Her Perfect 10 Page 12

  “You’re not even pulling your own weight yet. If it all fell on you, you wouldn’t last a day.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Sadie. Why’re you on her side?”

  Good question. I may not like what Sadie does outside of work, but she’s a good employee. She’s friendly and efficient, and she knows her job inside and out. She doesn’t deserve to be fired, or pushed out, simply because Sarah doesn’t want to work with her.

  “I’m not on any side, Sarah. I’m just stating the facts.”

  “Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, dismissing me with another limp wave of her hand.

  Sadie

  God, what now?

  I push the door to the building open and make my way to the desk. Sarah narrows her eyes at my approach, and Owen walks away with a frown. I never see him with even a hint of a smile anymore. It used to be a staple of my everyday work life, and now it’s a used-to-be. Something I never knew I enjoyed until it was gone. Which makes me remember how much fun he was to look at, because when he was smiling? That’s when he unknowingly stopped traffic in this vast, cold lobby.

  He’s a dillhole, though.

  Unfortunately, a very attractive dillhole, smiling or not.

  It’s not fair. People that mean should be ugly on the outside as well.

  He walks toward the young girl waiting by the windows and introduces himself, giving her that smile I used to enjoy being on the receiving end of. Whatever. Let them get friendly, and then he can call her derogatory names, too. We’ll see how she likes it.

  God, why can’t I get over this?

  If my special talent is not giving a shit what anyone thinks, why is Owen’s derogatory comment still affecting me weeks later?

  After watching them get on the elevator together, all shy smiles and awkward moves as they stand in the small space, I pull out my phone.

  Sadie: Since you’re such a good person, can you help me get over something mean someone said?

  Five minutes later, he still hasn’t gotten back to me. He’s probably working. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I leave Sarah in charge of the desk, knowing it’ll be a disaster when I return, and go to run some of the errands that need to be done daily. This gets me off my ass and moving. I haven’t let Sarah come with me for this particular part of our job. I don’t want to give it up. Especially to her. She’d never come back.

  My phone vibrates on my way back. I stop out of sight from the desk, so Sarah won’t see me.

  OC736: I can try. What did this person say?

  Sadie: He may have implied that I was promiscuous.

  OC736: You’ve led me to believe that you’re promiscuous. Without shame. Why is it mean if someone else says it?

  Because I’m the only one who can say such shit about myself and not have it be a big deal! Everyone is supposed to know this! And…

  Sadie: Because it’s not actually true.

  OC736: Did you lead this person to believe you were promiscuous, as you did with me?

  Sadie: No! He’s just a complete asshole!

  But…maybe I did. Owen had no idea what I was doing with those guys in that maintenance room. He shouldn’t have assumed I was fucking them, but I can see how he might’ve come to that conclusion.

  OC736: And you care what this person thinks?

  I back into a closet to stay out of sight.

  Sadie: I can’t seem to get over what he said, so I guess I do.

  OC736: Maybe you should set him straight.

  Like, talk to Owen? Tell him, Hey, I’m not a whore. I was just talking to those guys at the club. Yeah, can’t see myself saying anything like that to Owen. It’s none of his business.

  Sadie: I’d rather hate him.

  OC736: That’s obviously an option, but if it’s bothering you, maybe you need to consider another course of action.

  Sadie: It’s driving me crazy! Why do I care what he thinks?

  OC736: That’s something only you can answer.

  Why does he have to be so logical?

  Not wanting to give up talking to him yet, I peek my head out the door. Blond Bimbo’s talking to Clive. That’ll take forever. And she won’t notice that I’m not back yet. She certainly isn’t noticing the ringing phone or the three people standing near the desk waiting to ask her something.

  Sadie: How are you going to find the girl again? The one you kissed?

  OC736: I’m not going to “find” her.

  Sadie: Why not? Do you already know where she is?

  OC736: No. What if she didn’t think the kiss was as good as I thought it was?

  Aww. He’s got low self-esteem! How cute.

  I don’t know what guys with low self-esteem are like. They’re not the guys I go after, and I’m certainly not like that. What would it feel like to not know if a kiss was as good for the other person as it was for me? If OC graduated high school still a virgin, maybe he’s not all that experienced.

  Sadie: Sometimes you need to take a chance, 736. If you’re still thinking about it, chances are, she is, too.

  OC736: You talk to your guy and I’ll talk to the girl.

  Oh, fuck no. We are not negotiating. I asked for advice, not a deal.

  I kind of want him to go after his girl, though. I like encouraging him to spread his wings and become a fully-grown man.

  Sadie: I can’t agree to that right now. Ask me again later. Or don’t wait for me and go for it. You need to have some fun with a girl.

  OC736: I’m having fun with you…

  Shit, I’m having fun with him, too!

  This isn’t supposed to be fun. I’m supposed to be at my desk, working. I’m not supposed to be standing in the housekeeping closet, hoping not to get caught as I text my writing partner.

  Sadie: Different kind of fun, 736. Verbal play isn’t nearly as fun as real play. Although, if you get desperate enough, I might send you a few dirty texts. Just to tease you when I know you won’t get any relief.

  OC736: I look forward to that.

  Sadie: Ya know, I kinda do, too. Even if I’m not promiscuous.

  OC736: How NOT promiscuous are you?

  He seriously needs to let this go.

  Sadie: I can’t divulge my secrets.

  OC736: You can, and you will.

  Sadie: You’re getting cocky.

  OC736: Tell me you don’t like it without lying to me.

  Damn him.

  Sadie: Well played, 736.

  I’m almost laughing when I get back to my desk. I might be completely broke since I gave in and spent my savings on a damn Caribbean vacation for Alena’s bachelorette party, and still without a couch or TV at home, but I’ve got a job. I’m taking a college class, which has proven to be highly enjoyable. And I sort of met this weird guy who makes me smile and gives me advice about stuff I can’t talk to anyone else about.

  Life isn’t great, but it’s good.

  Chapter 11

  Assignment #7

  Describe two friends reuniting.

  To: oc736@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu

  From: sd275@solc.edu

  Subject: Assignment #7

  She cornered me at work. There’s no way to avoid her here. And I can’t cause a scene or say any of the snotty things I’d practiced in my head. It isn’t fair of her to corner me like this. It should be on neutral ground, not somewhere that she has an advantage.

  She was never a fair person. She always worked things in her favor. I should’ve expected this.

  “Hey,” she says, giving me a small smile, because she can tell by the look of utter disdain on my face that I’m not happy to see her. “You’re not answering my texts.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  She frowns. She knows this, but she doesn’t like when I say it out loud. She’s one of those people that prefers to keep things hidden. But secrets like hers will never stay buried. And she couldn’t possibly expect me to be anyone but myself. She was my best friend for twelve years before she rammed her ice-cold talons in
to my heart, shredding it to pieces and changing all the plans I had for my future.

  But hey. Let’s just act like that didn’t happen, shall we?

  Her blond hair shines in the light from the window, forcing me to remember all the times I shared my secrets with her, the ones I thought she’d hold safe and protected. Including how my fiancé thought she was pretty and was obsessed with her golden, blond hair.

  I never expected her to use my secrets against me.

  “I was doing you a favor. You were blinded by your infatuation with him. You never would have seen it, and you would’ve given up all your dreams for him.”

  It’s true. She has always been able to see my feelings, even when I try to act like they’re not there. I would’ve given him everything. Instead, she took him away and showed him that there are better things than little old me. She made him break my heart, and she broke my trust. It was a glorious afternoon.

  Fucking glorious in all its chaotic disabling pain that I can’t seem to get rid of.

  “Please,” she says, reaching out to touch my arm, which I yank back instantly. I need to feel only the coldness in my heart for her and her manipulative ways. I do not need to feel how human she is. How warm and desperate her touch is against my skin. “At least stop by to see him. He’s so happy. Maybe then you’d understand.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “If you really cared about him, you’d want what was best for him.”

  “If you really cared about me, you never would’ve hurt me like that.”

  “That’s not true,” she insists quietly, her evil eyes falling to the floor, probably to come up with some other plan to ruin me and any sense of normalcy I’ve found in the aftermath of her deception. She can’t be feeling shame. She’s not capable of it. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  Fed up with her reasoning, I tell her, “You need to leave. I’m working.”

  She’s quiet for a long time, watching me with those eyes that see every one of my flaws and insecurities. I’ll never be able to trust her again. I don’t know why she thought I could. What she’s done is too much for my fragile soul to bear.

  “Will you never forgive me?” she finally asks, her eyes drilling into mine as I refuse to look away. I will not give her the satisfaction of looking away first. I may have been a fool, but she’s the one who did wrong. She has no right to meet my stare with as much confidence as she is now.

  “If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t forgive me.”

  Her eyes drift to the open door, her chest rising and falling with a deep, silent breath as she considers the truth of my words. I was always the open-hearted one. She was the judgmental one, always thinking people were beneath us, when really, she’s the one sliding along, just above the surface of the scummy pond bottom. I just didn’t know it until she showed me her true self.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she lies, her eyes finding mine again, every bit sincere. I can’t trust how she looks. I can’t trust her motives, her words, her girl-next-door appearance. I can’t trust anything about her. “I only wanted to save you some heartache.”

  “You didn’t succeed.”

  “No,” she concedes sadly, clutching the strap of her oversized purse and turning toward the door. “I definitely failed this time.”

  I watch her leave, hoping she never comes back.

  To: sd275@solc.edu, profmereeder@solc.edu

  From: oc736@solc.edu

  Subject: Assignment #7 Describe two friends reuniting.

  They stood awkwardly in the coffee shop, sizing each other up, wondering what the other would do. It had been years since they’d seen each other. They kept in touch through texts, emails, and the random phone call, but could they trust the familiarity of their words? Or were they both feeling unsure of themselves?

  The taller of the two stepped forward, opening her arms and offering a shy grin. The other one followed suit, taking the last step needed to fall into the embrace of the friend she used to know, but hadn’t seen for years. They were both stiff-armed at first, but after a moment’s hesitation, they relaxed against each other.

  People change. They trip and fall and get back up and learn lessons and make mistakes and grow. Things would be different between them. But the hug signified the closeness the two had in the past, before they were ripped out of each other’s lives when one had to move to another state.

  After a few seconds, they each laugh, feeling the joy of being welcomed into their old friend’s arms. Then they settle into chairs, ready to embark on the tall tales of their adventures since they’d last been face to face.

  Owen

  I don’t wait for her to text me first this time. I’m confident she wants to hear from me. And knowing she likes me to be a little cocky has me bursting with self-assurance.

  Owen: Your assignment is depressing. Did the friend steal the fiancé?

  SD275: No way! The friend is the fiancé’s sister!

  Owen: I wasn’t expecting that. I wasn’t expecting the reunion to be anything other than a good thing, either. Is the fiancé happy with someone else? I don’t really understand what happened.

  SD275: I’m full of surprises tonight. Yours was short. And do you really think I’d write anything that doesn’t leave you with more questions than answers?

  Of course, she’s going to leave me hanging. And of course, I should’ve expected it.

  She’s still telling it like it is. I love that about her. She doesn’t always tell me the truth when it comes to personal questions, like her supposed promiscuity, but when it comes to criticizing my work, she’s always very straight forward.

  Thank God she’s not as promiscuous as she first implied. For a brief moment last week, I was comparing her to Sadie from work. Sure, it was a couple weeks after I went to the club and witnessed exactly how easy Sadie is, but SD’s comment about someone calling her promiscuous hit a little too close to home.

  But Sadie isn’t cocky. She doesn’t have that sarcastic wit I’ve come to expect from SD. She’s always there when I walk in, and she smiles and says hello, but she’s always just...professional. Efficient. She doesn’t joke around. She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t make innuendos. And I’ve never seen her with a little black book.

  SD sounds like the kind of girl who would screw around a lot at work. Sadie’s quick to answer the phone, give directions, and help someone. I’ve never seen her doing anything other than her job.

  Owen: Mine was short. Think I’ll lose points for that?

  SD275: I have no idea. Prof and I don’t think along the same lines. We’ve had some…misunderstandings about my grades.

  His grading system seemed fair. Obviously, my first few assignments didn’t do well, but I’m getting better, just like SD said I was. It has nothing to do with what the prof said, though, and everything to do with SD’s comments and advice.

  The assignments we got grades on were: Most important thing about yourself; When is it appropriate to lie; What do you think about before you fall asleep; and the autobiography. Which assignment did he have a problem with? Other than the one that she barely completed. I should submit her second try to the prof and see if he likes that one better. I know I did.

  Owen: Which assignment?

  SD275: The only one he liked was the one about falling asleep.

  How could he only like one? How is he grading her? He explained my grades, giving me tips to improve my score. He had to have done that for her, too.

  Owen: Ouch. What’s he looking for?

  SD275: He says I ramble too much. Go figure.

  Owen: Maybe he’s like me and he wants a full story.

  SD275: You’ll take a partial from me any day of the week.

  She’s cocky. Almost all the time. If I wasn’t doing all this extra-curricular communication with her, if I wasn’t finding out bits and pieces of her puzzle and slowly putting it together, would I still want her partials?

  She mentioned that we should get toge
ther when this course is over. I didn’t—she did. So, I’m assuming we’re going to remain friends after the course is over, and she’ll eventually give me the endings to everything she’s written.

  Owen: Only because I know I’ll get it all in the end.

  SD275: Hmmm….

  Owen: Too cocky?

  SD275: I don’t know. I’m in a weird mood tonight. Part of me wants to unload on you, but the other part says if I do, we won’t have such fun, playful banter anymore. And I like our playful banter. Sometimes it’s the only thing that makes me smile all week.

  I love our playful banter. A lot of times, it’s also the highlight of my week. I want her to unload on me, though. I want her to trust me, to confide in me, but if she’s going to feel too vulnerable afterward to talk to me like she’s been, maybe I shouldn’t encourage it yet.

  I type out a sarcastic response instead. She seems to like those.

  Owen: You’re making my heart bleed.

  SD275: I know. You should make me a cake.

  Laughing out loud, I put together a recipe in my head. I have no idea what she likes when it comes to food, but I’ll gladly bake her a cake. And deliver it personally.

  Owen: Where am I sending it? I don’t think it’ll survive a trip to Siberia.

  SD275: Send it to the homeless shelter down the street. If you live in a city, I’m sure you’ll find one. But make it for me and send me a picture of it. It’ll be the best damn cake I’ve ever imagined eating.

  I try to negotiate, wanting her to talk, but not wanting it being too obvious. It probably isn’t at all what she wants to unload about, but I’m suggesting a topic anyway. Because I think about her and her partial stories way too often. Because this particular riddle sometimes keeps me up at night. Because I have a feeling it’s the biggest piece of her puzzle and I want to figure her out before I meet her.

  Owen: Tell me about your little black book and I’ll bake you a cake.

  SD275: My LBB is basically a spreadsheet where I rate guys in five different categories.