Monkey Business by Sarah Mlynowski

penthouse window, I watched the black car whisk her away, and thought, At least I have my sister. And my homework. I wanted to score perfect marks on everything so I would make my parents proud, and over time perfection became my ultimate goal. I began to loathe the red marks highlighting my mistakes on my assignments. Loathe the unmade bed. Loathe the dirt on the floor.
    Everything had to be just so.
    I became a princess watching over my tower.
    Maybe I should have demanded therapy, because I’m still that princess, and the prince I’m looking for doesn’t exist—someone smart, gorgeous, ambitious, tall, who intends to build his castle in Manhattan. Unfortunately, no one in B-school seems to fit that description.
    None of the students, anyway.
    Professor Rothman seems to have a thing for me. He always makes a point of saying hello to me whenever he walks into class.
    I think that’s a little creepy. He’s not married or anything (no ring), but I don’t think professors should be flirting with their students. We’re here to learn.
    I lock the door behind me and set off for the dorm. I wasn’t lying to Dennis—I do have a lot of work. I stop at the pharmacy on the way, to pick up antibacterial wipes. Who knows what’s on those applications? I also pick up another conditioner. I go through one a week, which I know is absurd.
    I shake some fish food into Martha’s bowl, then study until ten-thirty when I call my friends back home to say good-night. I should do laundry, but the idea of using those revolting machines in the basement makes me cringe. I tried to find someplace where I can send out wash the way we do in the city (I love the way my underwear comes back folded in cubes), but I learned quickly that Connecticut is not Manhattan.
    I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Reminiscing about those high-school nights has put me in the mood. Okay, fine, I’m always in the mood. Getting off to Darryl could be just the medicine I need to help me fall asleep. And with a smile on my face, to boot.
    Jamie and Russ walk in as I’m brushing my teeth. Russ’s head is rolling behind him. Someone’s had too much to drink.
    â€œSomeone got too friendly with Mr. Daniels,” Jamie says, his arm around Russ’s shoulder. “Need to get to a stall. Care to help?”
    Jamie is funny, in a ha-ha way. He was really funny lastweek in the shower when he didn’t know who I was, but at the moment I am not amused. I spit my toothpaste suds into the sink as Russ spits up on the floor. It splashes onto my leg. I am definitely going to need a shower.
    Jamie continues leading Russ toward the toilet. “Stall, Russ, stall. Did I say floor? I did not say floor.”
    I think I’m going to be sick. The smell of his stomach contents is overbearing. I tiptoe back to my room, seize my shower pail and dash down to the hopefully vomitless second-floor bathroom.
    Talk about inappropriate behavior. B-school boys seem to think they’re still in high school. But why waste time obsessing over children? Darryl awaits.

Wednesday, October 1, 5:30 p.m.
kimmy’s quasi quarantine
    I’ m going to fail school.
    No, really. I feel like a six-year-old sitting in on a molecular biology class. It’s been a month since I got here, and I still have no idea what’s going on.
    Russ, Lauren, Nick, Jamie and I are sitting in a study room in the library working on our group Accounting assignment, which is due next Wednesday. I already handed in the individual portion, which was due today. I’m sure I failed.
    Russ pulls out the case. “Did everyone read it?”
    I keep my mouth shut. No need for Russ to think I’m a moron. Which I’m sure he does already. Which I’m sure is why he’s been avoiding me.
    â€œNo,” Jamie says. “It looks huge.”
    Russ flips through it. “It’s not so bad, man. Mostly graphs. These things are