Curved by Samantha Strokes

finance had their name on his lips—because if they didn’t, they would need to know soon how to work with him.
     
    Where could I possibly fit into his life? How?
     
    The details weren’t clear to me.
     
    To someone like Lindsay, who apparently knew everything, it was all very clear.
     
    I guess because of her weeping, the world got washed out and cleaned.
     
    “I have tons of shit on my back,” Lindsay said. “Tons of it all on me. My boss never lets up—Antonio? He’s not Joseph. Alpha Suites isn’t Placarm Rhodes.”
     
    She balled up more tissue paper in her hands, sitting down on the toilet. “You can pretend to understand what it’s like to slave at a job with no respect. But you’ll never really.”
     
    “I’m not sleeping with him.”
     
    My heart thumped whenever I said the words. How could I help her? My mind churned solutions out, but none of them stuck until I intently reasoned.
     
    “I have an interesting proposition for you,” I said. “Since we both do the same work.”
     
    “Damn, you’re really a fucking uptight bitch, eh?”
     
    I rolled my eyes. “Lindsay, this is serious. What you’ve told me. I can help you out.”
     
    Lindsay crossed her arms, the toilet paper in her hand streaming like a banner of defeat. “What you mean? How can you help me? What’s in it for you?”
     
    “Nothing.”
     
    We stared at each other.
     
    Lindsay began laughing, laughing and laughing and laughing.
     
    “Nothing?”
     
    “The goodness of my heart wills it for you,” I said.
     
    “Okay,” Lindsay said. “Okay. What do you want for me?”
     
    “I’ve developed a series of programs that automate my job,” I said. “You’re a junior associate, I am too. Our business is investment banking, which means everyone’s favorite: Excel spreadsheets. They’re endless. And I hate having to go through them all every night. It sucks. I get that. But…” I rummaged to my purse now, again wanting to give my hands something to do. “But, if you use my programs, you’ll never have to work again. Literally. They’ll do everything for you. Just click some buttons and… Well, I’ll teach you.”
     
    “Really?”
     
    “Yes,” I said, handing her my flash drive. “You can do whatever you want with these. I have them in Ruby, Python, and some of the other ones.” I clenched my eyes shut, trying to remember which code I had authored them in.
     
    “Thanks,” she said, taking my flash drive.
     
    “It’s not C++ or Java, but there are others on there,” I said.
     
    “Yeah,” she said, holding a hand up. “Girl, I can figure it out. I’m not stupid.”
     
    Shrugging, I closed my purse.
     
    Helping people always made me feel good, but with Lindsay, I didn’t get the same resonance in my heart.
     
    I felt like I’d strapped myself to an electric chair; it would only be a matter of days for the voltage to amp up.
     
    “Just give me the flash drive back when you’re done,” I said. I had spares, extras, but I usually stocked them all in my room so I knew where they were.
     
    “All right then,” she said. “Thanks, girl. I mean that. Really. I’m sorry for being such a loser cunt.”
     
    She sniffled, and I came to her side, wrapping my arms around her.
     
    “You’re not a loser for literally losing your mother,” I said. Thinking back to my childhood, I summoned my parents, their summer voices at my beck and call. They always helped me out when I needed it, in the end, so empathizing with Lindsay hurt me too. What she could never manifest again was her mother’s voice, her mother’s touch, her mother’s way of life.
     
    Her love.
     
    “I’m sorry for you,” I said, “I can’t even imagine.”
     
    She held me back, rocking me forward, standing slowly. “Yeah, well, that’s true of a lot of things.”
     
    We returned to class, having missed the quiz. Fine by our standards—we were ace queens, dominating the academic landscape. Which was why we