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She smiles. “The gym.”
“Yeah? Have you been already? I’ve been meaning to check it out.” I can’t believe I haven’t gone yet. Any build I have is going to melt if I’m not careful.
“I’ve gone a few times this week. It’s pretty good. There’s a wait for some of the machines, but not too bad.” The sweatshirt slips down her body exposing a fine-looking ass, but then she reties it. “Want to come with me?”
Why not? Sounds like a constructive way to spend a Sunday. “Sure. Do you mind waiting two minutes for me to grab my gym stuff?”
She smiles and takes a sip from her water bottle. “No problem. I have to use the bathroom anyway. Why don’t I meet you in the courtyard and then we’ll head over together?”
“Give me five,” I say, trying to mentally block out the bathroom part. I sprint back to my room and grab the gym shorts and T-shirt I wore yesterday to play basketball with some of the guys. I suck, but it’s fun. I started playing postcollege to help pump up.
Wonder if Sharon would care that I was going to the gym with a chick. Probably, eh? What should I have said, no? I can’t go to the gym with you, I have a girlfriend? She wasn’t hitting on me. Probably knows about Sharon, anyway. I must have mentioned it.
I spot Kimmy staring into the sunlight in the courtyard. She’s wearing sunglasses. I need to buy new sunglasses. Left mine in Toronto.
“Let’s go,” she says, now wearing the sweatshirt. Shame.
It’s getting cold. Wish I had a sweatshirt. “Where is this place?”
“At the back of the Student Services Center. Not far.”
She walks fast for a girl. Her ponytail swings from side to side like a tennis ball in play. Sharon is the slowest walker ever. If I don’t pay attention, I leave her a half a block behind.
“So how do you like school so far?” she asks.
“It’s cool. I went to University of Toronto, so I lived at home.”
“Were you in a frat?”
“No, no frat. Not my thing.” I decide not to tell her that I didn’t have much of a life in college. I preferred my calculator and comic books to beer kegs. Of course, that changed in my last year, when I met Sharon. “I bet you were in a sorority, eh?”
“No way. I’m not a gamma, gamma, gamma, can I help ya help ya help ya type girl.”
I can’t help mentally casting her as one of the sorority girls in Revenge of the Nerds.
“How do you like the dorm?” she asks, and takes another sip of her water. “Want some?”
I shake my head. “The dorm is all right. Not used to sharing a floor with so many people.” Not used to sharing a water bottle, either. Sharon doesn’t like when I take sips from other people’s drinks in case any of them are sick and then I get her sick.
“I know. I feel like I’m eighteen again.” She motions to a sprawling stone building. “We’re here.”
We climb the stairs to the top floor and show our student cards to the scrawny kid at the front desk. The gym caters to the entire school, not just the business school, so it’s packed. Puffing women on treadmills are lined against the window.
“Do you lift weights?” Kimmy asks.
“Yeah.” Truth is, I’ve been slacking on my workouts. I feel a wave of panic that my muscles have all disappeared.
She stretches her leg in front of her. “Do you want to run with me?”
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 hello, Ronald—” Ronald waves hello “—will be marking you on your participation. Every time you raise your hand, you’ll get a tick beside your name. The number of ticks you have will be factored into your final grade at the end of the semester. Is that clear?”
We nod. I almost shake my head to see what he would do, but decide this is not in my best interests. He’s exhibiting a classic case of small penis syndrome. Which is surprising since I thought that only Jewish guys like me suffered from that affliction. Since no one cares about organizing their behavior, he’s obviously trying to scare us.
My stomach grumbles. Loudly. I want that muffin.
“Now, in this classroom, I will teach you theories…”
Maybe if I reach my hand into the paper bag very slowly, then rip the muffin into pieces, he won’t notice. I carefully drop my arm to the floor and attempt to insert it inside the bag.
Crinkle! Snap!
Small Penis stares at me. I retreat, and he continues yammering. “You will work in groups to choose the best type of organizational structure. For instance, I will give you a case study about the organization Procter and Gamble. Then I will give you three to five questions you must answer in a few paragraphs. The questions might be, for example, What organizational structure would best suit P and G’s current situation and why? Is that clear?”
We nod. My stomach grumbles, again. Kimmy hears and dry giggles.
“Very well. First I will do a roll call, and then, as it states on your syllabus, I will begin by teaching group dynamics.”
Fuck it. In one swoop, I reach into the bag, rip off the muffin top and slam it into my mouth.
The bell rings, and I immediately unwrap the rest of my muffin and eat it. “I guess the rumors are true—this class is bogus.”
Kimmy looks like she might cry. “What are you talking about? Who said it’s going to be bogus?”
“The second-years.”
“Are those the second-year girls I saw you flirting with yesterday?”
I give what I hope is a mischievous smile, while trying to keep my mouth closed so as not to reveal chewed muffin. “Darlin’, are you accusing me of cheating on you? I’m shocked and bewildered.” I’m kidding, of course. I’ve been trying to get her alone all weekend, but she keeps coming up with excuses. I’m not giving up. Chasing Kimmy might be my only entertainment all year.
She shushes me with her hand. “That class didn’t seem like such a joke.”
“Trust me. It is.”
She looks confused. “But…but I still don’t understand what organizational behavior is.”
“It’s psychology for business people. Different personality types. The best way to structure your business. That kind of stuff. You worked for a leasing company, right?”
She fiddles with her turtleneck as if it’s choking her. “How’d you know that?”
“Because you said it on Tuesday.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
