the back pocket of my jeans and hand it to her. “I added some sick new content. You’re welcome.”
