Mostly MyBoss

by Doyle, S.

  “Uh-oh. Did you tell him you’re sneakily athletic?”

  “I did, but he didn’t seem to buy it. What with him being the opposite of sneakily athletic. In fact, he’s all athletic. I got a chuck on my shoulder—which almost knocked me over—an offer to hook me up at parties, not sure with what, and a see you around. I’ve already requested a transfer to a single. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m not the easiest when it comes to making friends, but I thought college would be simpler. Like everyone here would be as desperate as we are.”

  “I’m not desperate,” I said defensively. “I’ll make friends. It just takes me a little time. I’m someone who needs to warm up to people. Or people need to warm up to me. One of those things.”

  He tilted his head. “Hello. Two weeks in, lunch alone. I’m thinking you’re sunk. Good thing you have me.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say I didn’t want to be friends with the weird genius guy, but he was right. I did not have a lot of alternatives and mostly it was because of my attitude.

  Not that I was negative or anything. Just careful. So careful all the time it was hard to put myself out there.

  “I’ll make friends,” I insisted and stabbed a bite of the bulgogi. It wasn’t bad. “It’s just harder for me than it might be for others.”

  “Others?”

  “You know. The legacy students who all know they belong here. They’re like this immediate clique because they have this school and their parents in common.”

  “You’re not the only scholarship kid at Harvard,” he pointed out.

  No, I wasn’t. But I hadn’t found another one from Iowa. Heck, I’d be happy with someone from Idaho.

  “I’m from a different place than a lot of people here are from. Not that it matters. Besides, I didn’t come here to make friends. My education is the most important thing to me right now.”

  He smirked. “Says the girl who has no friends.”

  “Says the guy who’s sitting with her.”

  “Touché. Are you going to eat all of that?”

  There were a lot of different dishes on my tray because I hadn’t been able to choose. Admittedly, more than I could possibly eat. Still, as someone who was a little self-conscious about her weight, I instantly went on the defensive.

  “Are you fat-shaming me?” It was only a halfhearted accusation. I mean, no one actually publicly fat-shamed people anymore. Not even the mean girls.

  “No, of course not. Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I’m saying it’s a lot of food for one person of your size to eat. Is that fat-shaming you?”

  “It depends. It is if you’re saying, hey, that’s a lot of food. You must be eating all of that because you’re fat. Or, hey that’s a lot of food. If you eat all that, you’ll get fat.”

  “B. The latter. I mean, it is a lot of food and you know what they say about the freshmen fifteen—”

  “Oh my God!” Unbelievable. “You are fat-shaming me. You understand you’re not allowed to do that anymore, right? Women are no longer going to be judged by our size or a man’s opinion of it.”

  “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m just pointing out that I don’t think you want to put on fifteen pounds. Which I just assume most girls don’t want to do. I’m trying to be real with you.”

  “You’re being an asshole right now,” I told him. “You have no idea what kind of metabolism I have. Or bone structure!”

  “I’m not saying you’re fat! I just said it was a lot of food.”

  “Right. Because I’m not fat. Not by anyone’s definition of a healthy body.”

  God, that sounded so lame, even to me. No, I wasn’t fat. I wasn’t thin, either. Not like Nicki. My size came from basically growing up on a diet of corn and potatoes.

  And he was probably right—fifteen pounds could be the thing that tipped the scales for me. Absolutely no pun intended.

  He was shaking his head as if he’d reached the conclusion he was in a no-win situation. “I was just trying to be honest. That’s what friendship is all about.”

  “No, friendship is about support. Encouragement. And not calling someone fat. Besides, we’re not friends. You and I have a business arrangement. That’s all.”

  His lips thinned out. “Shit. This is the second conversation I fucked up today.” He seemed legitimately annoyed with himself.

  “Why? Did you walk up to someone and call them ugly?”

  He rolled his eyes and tucked his fork into a piece of salmon. That’s right. Grilled salmon was a lunch option at Harvard.

  “No. She was quite cute, actually.”

  “You approached a girl?”

  “In the library, yes. Why do you sound surprised?”

  Because he was tall, too thin, had the eyebrow thing going on, and he was completely weird. I shrugged. “Hey, if you’ve got game.”

  “Like sports, I can be sneakily charming.”

  I had my doubts. “So how did you fuck it up? Were you yourself?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. I did the charming version of me. Not the real version. I’m serious. You would be surprised. It’s really effective.”

  Which, for some reason, completely bothered me. I preferred it when he was more socially awkward than I was. “If you’re so charming, then why didn’t you try to charm me into taking notes for you instead of offering to pay me?”

  “Uh, hello?”

  I definitely didn’t like that answer. “Why? Because I’m not cute enough for you, so you didn’t want to waste your time?”

  “No. Because I knew you wouldn’t buy my bullshit. It’s written all over your face. Do. Not. Bullshit. Me. Like, in black marker. But we should probably talk about your insecurity issues.”

  I laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”

  He put down his fork and looked at me with serious intent. “You need to straighten your shoulders more.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, once again being offended. Even though I knew I had a tendency to slouch.

  He shrugged. “If I’m being real, I’m just going to say it. I’ve watched you around campus. You walk like you don’t want people to see you. I’m guessing that’s because you’re insecure about a weight problem you only think you have but don’t really have. Your T-shirts are baggy. Your jeans are too loose. It’s like you want to go unnoticed. But then, what is the point of coming to Harvard where the goal is to be picked from the best of the best?”

  I squirmed on my chair. I knew I had internal demons. I also knew part of my learning curve here was about overcoming them.

  “Women are so fucked up in their heads about that shit,” he said, completely unbothered by my lack of response. “Big, small, flat, round. It’s all about how you think of yourself. That’s the turn-on for guys. You stand, walk, and sit like you don’t think much of yourself.”

  I sat straighter. Like his words were digging into the middle of my back. “You know, this is the part where I stand up in a huff and tell you to go fuck yourself. But I was here first. You leave.”

  “I’m being honest,” he insisted.

  “You’re being a dick.”

  He shook his head. “Shoulders back, tits out. Do it for one day then tell me you don’t see a difference in how people treat you.”

  “Can we go back to how you crashed and burned with the girl you tried to talk to?”

  “I didn’t crash and burn. I got her number.” He held up his phone and I saw the name Bethany on his Recents page. “You know why?”

  “She’s into weirdos?”

  “I have an appalling amount of self-confidence. No, I fucked up because I think she thinks I want to go on a date. And I don’t.”

  He was not easy to keep up with. “Then why did you get her number?”

  “I want to fuck her.”

  I blinked. Tall guy with the dark reddish hair and bushy eyebrows thought he could get laid by the cute gir
l? That didn’t make sense.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I’m telling you…it’s all in my attitude. I’m a regular pantie dropper. Wait…that didn’t come out right.”

  I was suspicious.

  “Shoulders back, tits out,” he repeated. “Works every time.”

  “Really?” I asked him. “Because your tits are not impressive at all.”

  He chuckled and went back to his salmon. And, because I was the biggest loser on the planet, I focused solely on my salad.

  * * *

  I looked in the full-length mirror on the wall in my room and grimaced. I did slouch my shoulders. It was something my mother used to complain about all the time. When she had the energy for it.

  Then Dad died, and she lost the energy for everything.

  Straightening my shoulders naturally pushed my tits out. Was that a good look for me? I wore a C cup and had mostly thought my boobs were an annoyance while growing up, but maybe a tighter T-shirt?

  I pulled the material of my shirt snug and focused on keeping my shoulders back. That made the boobs look huge and the last thing I wanted to be known for on campus was my rack.

  The door opened then, and I immediately resumed slouch mode, turning away from the mirror as fast as I could.

  “Hey, Nicki,” I muttered, moving to my bed.

  “Oh my gosh, I had the best day!” She was smiling again, but I decided it was on me to make more of an effort.

  “Good class?”

  “No, Comp 101 is bullshit. Better than class. I met up with some people and they invited me for…wait for it…coffee. That’s right. My first coffee-group date thing at Harvard. I feel so badass. You should come!”

  My mouth opened and closed with a hundred reasons why I couldn’t. I wasn’t invited. This was her thing. She probably didn’t want me tagging along.

  Then she sat on the edge of my bed. “Look, Julia, I know we’re not the same people at all. But isn’t that the whole point of college? To hang out with people you normally don’t? So come get coffee and hang out and we’ll just see how it goes.”

  Shoulders back, tits out. “Okay. That sounds cool.”

  There was a knock on the door. Nicki gave me an exaggerated, I wonder who that could be? look.

  Without checking, she opened the door with a cheerful “Hi,” which meant it could have been a serial killer, but whatever.

  “Hey, is Julia here?”

  I knew that voice.

  “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  He poked his head around the door. “I need you.”

  “I’m not sure I’m open for business,” I told Ethan.

  “No, seriously. This is fashion shit. Girls live for this,” he said, coming into the room.

  “Uh, I think you criticized my wardrobe at lunch,” I reminded him.

  “You have a wardrobe?” Nicki asked. “Is it, like, not unpacked yet?”

  Ethan smiled. “You must be Jules’s roommate. She said you have a really amazing smile and you do.”

  Nicki practically sighed. “Oh my gosh. Thank you!”

  I rolled my eyes while she was gushing at Ethan. He hadn’t been kidding about the charm thing.

  Turning to me, she said, “Julia, you didn’t tell me you had a guy.”

  “He’s not a guy,” I said.

  “I’m a guy,” he contradicted me.

  “Not my guy. He’s…a friend. And he’s super weird. So be careful what you say around him.”

  “We’re going to meet up with some people for coffee,” Nicki announced to him. “You should come with.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I like coffee.” He turned to me and wiggled his bushy eyebrows like he was making a point. “Now, seriously, are belts still a thing?”

  I stood and sized him up. He had a polo shirt tucked into khakis with a brown belt and half boots. “No,” I said definitively. Tucking his shirt in only highlighted how narrow he was through the waist.

  Because he was right. While I didn’t work too hard on how I looked (see previous commentary on my latent insecurity issues), I had also been raised with three brothers who wanted to get laid all the time. Clothes had mattered to them.

  I pulled out his shirt and took a step back. “Better. But you need to find something other than polos.”

  “There’s something other than polos?” he asked.

  “Okay, so Julia, are you going to change and then we can go?” Nicki asked. Innocently. I think it was innocently.

  “Yep.” I tried to think through my inventory of T-shirts. Surely there was a medium in there somewhere that would make me look more put together. I pulled out the one I was thinking of and popped into the bathroom for a quick change.

  When I glanced down at myself, I could see my boobs were now officially there. I suppose that was an improvement. I walked into the dorm room and Nicki was still fawning over Ethan’s blatant flirting.

  Then she turned toward me with her eyes really wide.

  “It’s too tight, isn’t it?” I asked, wondering what the hell else I could change into.

  “You didn’t tell me you know Ethan Moss!”

  “Uh, yeah, I think I did. When he walked into the room.”

  “You’re seriously him,” Nicki said to Ethan.

  “The one and only.” He half smiled and half smirked. Oh my lord, he was cheesy when he was flirting.

  “Oh my gosh, this is so cool. We should go. I can’t wait to tell everyone who I brought.”

  She was already out the door when I made my way over to Ethan. “Why do I think she doesn’t mean me?”

  “I told you. I’m a genius. You should have believed me.”

  “Whatever. I said yes to coffee, with people I don’t know,” I told him, feeling a little proud of myself. “And I’m wearing my tight shirt.”

  “That’s not tight. Not even a little.”

  “It’s a medium!”

  He sighed. “It’s an effort. That’s all I’ll give it.”

  “Says the guy in the navy polo.”

  “Come on,” he said, pushing me out the door. “We’re going to go make friends and influence the lives of others just by our presence.”

  “That sounds daunting. But if I sit there the whole time and don’t say anything, kick me under the table.”

  “Fine, but then I should get a discount on my next invoice.”

  He’d actually done me a solid today by pushing my buttons enough to motivate me into something that wasn’t exactly comfortable for me. I suppose I owed him a little for that.

  “Fine. I’ll send you a coupon. Five percent off.”

  4

  Harvard

  Julia

  “So, really? Bitcoin?”

  We were at lunch a few days later, discussing the revelation disclosed at our first coffee klatch. Apparently everyone knew who Ethan Moss was. Everyone except me. At least, Nicki had known his name and had chastised me for not knowing who he was.

  What? Are you, like, from outer space or something?

  Or something, I’d thought. The folks in the town where I grew up didn’t spend a lot of time talking about Bitcoin.

  He looked up from the California roll that he was eating with chopsticks, just to be that guy, and smiled.

  I’d settled on soup and a Caesar salad, and wondered how I’d go back to PB&Js when I was home for break.

  “I told you I had my own money.”

  “You said you worked,” I reminded him.

  “No, I said I earned it,” he corrected me. “Which I did. It was just incredibly easy, which was not at all my fault. Super genius,” he said, tapping his temple with this finger. “Remember?”

  Super genius who needed my notes. It made me slightly suspicious. “Funny that you mention it. You were pretty spaced out today in class. What idea were you dreaming up?”

  He shrugged and popped a round piece of sushi covered in wasabi into his mouth. (Yes, I now knew what wasabi was after a rude introduction Ethan thought was hysterically funny.)<
br />
  “They’re not all brilliant,” he said after a moment. “Being a visionary takes time. You can’t just snap your fingers.”

  “Hmm,” I said and went back to my soup.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I don’t believe you were thinking about some grand, new, get-rich scheme, no. You didn’t look focused. You were totally distracted.”

  He tossed the chopsticks on his plate and took the paper napkin from his lap to wipe his face. It wasn’t lost on me how he ate. That his manners were impeccable while I sat slouched over my soup.

  I made an effort to sit up.

  “Sometimes I get distracted. It’s not a big thing. It doesn’t have to be. At least, that’s what I’ve tried to tell my father.”

  “Your father?” I prompted. Because it seemed like we were doing this. The whole friend thing. Which meant he had to tell me his stories and I would not tell him mine. Because, really, what was the point? My stories were mostly all sad.

  “He’s a physician. A pediatrician in Manhattan. Very exclusive. I just…I just don’t want to be a patient anymore.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “No more Adderall.”

  “Adderall. That’s the drug baseball players all try to get prescriptions for so they can hit better.”

  I knew that from my brothers. Sports had been essentially the only topic of conversation growing up in the Whitford household. Professional, college. Football, baseball, all of it. So if I knew something newsworthy, it was most likely that what I knew was within the context of sports.

  He shrugged. “I guess. It’s supposed to help with ADHD. I’ve been on it and other medications since I was twelve…and I’m tired of it. I thought coming here could be a new start. I could just be…me. So what if sometimes I get distracted? What’s the big deal as long as I compensate for it? That’s what you’re for.”

  It was suddenly a little harder to swallow my soup. I thought we were moving deeper into the friend zone, but it was probably a good reminder that our initial arrangement was business. He was using me to compensate for his condition.