If he freezes me out during this class—during this group project—it’s going to drive me bonkers.
So what are you going to do about it, Georgia?
Will he ever forgive me?
I have an entire semester to try to earn his trust, beginning with these cupcakes, which honestly should be muffins since it’s early in the day and probably not the right time for sweets.
They’re even in the cutest little box, one I scrounged up in the dorm’s recycling center and covered in cute wrapping paper before plunking the baked goods inside.
Lovely little presentation.
I’ve done my hair today, taking a flat iron to practice so I could tame my locks afterward—even adding mascara and lip gloss. More makeup than I had on Friday night, not that he was paying me one bit of attention.
Dolling up is a strategy that could backfire on me, of course—the last thing I want is to look like ‘one of those girls.’ The snooty kind who flirts and teases and plays games.
The high-maintenance kind who judge people by their appearance.
That is exactly what you’ve done, Georgie.
Exactly that.
Stop reminding me! I tell myself.
Ashley Dryden-Jones is in the same spot he occupied during the last class: fifth row from the back of the room, fourth seat in. I had to climb around him to get to my seat Tuesday, but today, I ease my things over before settling into the second seat in.
Not too far and not too close.
Close enough to talk if he changes his mind about me.
The other members of our group file in one by one, joining us by filling in the seats behind us and in front.
The two guys greet me and the other girls but fist-bump Ash.
Typical.
In the seat in front of me, Brian twists around, his eyes straying to the cupcake box on my lap.
“Sweet, are these for us?”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to slap his grasping hand away from my box when he reaches for it without waiting for an invitation, greedy fingers already going at a cupcake. You know those claws in a game where you put money in and try to extract a stuffed animal with a mechanical hand that drops from the ceiling?
Like that.
“Sorry, no.” I jerk the box back, out of his reach.
The entire group stares expectantly at me.
Nalla licks her lips. “Who are they for?”
“Um…” I glance around nervously, gaze accidentally flitting to Ash before I can stop it, giving myself away.
They dart over to him again.
He who ignores me and pretends I don’t exist.
“Yeah, who are they for?” Brian echoes.
“I made them for a friend.”
“What friend?”
Oh my god, Brian, what do you care who they’re for?!
While Brian is arguing, Jamal is doing a count of the cakes and announces, “There are six of them, and we’re your friends,” making me want to bang my head against a desk. “These should be for us.”
If there were a desk nearby, I would bang my head on it.
My intention wasn’t to share; my intention was to hand them to Ash in a feeble attempt at amends, and now the whole plan has gone to shit thanks to these nosey groupmates of ours.
Ugh!
Why is nothing working out for me the way it was supposed to? Why has everything gone to shit since I moved here?
My so-called “friends” who turned out to be bullies and who I’m stuck with until I make new ones.
This boy who hates my guts and won’t even look at me.
The cupcakes remain on my lap, a total magnet for Brian and Jamal, who have made it their mission to ignore the professor at the front of the room and attempt to get them off my lap.
If I set them down, they’ll be gone.
But if they see me handing them over to Ash at the end of class, they’re going to think I’m…in love with him or something, bringing him treats when I wasn’t willing to share with them.
Down in front, someone dims the lights—probably the TA—and the projector glows to life, the size of a small movie screen down in front.
“Ways we are terrible. At. Communicating,” Professor Drexler says, marker squeaking the entire time she’s writing on the board next to her projector. The slide shows a list of ways we need to communicate to effectively navigate in business, but she wants us to list the ways we’re bad at it. “Go ahead and work this through in your groups, and then we’ll go around the room and see how many we have that overlap and seem to be common themes.”
The lights flip back on, though let’s be honest, it probably wasn’t necessary to dim them to begin with.
“We suck at communication because we’re always on our phones.” Nalla kicks off the discussion. “Should I write that down?”
“I nominate Nalla to take notes,” Jamal teases, shooting her a wink.
She rolls her eyes but opens her laptop and clicks open a new document with nary a sigh. “What are some others?” She glances up at us through the lenses of the computer glasses she’s got perched on her nose.
“Lack of eye contact,” I blurt out, shooting a sharp glance at Ash, wondering if he’s making the connection or if it went right over his head.
“Lack of directness,” Priya says smartly with a nod. “No one says what they mean—it’s nothing but guesswork.”
She’s not wrong.
“Social media’s given everyone a case of the dumbs.” That from Jamal, and he’s also not wrong. “Get off your damn phone.”
“How about—underexplaining,” Priya adds.
“Totally.” I’m nodding. “And overexplaining. That’s horrible too.”
“Agreeing with something you disagree with. Is that bad communication?” Nalla nibbles on her bottom lip.
“I think so, because isn’t agreeing with something you disagree about dishonest? Plus, if you can’t speak up or can’t speak your mind, that’s a breakdown in trust.”
Beside me, Ashley Dryden-Jones snorts through his nose.
A loud, obnoxious snort.
Everyone looks at him.
“Dude, what was that?” Brian asks him.
“I find it ironic that she’s talking about a breakdown in trust when she does shite all the time she doesn’t agree with.”
Of course, he says all this in a swoony British accent that has both Priya and Nalla melting a little. And, not going to lie—my insides get a bit warmer.
All heads swivel to me.
Cupcakes still in my lap, I pop the top and offer them up to the group. “Brian, would you like a cupcake?”
Ashley’s nostrils flare. “I thought those were going to be for me.”
Ha! As if. “Why would you assume they were for you?”
“Coz you’ve been trying to kiss my arse since Friday.”
Kiss his arse? Please!
I’ve been trying to be nice. I haven’t…I…
Fine. I’ve been trying to kiss his ass—I feel horrible, and there’s nothing wrong with trying to make amends.
Brian takes a cupcake before the chance slips away; so do Jamal and Nalla, who licks her fingers clean before resuming taking notes on her laptop.
“Where’s mine?” Ashley wants to know.
“I changed my mind.” The lid snaps shut.