gone, that all the crazy hookup—sorry.”
“Maybe it’s that senior who bid a thousand dollars on him at the date auction?” Callie said quickly.
“Good call,” said Matt. “But I can’t see what’s so embarrassing about that or why else it would be worth hiding.”
Callie shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.” Stretching, she continued to gaze out the window. Outside under the April sun, the stone fountain flowed merrily, splashing onto the surrounding grass as people strolled up and down the cement walkways. A small group of students clustered around the stone benches farther away toward the back entrance to Harvard Yard, some bent over what looked like a bunch of butcher paper and cardboard.
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Callie asked. Squinting,she watched a girl attach one of the sheets of cardboard to the edge of a large stick and then lift it above her head. A sign! Callie couldn’t read it from so far away or make out any of the students’ features, but still, it had to be: “A protest!” she cried. “Any idea what for?”
“Uh,” said Matt, staring at the table. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” Callie demanded, rounding on him.
“Well, we did publish an article yesterday that briefly referenced a protest scheduled to take place outside the Science Center this afternoon…you know, to save introductory Latin?”
“Ooh,” said Callie slowly. “So that’s why you wanted to meet at the Greenhouse Café.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Matt muttered, going scarlet. “I happen to like the coffee here. And, you know, while we’re on the subject, I like Latin, too!”
“You know who else likes Latin?” Callie asked. “Grace! Come on, Matt. Just admit it. You’re obsessed. And besides, nobody likes the coffee here. It’s terrible.”
“That’s not…entirely…Fine,” he conceded suddenly. “You win! I like her! A lot! At least as much as any man can…like a woman…who barely knows he’s alive.”
“She knows you’re alive!” said Callie. “Weren’t you just saying how much she’s been relying on you lately?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing as wanting to date me.”
Callie chewed her lip, unsure how to proceed. She could take the Vanessa approach (i.e., “OMG _____ totally looooves you, youhave to go for it!”), or try to discourage him the way Dana might (i.e., “Don’t you have a project due tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be concentrating on that?”), or refuse all involvement by feigning ignorance with the Mimi route (i.e., “Wait— who are we speaking of again?”). In truth, she had no idea whether to encourage or dissuade, having never known Grace to even so much as speak about any romantic interests.
“I guess,” Callie started, “that things are slightly complicated by the fact that she is—or, uh, was—your boss, so making a move could lead to potential awkwardness around the office.”
“I know.” Matt moaned, burying his face in his palms.
“On the other hand,” Callie continued, “if you don’t tell her how you feel, you might never know if those feelings are mutual.”
Pausing, they both turned to stare out the window. Callie could just make out Grace now, marching in a circle and carrying a sign with the rest of the protesters, some of whom wielded megaphones, which they were probably using to chant Latin phrases.
“To be honest,” Callie started gently, “I don’t know if you’re her type—but that’s only because I don’t know if she even has a type! She always seems so strictly business that I’m having a hard time picturing what she’d be like on a date.”
“Oh god,” said Matt, who’d been inadvertently gnawing on his knuckles. “Do you think she’s already seeing some other guy? Of course she is! How could I be so stupid! She’s so much smarter than I am and her hair is so shiny and she always smells like freshly printed newspapers and—”
Callie
“Maybe it’s that senior who bid a thousand dollars on him at the date auction?” Callie said quickly.
“Good call,” said Matt. “But I can’t see what’s so embarrassing about that or why else it would be worth hiding.”
Callie shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.” Stretching, she continued to gaze out the window. Outside under the April sun, the stone fountain flowed merrily, splashing onto the surrounding grass as people strolled up and down the cement walkways. A small group of students clustered around the stone benches farther away toward the back entrance to Harvard Yard, some bent over what looked like a bunch of butcher paper and cardboard.
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” Callie asked. Squinting,she watched a girl attach one of the sheets of cardboard to the edge of a large stick and then lift it above her head. A sign! Callie couldn’t read it from so far away or make out any of the students’ features, but still, it had to be: “A protest!” she cried. “Any idea what for?”
“Uh,” said Matt, staring at the table. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” Callie demanded, rounding on him.
“Well, we did publish an article yesterday that briefly referenced a protest scheduled to take place outside the Science Center this afternoon…you know, to save introductory Latin?”
“Ooh,” said Callie slowly. “So that’s why you wanted to meet at the Greenhouse Café.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Matt muttered, going scarlet. “I happen to like the coffee here. And, you know, while we’re on the subject, I like Latin, too!”
“You know who else likes Latin?” Callie asked. “Grace! Come on, Matt. Just admit it. You’re obsessed. And besides, nobody likes the coffee here. It’s terrible.”
“That’s not…entirely…Fine,” he conceded suddenly. “You win! I like her! A lot! At least as much as any man can…like a woman…who barely knows he’s alive.”
“She knows you’re alive!” said Callie. “Weren’t you just saying how much she’s been relying on you lately?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing as wanting to date me.”
Callie chewed her lip, unsure how to proceed. She could take the Vanessa approach (i.e., “OMG _____ totally looooves you, youhave to go for it!”), or try to discourage him the way Dana might (i.e., “Don’t you have a project due tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be concentrating on that?”), or refuse all involvement by feigning ignorance with the Mimi route (i.e., “Wait— who are we speaking of again?”). In truth, she had no idea whether to encourage or dissuade, having never known Grace to even so much as speak about any romantic interests.
“I guess,” Callie started, “that things are slightly complicated by the fact that she is—or, uh, was—your boss, so making a move could lead to potential awkwardness around the office.”
“I know.” Matt moaned, burying his face in his palms.
“On the other hand,” Callie continued, “if you don’t tell her how you feel, you might never know if those feelings are mutual.”
Pausing, they both turned to stare out the window. Callie could just make out Grace now, marching in a circle and carrying a sign with the rest of the protesters, some of whom wielded megaphones, which they were probably using to chant Latin phrases.
“To be honest,” Callie started gently, “I don’t know if you’re her type—but that’s only because I don’t know if she even has a type! She always seems so strictly business that I’m having a hard time picturing what she’d be like on a date.”
“Oh god,” said Matt, who’d been inadvertently gnawing on his knuckles. “Do you think she’s already seeing some other guy? Of course she is! How could I be so stupid! She’s so much smarter than I am and her hair is so shiny and she always smells like freshly printed newspapers and—”
Callie
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