Free 30 Guys in 30 Days by Micol Ostow

since I’d met her that she had smirked. I was actually sort of relieved to find that she was willing and able to smirk, come to think of it. “No,” she said. “But he goes out with Anu Shah, the president of the Panhellenic Sisterhood!”
    “Oh!” I said, matching her stage whisper with one of my own. Then, as it sank in,
“Oh.”
    “Right,” she said, the anger in her voice giving way to weariness. “And she is standing over there”—she pointed subtly to the dining room—“and she
completely
saw you macking on her boyfriend.”
    I sighed. “Oh, Charlie, I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry to me,” she said. “He’s not my boyfriend. And, anyway, he’s the one to blame here. It makes me really mad. But you should know. I mean, you can’t go out with him.”
    “Of course not!” I said, horrified.
    “And, um, based on the look she’s giving you, I’m not so sure about your chances at Tri-Delt.”
    I laughed. “Charlie, I don’t think I’m going to rush,” I said, glad to have it out in the open.
    “What? No, you can’t bail out! Not because some skanky chick’s boyfriend busted a move on you! It’s not your fault! And if she really does try to keep you out of Tri-Delta, we’ll totally report her. I made a lot of connections here tonight,” she assured me.
    “I don’t doubt that,” I agreed. “But this isn’t my scene, and besides, you don’t need me for this, right?”
    She nodded slowly. “I guess not,” she said reluctantly.
    I vowed to Charlie that we would have plenty of other opportunities to do things together as roommates, and that I was rooting for her all the way. I also tried to stick around for a little while and not feel too uncomfortable just because good old Anu was giving me the fish-eye. But it didn’t work.
    Elle, I’m lost here. I mean, either I’m barfing on boys in bars, or choking out lame questions that no one responds to (except, of course, to feel sorry for me), or, when I finallydo manage to meet and sustain conversation with someone reasonably attractive and intelligent he’s either the best friend of my spontaneously socially awkward editor or he’s the boyfriend of the woman with the power to make my roommate’s life miserable.
    Anyway, I gathered my jacket and bowed out of the party as gracefully as possible, avoiding Anu and Zach at all costs. They must do this little dancey thing pretty often, because when I left I noticed them making out in the corner.
    So, you know, more power to them. Ain’t love grand?
    I wouldn’t know.
    —xx

Five
    9/10, 6:13 p.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: me, circa noon today
    Waiting outside of Dunkin Donuts (What is it with Dunkin’ Donuts, anyway? It’s, like, some sort of zoning law that there needs to be one every three blocks or so. Is it a Boston thing? Why? Why?) for the student shuttle to take me from the center of town back to campus. Semicute prepster waiting on line for said shuttle as well. Khaki carpenter cords, rumpled plaid flannel shirt, all-terrain sneakers.
    So not my type.
    But that should make it easier, right? I mean, if there’s nothing, really, at stake. Objectively speaking, he’s attractive, in a crunchy, trust-fund kind of way. Says I to myself,
Self, I think I’ll just mosey on over and say hi. Target #7, I presume….
    Is that weird? (Other than the moseying, that is. The moseying is
definitely
weird.)
    But just walking up and saying hi, I mean. Do people do that? People other than strange, hormonally challenged college students stranded in Boston with no sex appeal and no recourse to speak of, that is?
    I was losing focus, and fast. So, going up and just saying “Hey” was clearly out of the question. But what else was there?
    Can’t ask him for help with my bag,
I thought.
It’s, like, some Q-tips and a bottle of hairspray—nothing I can’t lift. Can’t ask for a light, because—what if he gives me one? I