I had originally debated between specializing in high-profile companies or individuals. I carefully weighed out the professional pros and cons versus what I thought would interest me the most in the long run. I didn’t want to get into something that I’d burn out on quickly, so making the initial decision wasn’t as easy as it might have seemed.
Working for high-profile companies would come with a huge paycheck and stability, but I worried that I might get bored at some point or be bound too tightly by their company policies and politics or that I’d feel stuck with what I could and couldn’t do creatively. I absolutely wanted the safety and financial security that a large company could provide but not at the cost of my heart.
I didn’t want to play it safe when it came to my passions, and that was when I had known … that working for individual people was the right choice for me. I remembered feeling instantly lighter after the realization, and it only reinforced the decision I’d made. I knew that I’d still be bound by beliefs and what my clients wanted to show to their followers, but I’d be more involved in how they presented it. My job would have a more intimate approach rather than me feeling like a replaceable cog on a corporate wheel.
We walked toward our respective buildings, our parking structure closing in on me as it neared in the distance.
“Don’t look at it.” Lauren nudged my shoulder with her own, knowing all that it represented, and I shot her a look.
“I wasn’t planning on it. I wish they’d demolish it.”
The stupid building hovered, calling to me like a bright beacon of neon, highlighting all the memories I had shared there with Cole. It taunted me. Haunted me.
Lauren laughed. “It’s not the parking structure’s fault. They just can’t demolish something because you’re mad at it.”
“Stop being logical. If I want logic, I’ll ask for it.” I frowned, wanting to change the subject. The topic of conversation needed to stop revolving around Cole Anders.
I was about to ask Lauren the name of the band, so I could do some online research before the show tonight, but some not-so-quiet pieces of conversation caught my ear.
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Slapped him.”
“He hates her for it.”
“I hooked up with him that night anyway. It’s not like he’s into her.”
My steps faltered only the tiniest bit, but Lauren locked her movements in time with mine and smiled big for any girls looking our way to see. “Don’t listen to them.”
The girls on campus had always said things under their breath about me or Cole whenever I was around. It was petty and immature, and you would think I’d be used to it by now, but I hated the way being the topic of conversation felt. Especially when it wasn’t ever anything nice or complimentary. A girl could only take hearing, “She’s not even that cute,” so many times before she wanted to beat someone senseless.
And it was all Cole’s fault. It’d felt like everyone on campus knew about the two of us hooking up the minute after it happened, and apparently, it was everyone’s business. Other females made sure I knew that I wasn’t the only one spending time with Cole. Heaven forbid a girl felt special for two seconds. Oh no, not when it came to a highly desired baseball player at Fullton State. Cole Anders was a hot commodity, and I would not be the one to take him off the market. Or so I’d been told by a drunk sorority girl at a party one night.
The craziest part to me was the fact that I’d never even been Cole’s official girlfriend in the first place, but for some reason, other girls loved throwing his sex life in my face. Over the years, I’d been told more times than I could count about Cole hooking up with someone who wasn’t me. They whispered when I walked into the commissary, said things as they sat next to me in class, made sure I overheard them at frat parties. It was always the same; first would be his name to get my attention, and then things like, “She’s not the only one. She knows that, doesn’t she? I was with him last night. He sure knows how to use his hands,” would immediately follow.
I never understood why they cared so much to try to hurt me when it was obvious that Cole and I weren’t a couple. What did they have to gain by bringing me down? Why did we women enjoy seeing each other suffer or hurt? We were competitive. No matter how much girl power we preached, it was kind of bullshit. I thought it was ingrained in our DNA to be competitive with one another or something. Fight for the most virile man.
I used to care a lot more in the beginning. I’d stayed silent and let them talk while I sat there and took it. I stopped taking it about a year ago and started speaking up. Once I’d started talking, they’d stopped. For the most part.
The two girls had already passed us by, but I turned around and shouted, “Hey!” to get their attention.
They stopped and turned to face me, nervous looks on their faces.
Yeah, not so tough when I call you out, are you? I thought to myself. “Just for the record and just so we’re clear, I don’t give a shit what or who Cole does. You make sure and let him know, ’kay?”
The girls who’d had so much to say when they were strutting past me were suddenly at a loss for words. I was not surprised. What did surprise me was seeing Cole. He was taking the steps two at a time up the side staircase of our parking structure.
I watched where he was going until he reached the top level and disappeared out of view.
Of course.
The one place that I avoided like the plague because it held way too many memories, he continued to use it like it meant nothing. Like our lives hadn’t become intertwined up there on that top floor. Me and that stupid structure were the same to him … just a place to hang out until he had somewhere else to be.
Social Media Guru
Christina
I spent my afternoon after classes researching the band, The Long Ones’, social media sites and taking a ton of notes. There were four members, all local surfers, born and raised in Southern California. Their Facebook page had been set up but never posted on. It was a literal ghost town. They had a YouTube account, but it only had one video on it. And their Instagram had sporadic posts at best. The only thing that was up-to-date was their website, which, in the grand scheme of things, was a good sign. They weren’t completely dysfunctional.
None of this had truly surprised me, however. Most of the time, the people who I considered “the talent” didn’t have the extra hours, knowledge, or the desire to handle the social media side of things. It truly was a full-time job in and of itself and overwhelmed even the most organized professionals. The fact that they even had an account set up at each one of the appropriate channels showed me that they at least wanted to maintain them, but for whatever reason, they hadn’t been able to.
And that was where I would step in tonight and offer my services. I definitely was at the point where I could charge a fee for my knowledge, expertise, and time, but since these guys were all students, I knew they wouldn’t be able to pay me. I would build their accounts, upload content, and maintain them until I graduated. Then, my days of doing things for free would have to be over. Not because I didn’t believe in helping people when I could, but because I deserved to be paid for my work, and I would have bills that my parents no longer covered.