30 Guys in 30 Days by Micol Ostow

this semester,” he repeated, sounding slightly annoyed.
    Okay, so maybe I wasn’t
exactly
trying my best.
    “Um, I’m taking …” Suddenly I couldn’t for the life of me remember my own schedule. Was it possible that in talking with Cameron my IQ had actually shot down ten points? Was he
that
toxic?
    Without warning, his hand slid up my leg.
    Question answered.
    “Do I make you nervous?” he taunted.
    He had little bits of french fry sticking to the corners of his mouth.
    Nervous, no. Nauseated, yes.
    I scuttled over to my own corner of the booth. “I’m taking computer science, and intro to pop culture, and, uh, child development, biology, and women’s history,” I rattled off.
    “Oh, women’s history,” he said knowingly. “No wonder you’re such a priss.”
    “Um, excuse me?” I said, quite certain that I’d misheard him.
    “Feminist,” he said shortly, stuffing more of my dinner into his fat mouth.
    I stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, that’s exactly it,” I deadpanned. I glanced over at Charlie, who, at this point, was officially making out with Troy at the table. That, or performing emergency mouth-to-mouth.
Is this behavior really becoming of a Georgia Peach?
I wondered.
    I thought about storming out in a huff. That would have at least made for a good anecdote. But Charlie would have definitely caused me serious bodily harm. Not to mention, we were at least ten miles from the nearest T station and I really didn’t have enough money on me for a cab. I was in it for the long haul.
    “Are you, uh, finished with that?” Cameron asked, pointing a beefy index finger at my hamburger.
    I sighed and pushed my plate toward him. It was going to be a mighty long night.
    9/17, 1:19 a.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: blind dates
    Valid “target practice,” yay or nay?
    I’m saying yes. And then I’m going to bed. And never agreeing to another fix-up as long as I live.
    —xx

    9/18,11:01 a.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: deep thoughts
    From the animation-fest, according to Mike Nugent, design major at Emerson: That if you play Season 1, Episode 12, of
The Simpsons
backward and on extended-time release, it will reveal the identity of JFK’s killer.
    Whatever.
    Target #14, all accounted for. At least I’m almost halfway there.
    Am running out of things to say re: thefestival. Have little further opinion other than, of course, abject fear. I mean, some of those men were wearing costumes. Tights: Not a good look for the forty-plus and balding set.
    —xx
    9/18, 5:17 p.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected]
    re: ani-fest
    
    Here’s the article. Sorry I’m late. Let me know if you have any problems opening it.
    9/18, 6:03 p.m.
    from: arts@[email protected]
    to: [email protected]
    re: re: ani-fest
    Claud—
    Looks great. Sounds like you had an … interesting time? ;)
    Check the personals tomorrow.
    —G
    9/19,1:53 a.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: grrr
    My right brain is mad at my left brain. Or possibly the other way around. Which is it that controls logic and which controls creativity? Does it even matter?
    I’m fried.
    I have a comp sci quiz in approximately eight hours that I was made aware of, um, about eight hours ago. Good times.
    Oh, and Target #15? Pedro, the handsome and virile delivery boy from Mexicali Rose.
    I think we’d have fine-looking children.
    —xx
    9/19, 2:04 a.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: Um, no.
    I’m sorry, Claud, but I have to put my foot down. Delivery boys do not count as “target practice.”
    9/19, 2:21 a.m.
    from: [email protected]
    to: [email protected], [email protected]
    re: Come now
    Oh, Charlie, can’t you see