Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

A flashbulb goes off.

The door to my room is open and Jamie’s howling. “That,” he says, “was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Hilarious.” I pull Jamie into my room and kiss him. I know I should be angry with him, furious even, but it is April Fools’ Day, and it’s not as if anyone else saw me streaking through the halls, not that I would have really cared one way or another. But still…I wish sometimes he’d be less of a clown. “You know, I like you when you’re serious, too. You don’t always have to make a joke out of everything.”

“Okay, just one more. What does an MBA call dating?”

“What?”

“Test marketing.”

I shake my head. “Come here, funny-boy,” I say, then kiss him again.

Monday, April 5, 5:00 p.m.

Seventy-five issues of Forbes, two hundred issues of the Economist, and three hundred viewings of Family Ties, and now I might never graduate from business school.

Unbelievable.

“Anyone else?” Jamie asks. “Any arguments against why, as domestic producers who export half our goods to foreign markets, we would be hesitant to support an import quota? Russ?”

I shrug.

I’m leaning against the door to Jamie’s room, barely paying attention to what anyone is saying. We’re working on an assignment for GBE that’s due sometime this week. Unfortunately, I can’t concentrate. I don’t know how Kimmy can be so focused when we could get expelled next week.

I still don’t think we did anything that horrible. Who cares? Everyone borrows.

“Nothing to add, Russ?” Jamie asks. Again I shrug. I know Jamie’s pissed at me. But what does he want me to do? Admit I copied Kimmy’s paper? If I admit it, I’ll probably get expelled. If they can’t prove it, then the worst that could happen is that I fail the course. None of this is Jamie’s business, anyway. And Kimmy begged me not to tell. She thinks this is the better way to go. Even if we both fail the course-big deal. We can take it again. She doesn’t even think that O’Donnel will rescind its offer.

Someone knocks on the door, and the pounding reverberates against my back. I scoot over so Nick can squeeze inside. Droplets of water from his wet hair slide down his face. He smells like minty shampoo. “I know I’m late, man. Basketball went late. But I wrote up some arguments for the GBE assignment in favor of the quota I thought we could use.”

I haven’t been to basketball all week. I don’t feel like doing anything anymore. Maybe my apathy is from burnout. I took on too many projects and am now devoid of energy.

With great power comes great responsibility. That’s the theme line from Spider-Man. Back in September I had great power. I thought I could do anything.

I screwed everything up.

Friday, April 9, 3:00 p.m.

“Hi, Dorothy!” I sing. “Hi, Dennis! Hi, everyone!” Today ends the last week of the task force. Truth is, Dennis and I are the only ones who have weathered it out. The other volunteers have all dwindled away with exams and interviews. But not me. I stick by my commitments.

“Hi, Layla,” Dennis says. His glasses are crooked, and I resist the urge to straighten them.

Dorothy is biting into an apple and packing up her stuff. “Layla, I have to run out early. If you could update some files for me, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” I pull up a chair in front of the main computer and start inserting data. Deepak Hussein will not be joining us in the fall. Has decided to remain at his job for the time being, and would like to know if he can defer his acceptance until the following September. Sorry, Deepak. No deferrals. Try again next year.

Forty-five minutes in I spot Brad’s file. He has decided to go to Harvard Business School. Apparently, he’s never been dumped before and I’ve soured him off LWBS completely. Oh, well. Not sure how well he would have done at the Zoo, anyway. The closet might not have had enough room for his shoes. The entire dorm might not have had enough room for his shoes. He didn’t write about his shoes in his application. Would have been an interesting add-on under hobbies. Not.

I click on his name and add the information to his file. I shouldn’t make fun of him. Just because he’s a prince, doesn’t mean he’s my prince. You can’t fall in love with a man on paper, is all.

I close the file on Bradley Green, and you know what comes almost right after Green? Grossman. Can’t hurt to peek at his file, just for fun. I’ve been here for three hours; I could certainly use a break. I peer around the room to see what Dennis is up to. He appears to be totally engrossed in his keyboard, so I click on Jamie’s student file. The screen with his student number pops up. I scroll down and click on the icon for his application. I’m giggling in anticipation. How crazy could he have gone?

The document opens and I see where he typed in his name and Florida address. How cute! I picture him sitting on a wooden patio, a sand beach in view, typing away his address on his laptop, pursing his adorable lips. He’s a great kisser. I’m really happy. Everything is perfect. Fine, not perfect. He’s a little shorter than my dream man. And balder. And he has a unibrow. But other than that he’s perfect for me. I hope. I think. Is he?

And here’s his birthdate, this July. We’ll have to do something fabulous.

And then the F for female…

F? Why was there an F anyway? Ah. No wonder the school records had him down as a woman. He applied as one! Silly Jamie.

Mild panic. Why did he apply as a woman? Maybe secretly he is a woman. That would explain why he didn’t want to have sex. I exhale with relief when I remember Kimmy’s less than fervent description of his genitalia. I know that she’s seen the equipment, what there is of it.

Silly Jamie. He must have accidentally checked the wrong square when he applied. There is no way that he’d do that…purposely.

Unless he thought that applying as a woman would give him a competitive advantage. An invisible vacuum sucks all the air from my lungs. No. He wouldn’t have done that. Would he? People make typos all the time. I saw them myself. Applicants wrote in the wrong schools. If someone could write in the wrong schools, then surely I can expect someone to write in the wrong letter. Except, the M square on the original application was nowhere near the F square.

A fog of nausea overwhelms me. I have to ask him. Now.

I say goodbye to Dennis and return to the Zoo. Jamie is sprawled on his bed, watching an old black-and-white movie I don’t recognize.

“Hey darlin’, have you ever seen-” He breaks off at the shocked look on my face. “What’s wrong?”

I close the door behind me. It must have been a mistake. This sweet man wouldn’t do something that despicable. “Did you apply to LWBS as a woman?” I blurt out. As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. I may as well have asked him if he is, in fact, transsexual.

His cheeks flush. The balding part of his head flushes. And then I realize he did it.

He smiles like a kid who just got caught dipping his finger in the cake’s icing. “Kind of funny, huh?”

Tell me he doesn’t think this is a joke. I attempt to stop my hands from trembling. “Excuse me?”

“I said it’s kind of funny. Or it was kind of funny.” He sighs. “Obviously you don’t seem to think so, so why don’t you sit down and we’ll talk about it?”

Instead of sitting, I pace the room.

“Layla, sit. I just washed my sheets. No germs I swear.”