Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

“Your father thought it would be good for me. And he was right.” She pauses, and I think I hear her sniffle. “Honey, just know that pain becomes manageable. I know you’re hurting, but it’ll pass. You have to take solace in the good things in your life. Like your exciting new job.”

Wait a second. “How do you know I’ve been depressed?”

“Shush. A mother knows everything.”

“Amanda spilled the beans,” I say.

“I’m all-knowing. So you’re going to try to keep your chin up, Jamie? For me?”

“Nothing like Jewish-mother guilt to kick-start me from bed.”

“Do I hear you smiling?”

I smile. “Yes, Mom.”

“And one more thing. How about getting your niece into one of those movies you’re producing? Don’t you think she could be the new Shirley Temple?”

I agree. In this world, anything’s possible.

I hang up the phone and jump out of bed. I need to study. I have exams to ace.

Wednesday, April 28, 10:40 a.m.

Iput down my pencil and raise my hand. Third exam over. I stretch my legs under the desk. Wait for the proctor to come take my paper. Insert my student card into my front pocket.

Kimmy is sitting three rows ahead, scribbling furiously. It’s weird to think that after Friday I might never see her again. Nick told me she’s planning on going back to Arizona. She’s not taking the job at O’Donnel, either. I called last week to tell them I changed my mind because of family obligations, and they weren’t too thrilled. Oh, well.

Kimmy runs her fingers through her hair, and I feel a pang in my chest. Part of me still wants her, and probably always will. Maybe our paths will cross someday. Maybe we’ll both be visiting New York and will be crossing Fifth Avenue at the same time and our eyes will lock. If I expect Sharon to forgive me, or at least let me be a part of our baby’s life, I can’t have any contact with Kimmy. It’s the right thing to do. I care about her, but I have to be responsible.

I’m going to have to grovel. I asked Sharon if she wanted to get married and she told me to go to hell. But you never know, eh?

“All done?” the proctor asks, taking my exam.

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say. I’ll need it.

Thursday, April 29, 12:00 a.m.

I’m feeling a little ambivalent as I pack my belongings into my bag and roll myself out into the library elevator for the last time this year. On the one hand, I’m happy to be finished exams; on the other hand, I love the adrenaline rush they give me.

The elevator stops at the third floor. Kimmy walks in, blurry eyed, like she forgot to close her eyes underwater. She tenses when she sees me. We haven’t spoken since our argument.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Good. You? Ready for tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah.”

I flash back to images of her staring at the professor clue-lessly. “Are you sure?”

She hesitates again. “I’ll be fine.”

I know she’s lying, and suddenly I don’t want to be mad at her anymore. “Do you need some help?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Define Arbitrage.”

“It’s…um…” She shakes her head. “I’m fucked, huh? I’m totally lost.”

I giggle. “You’re not. Come over and we’ll review.”

“It’s already midnight. You like to get a good night’s sleep before an exam.”

“I’m plenty rested. We’re reviewing,” I tell her, feeling charged. The idea of helping her invigorates me the way nothing else has all week. “You get the snacks, I’ll make the tea, and we’ll meet in my room in five, okay?”

“I don’t deserve it,” she says.

What kind of talk is that? “Yes, you do.”

For the first time ever, Kimmy hugs me. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Kimmy gives me a thumbs-up as she leaves the exam room. She’s smiling. Even though I’m not finished yet, and I’m never going to finish, and I’m the only one still in the room, and I’m too exhausted to think straight, I can’t help but feel elated at her smile. She did it. We stayed up all night laughing and studying, and she did it. I’ve never felt more proud. Of someone else or, I realize, of myself.

After the exam, which I most definitely failed, I make a decision. I call Danielle Grand and ask her if she’s still looking for a summer associate.

“Wow, Layla, I would love to have you onboard, but I don’t have anything left in the summer budget.”

“I don’t need a salary for the summer, just the experience. I want to help and see if I like the work. I need to find work I can feel good about. My only request is that you don’t put me to work as a gofer. I want to do real work.”

She laughs. “You’re going to love it. And there’s plenty of real work for you to do that will utilize your skill set. Like managing the fund-raising, budget, taxes…the list is endless.”

I smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

12:30 p.m.

Almost done. My books have been stacked in a storage area downstairs for Jamie to sell next year, and I’m almost finished packing my clothes.

I lie back on my bare mattress and take a minibreak. I’m exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in a while, but it was worth it. I think I might have actually passed the exam. Layla is a genius teacher. She’d make a great professor one day. I hope I have some time to hang out with her before I leave today. My flight home isn’t until eight. I wonder if Russ already left. Guess he didn’t want to say goodbye. Too awkward.

All right. Break over. I stand up and stretch. I should probably call back Claire Moss. I tried calling her earlier this week to tell her I no longer wanted to work for them, but she wasn’t in and we’ve been playing phone tag ever since. Not that I’ve been trying very hard to get in touch. I’m not looking forward to the conversation. Between me and Russ revoking our offers, they’ll probably stop hiring LWBS students.

I find the number and pick up to dial. Why isn’t it ringing? Has the phone company already cut off my dorm line?

“Hello, Ms. Nailer?” says a gruff voice.

“Yes?”

“Professor Martin here.”

Not again. Please tell me Russ didn’t copy my exam. Ha-ha. “Yes?”

“I’m calling to congratulate you on your final mark. You scored a ninety-five on your exam, which means that combined with your assignment marks, you scored the highest mark in the class.”

Oh. My. God. “I did?”

“Yes. And I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the top students in all three second-semester Strategy classes will receive the Hunder Strategy Award.”

An award? They’re giving me an award? Are they crazy? I don’t deserve an award. I don’t deserve anything.

Maybe it’s time for me to become someone who’s award-worthy.

“Thank you, Professor,” I manage to squeak.

“With the award is a scholarship for fifteen hundred dollars, and I hope it will encourage you to specialize in Strategy next year.”

They’re giving me money, too? Holy shit. “Um, that’s what I was thinking of doing.” Well, I am now.

“Also, I’d like you to consider applying for a teacher’s assistant position next fall for the Strategy Intro class.”

Wow. “I could do that, too.”

“Great. I’ll be mailing the scholarship and TA application to the address the school has on file in Arizona. And I look forward to seeing you next year. Have a great summer.”

“Thanks,” I say, unable and unwilling to stop smiling. “You, too.” I can’t believe a professor has so much faith in me that he wants me to help first-years. Who knew?