Her Perfect 10 Page 13

  Jeez. She wasn’t kidding about wanting to unload. She didn’t even give me one of her normal smart-ass remarks.

  Owen: Why do you rate them?

  SD275: To find my perfect ten.

  She’s said before that she’s looking for her perfect ten, but is she actually serious? She has a spreadsheet? She rates them? In more than one category? She’s taking finding the perfect guy to a whole new level. I’m a perfectionist, but even I know no one’s perfect. She’s setting herself up for failure.

  Owen: Maybe, when trying to find your perfect guy, you should think with your heart, not your head.

  SD275: That would require a belief in love.

  Now my heart really is bleeding.

  Owen: You don’t believe in love?

  SD275: No. My approach might be more analytical, but it’s a quantitative equation. It’ll give me solid proof that a guy is perfect for me.

  Owen: You’re using big words; you must be passionate about this.

  SD275: You’re being an ASS.

  At least she’s not saying the perfect guy, she’s saying a guy that’s perfect for her. But does she really think she’ll find that through an equation? Love isn’t about perfection, it’s about imperfections. Love is about flaws and quirks and things that drive you crazy, but that you also wouldn’t trade for anything given the chance. Love is about the weird traits a person has, that makes them different from everyone else in the world. Love is about finding the one person whose weirdness perfectly complements your own.

  You can’t find that through any kind of equation.

  She’ll never listen to that reasoning, though.

  Owen: Not trying to be. Ratings and categories? That will never equal perfection. Sometimes people’s flaws are what makes them more attractive.

  SD275: That doesn’t make any sense at all.

  How to explain it to her? I could tell her that her truthful observations, given without any thought of sensitivity, is something that would have normally offended me. I definitely considered it a flaw the first night of this course. Now, it’s something I crave. The honest truth, no matter how it’s given. She wouldn’t be who she is if she tried to pretty it up with a smile or some tact.

  Owen: Are you seeing anyone right now?

  SD275: I don’t tie myself down. I need to be available for my perfect ten. Whenever he decides to show up.

  Owen: How about your friends? You love one of them?

  I imagine her rolling her eyes. I have no idea if she does that when she thinks something is obvious or annoying, but I imagine her doing it anyway. I want to know what color those eyes are. I want to know what color her hair is. Those two things will help with the very blank picture of her that’s in my head.

  SD275: Of course. I love all my friends.

  Owen: Think of the most annoying one.

  SD275: Done. My old roommate.

  Owen: Does she do one thing in particular that drives you crazy?

  SD275: YES! She used to leave her shit lying around ALL THE TIME. I felt like her fucking mom, always picking up after her!

  I have to ask. Even if I kind of am being as ass with this response.

  Owen: Your OLD roommate? Is she also in her nineties, or does she not live with you anymore?

  SD275: Fucker. She moved out to be a furry.

  I’m not touching that comment. At all. Or the fact that she still loves this person, despite her friend’s sexual preferences.

  Owen: Moving on from that topic… When she moved out, did you miss picking up after her? Did you sometimes wish you could again, just because that would mean she was still there?

  SD275: ….

  Owen: What’s …. mean?

  SD275: It means I kind of hate you right now.

  No, she doesn’t. She hates that I’m right. And she doesn’t want to admit it. So, I have to rub it in.

  Owen: You’d miss me if I stopped talking to you.

  SD275: You’re right. You make me smile.

  Owen: I thought you hated me.

  SD275: Only sometimes.

  It’s a good stopping point. I’m tired and it’s late, but I feel like we made a lot of progress tonight. Like we’re taking our connection and making it stronger as we open up and trust each other with pieces of our story. I don’t want to lose that connection by stopping the conversation. Not yet.

  Owen: Don’t go out tomorrow. Don’t find someone new to rate in your LBB.

  SD275: What should I do instead?

  Owen: I don’t know, but I’ll bake you that cake if you stay in.

  SD275: Why stay in when I could be out doing research?

  I stare at her question until my screen goes dark. Will she laugh if I tell her?

  We’ve jokingly made comments about this relationship becoming more, whether by meeting in person, or by dirty texts. It’s not a joke to me, though. We could be something more, if we ever gave us an honest chance.

  She’s been very open with me tonight. Far more honest than ever before. I type out my answer and hit send before I change my mind.

  Owen: I don’t want you to find your perfect ten before I meet you.

  SD275: Why? Think you’d measure up, 736?

  Owen: What are the categories?

  SD275: I thought you didn’t like cheating at tests…

  Owen: Knowing the categories isn’t cheating. It’s ‘doing research.’

  It’s not the middle of the night when she texts me; it’s always the middle of the day. We might live on completely different sides of the country, but we’re both American. And I want her to be single when we meet more than I want to know her name. I send another text without waiting for her reply.

  Owen: If you were only thinking with your head right now, you wouldn’t still be talking to me.

  SD275: Why do you think that?

  Owen: We have nothing in common. You originally thought I was a girl. I needed advice on who to hit on. You want to hate me, but can’t. You like when I’m cocky, simply because you don’t expect it. Most importantly, you’re starting to LIKE me.

  I can’t be the only one thinking about making this more than what we’re doing right now. Even if we’re both still looking for something else at the same time. It takes her a long time to answer. Did I take it too far? Assume too much?

  SD275: I promise nothing…

  I smile, shaking my head, feeling like I won a hard-earned victory.

  I shouldn’t have asked her not to go out. Not when I know I’m going to see the mysterious masked girl again soon. I can’t think of any reason I won’t ask her for a repeat of that kiss. Just to make sure I didn’t dream up something that good.

  If it’s as good the second time, things will go as far as she’ll let them. She was up for more. A lot more.

  Even when she’s not here in front of me, her lips and body pressed against mine, I can’t honestly say that I’m not up for a lot more, too.

  And if I’m already planning on getting physical with someone else, why can’t SD?

  Sadie

  That jerk Owen talked to me today. Like I’m not a human that's beneath him. Sarah was out to lunch, and he came straight up to the desk like he was on an important mission. I wasn’t rude to him. I pinched my leg so hard I’ll have a bruise for a week, but I stayed pleasantly professional.

  He told me to watch my back. That the blond bimbo is trying to get me fired.

  Then he walked away.

  He interrupted his work-day to come down to the lobby, hand me that ticking bomb, and walk off, returning to his regularly scheduled routine without a second glance at me.

  Now, I’m so ready to go on that Caribbean vacation next week. The idiot I work with hasn’t looked ahead at the schedule yet, but she will soon. I can’t wait to hear her bitching about me taking another Friday off. She’ll probably bitch about me taking off Wednesday and Thursday, too, and honestly, I hope she does.

  It’s the middle of October. Next week is the bachelorette weekend thing, and whe
n I get back, I have one weekend to myself. Then it’s the wedding, the first week of November.

  I can’t wait for the wedding. I want to find out who I’m walking down the aisle with. I want to wrap my hand around his arm and practice that walk during the rehearsal dinner, then see if I can talk him into showing me his hotel room.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  OC736: Did you go out?

  Sadie: Are you baking me a cake?

  OC736: It’s in the oven now.

  Looking around, I nod my head at no one, telling 736 the God’s honest truth.

  Sadie: I am out.

  OC736: I shouldn’t be as disappointed in that as I am.

  Sadie: No, you definitely shouldn’t. It’s not very exciting.

  OC736: I have a feeling things are never dull with you around.

  He’s somewhat right about that. I can’t take dull for too long. I’ll find a way to make it interesting. Even if it’s a really bad idea. Tonight is the exception.

  I did not change my going out plans because he asked me to. I changed my mind simply because I wanted to. No other reason.

  Sadie: What kind of cake are you baking me?

  OC736: The frozen cake you ate in one day was chocolate; figured I couldn’t go wrong with that choice.

  The random things he remembers about me…

  And I didn’t eat the entire thing in one day! I ate almost the entire thing in one day! The rest was breakfast the next morning… Which, if we get technical, was within twenty-four hours of when I took the first bite, but damn him!

  Back to this cake. The one he made specifically for me.

  Sadie: Tell me about it.

  OC736: Is this like a food fetish thing? Do you get turned on by food descriptions?

  I giggle, avoiding the stares from the creepers around me. Does he have any weird fetishes? We’re taking this further and further into sexual territory, and I haven’t tried to stop it at any point. I want to go there with him. And that kind of scares me.

  Sadie: Not at all, I’m just starving.

  OC736: Talking about a triple-layered chocolate cake isn’t going to help with that problem.

  Oh my God, I might have an orgasm just thinking about it.

  Sadie: TRIPLE layered?

  OC736: One layer isn’t good enough for you. How do you feel about peanut butter icing?

  My orgasm just ran away and went into hiding.

  Sadie: Yuck.

  OC736: Buttercream?

  Still not great, I’m not an icing person, but it’s got me wondering what he likes. Or maybe that’s the fetishes comment I’m still focusing on. We usually talk about me, but I’m starting to wonder more and more about him.

  Sadie: Eh. What’s your favorite?

  OC736: Chocolate almond.

  Orgasm’s peeking around the corner from her hiding place.

  Sadie: You can do that with icing?

  OC736: I can do anything with icing.

  Sadie: I want that... And I love your confidence! Add some cherry flavoring to some part of that cake and I’ll give you a high rating in my last category as I pretend to eat it.

  My phone is silent for too long. Maybe I was too vague for him to know what I’m trying to say. Or maybe, he’s afraid of what I’m not quite telling him.

  OC736: I don’t know your categories. What does that mean?

  Sadie: It means I’ll get off on it, 736. If you can get me off, you get a high score in that specific subcategory. Period.

  OC736: Are you really out right now?

  Poor guy. Nothing about my spreadsheet or categories, just worried about whether I’m doing more research before I meet him in person.

  Sadie: I am. I’m ‘out’ at the laundromat.

  He doesn’t reply for a few minutes and I switch a couple loads from the washer to the dryer, wishing for the thousandth time that I had a laundry hook up in my apartment. Sure, it would be one more expense, but I’d kill for the ability to throw a load of laundry in my own dryer and do something else.

  736 is helping entertain me while I’m subjected to such torture.

  OC736: I’m sure you could pick someone up at the laundromat if you wanted.

  Sadie: Not going to lie, it’s happened before. But I’m in dirty, rumpled clothes and I haven’t washed my hair in three days. Pretty sure it’s not happening tonight.

  OC736: I’m going to assume that’s because of me and not your hair. Send me a picture anyway. I want to know what 92-year-old hair looks like when it hasn’t been washed for three days.

  I take a close-up selfie of the top of my head. The only thing visible is the color of my hair and the fact that it’s a greasy, hot mess. I’m smiling when I send it. And blatantly ignoring the looks from the pervy old dude watching me.

  He’s a lot closer to ninety-two than I am. Way too old to be checking me out.

  OC736: You’re giving so much away! Pretty soon, I’ll have enough to stalk you on social media. I’m sure my search for a sassy, brown-haired 92-year-old female won’t come up with too many hits.

  Sadie: I’m going to miss you next week.

  OC736: What’s next week?

  Oh, right. He’s not a mind reader and has no idea I’m going out of the country. Sure, I could rack up my phone bill by texting him as often as I do on an almost daily basis, but if I ever want to have a couch again, I probably shouldn’t.

  Sadie: I’m only going to have access to the internet.

  OC736: Email?

  Sadie: We can still email. I’ll probably be pretty busy, though.

  OC736: What’re you doing that you won’t be able to text?

  I don’t want to get into it right now. I’m still pissed off at how much money this is costing me. What can I do, though? I need a vacation, and this is the perfect time. I don’t need to worry about who I’m taking, because my two best friends will be there. As well as two other girls I don’t know, but who cares about them? We’ll party, we’ll lounge on the beach, we’ll sleep in and stay up late, we’ll talk about boys and life and work and the injustice of it all.

  It would just be so much better if I didn’t have to pay for it.

  Sadie: Something I really don’t want to talk about. I’m pretty bitter about it right now.

  OC736: The chocolate in this cake is bitter.

  Sadie: Then why do you think it’ll be good?

  OC736: It’s not bitter once all the ingredients are mixed together. Just like in life, you mix the good with the bad, and see if you can make something better with everything you put into it.

  Going against my better judgement, I give him a gift. It’s a very generous gift, considering how he wants to use it. There’s a slim chance I may not ever meet him, but if I do, I want him to have an advantage.

  Sadie: Sense of humor, confidence, employment status, ability to have a good time.

  OC736: Is that list what I think it is?

  Sadie: No comment.

  OC736: What’s the fifth?

  Sadie: I indirectly gave you that one already…

  OC736: How many guys are rated in that fifth category in your LBB?

  Why is he so worried about how many guys I’ve slept with? I swear, he’s obsessed! No guy should ever know that number about a girl. Not unless the answer is zero. Then, the guy who might potentially change that number should definitely know that going in—pun very much intended. Otherwise, it’s none of their damn business.

  Sadie: Finish my cake. I’ve got laundry to do.

  OC736: SD?

  Sadie: 736?

  OC736: Thank you.

  Sadie: You’re welcome.

  I type out the requisite reply, thinking we’re done conversing until the cake is finished, but he sends another text before I even have time to put my phone away.

  OC736: Just so you know, I’m doing great in half of those first four. I’m working on the other two.

  Sadie: You’re getting there…

  OC736: Getting where, exactly? What does rankin
g high in those four categories get me?

  Do I give him this? It’s going to take us into completely new territory, and while I’m thinking more and more that I’m ok with that, how is it going to change our current electronic relationship?

  Maybe I’m ready for a change.

  I give him the truth.

  Sadie: To the point where I let you get rated in the fifth category.

  OC736: I’m a lot more than a number, SD.

  Sadie: Only if I’m not thinking with my head, 736.

  I do my best not to think with anything else. The other organs have a tendency to get me in trouble when I let them take charge.

  Chapter 12

  Assignment #8

  Write a short story. Start with the line: She didn’t believe in magic.

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

  From: sd275@solc.edu

  Subject: Magic

  She didn’t believe in magic.

  She wanted to but, logically, it didn’t make sense.

  People were always talking about it, like they knew exactly what it was, how it felt, how it took ahold of you and spun your entire life around until you didn’t know which way was up or which way was down.

  Hearing that, she had to wonder why people thought it was so spectacular. She rather preferred knowing which direction was up.

  Magic, in her mind, was an impossibility.

  All those people who swore they not only believed in magic, but knew it intimately, were lying to themselves. They wholeheartedly believed they knew what magic was, but magic was simply an elaborately spun web of lies, made up by someone who had too much hope and imagination.

  She could see past the web. She knew the truth. Magic didn’t exist.

  Magic was a fairytale, a nice story to tell children at bedtime so they went to sleep with happy smiles on their faces instead of being afraid of whatever might be hiding in the dark corners of their rooms. If parents wanted their children to be prepared for the real world, they would tell their innocent offspring about the monsters they would most likely encounter throughout their lives. They would confirm the existence of that monster under the bed. Or the one hiding in their closet. Or the one that pretends to be their friend, worming their way closer and closer to their hearts, until that one moment in time when the monster could inflict the most damage.