2
I’m standing in front of the notice board on campus, which is filled with leaflets with job offers, I'm grouchy. Taking other people’s dogs for walks is out of the question, especially considering the fact that I’ve never agreed to walk the annoying little poodle my mom had. Tutoring freshmen in math and physics would be ideal, if I weren’t so boldly impatient with people's stupidity who have a hard time understanding those beautiful equations. Babysitting two kids in the afternoons, well that would drive me insane for sure.
“Damn it…” I mutter angrily and move aside to let a tall black girl pin a new ad on the board. “A waitress in a bar…” I mumble and turn around to look at her. She’s wearing a tight crop top, some tiny denim shorts that show off her never-ending legs, and she has bright red lipstick on her full lips.
“Yeah,” she says and blows a bubble with the pink bubblegum she is chewing. “If you’ve got a friend who’s looking for a job, send her over.” She turns and starts to walk away, I quickly walk around her and stand in her way.
“Does it pay well?” I ask, adjusting the strap on my backpack.
“Really well,” she answers shortly and blows another bubble. “You know anyone who’s looking?”
“I am!”
My answer must amuse her because she is sizing me up quickly and bursts into laughter.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask angrily. “Do I have to finish my PhD before I can wait tables in your bar?”
“Hell no.” She stops laughing but her gaze remains dismissive. “You’ve got it all wrong. We need someone who doesn’t look like a computer science student.”
“Physics,” I correct her and she shrugs.
“Physics, computer science, robotics… same thing. You’re just not right for the job.” She motions for me to move out of her way, but I cross my arms over my chest and raise my head defiantly.
“You can’t discriminate against me based on the way I look. That’s illegal.” My voice is quiet and firm. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure you’re not a student in this university. Are you allowed to walk around here looking for employees? Maybe I should call security.” I stare at her, her eyes widen in surprise and she bursts into laughter again.
“Yeah, you’re right,” she says, still laughing. “It's illegal. Come for an interview tonight at seven.” She puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me around toward the student secretariat glass door. “Just do me one favor,” both of us are staring at my reflection on the glass door and she pulls at the fabric of my loose dress. “Change out of these rags before you come.” And then she starts walking away again. “You’ve got as much chance of getting this job as I have of winning the lottery, but at least the beginning of the evening will be entertaining.”
I’m still staring at my reflection as she disappears. My long black hair is braided tightly behind my back. My almond eyes are almost too big for my delicate face and the loose cotton dress I’m wearing covers my knees.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I whisper to myself and pull the dress tight against my narrow hips. “Why does it even matter what I'm wearing?” I let go of the fabric and return to the notice board. With a quick glance I memorize the address and rush down the hallway toward my next class.
I sit down in the third seat of the first row, and as always, a minute later Johanna sits down next to me.
“You disappeared on me this morning,” she says with a slight German accent and smiles widely. Her pale, almost translucent, face beams with joy. She combs her fingers through her blonde hair and focuses on the professor's podium. Any other day, my eyes would be shining as brightly as hers, while we wait for Professor Sawyer to enter the classroom quietly so that we can enjoy a few hours of the theory of modern physics. He is only thirty-five and already known as one of the most brilliant minds in his field – it's a real privilege to be in his class. But right now I guess I look miserable.
The room is silent. The professor approaches the stage with a small, almost embarrassed smile and nods contentedly at the sight of the dozens of students sitting in front of him. Then, without saying a word, he turns to the whiteboard and starts filling it with formulas.
I've always been good at physics formulas. The more complex, complicated and challenging the formula is, the more I find myself sailing away towards happier, soothing and satisfying places. But right now the formulas are slipping away from me. I gaze at the whiteboard, where the formulas—written by the professor I idolize—are all a blur.
How the hell am I going to get that amount of money? How come everyone around me seems so relaxed? And why is the classroom so quiet with everyone looking right at me? Johanna gently elbows me in the ribs.
“Elena?” Professor Sawyer raises his voice slightly and looks at me questioningly.
“I’m sorry, Professor. Did you ask me something?” I clench my forehead and go back to stare at the formulas on the whiteboard.
“Is everything all right?” He pointedly keeps looking at me, and his question seems to be too intimate, inappropriate, to be asked in the crowded classroom.
“Yes,” I answer firmly and stand up. “Everything is fine.” I pick up my backpack from the seat beside me. “I just have to leave.” His expression becomes concerned, but I don’t wait for any more questions as I quickly leave the classroom.
I lean back against the heavy wooden door that's standing between me and my dream and close my eyes, challenging my brain to use every single cell in order to think clearly. I’d do just about anything to get this amount of money; I know this for sure. Now, all I have to do is figure out what “anything” means.