Page 37 of Don't Be in Love

“Studies show if you take a nap for even just five minutes, it’s enough to rejuvenate your creativity.”

“Will that make your laptop work too?”

My eyes shot open. I huffed. “What had you been saying before? About plans?”

“Sabrina’s dads invited us to a movie premiere, tomorrow night, can you believe that?” she shrieked.

“Shh, we’re in a library,” I warned.

The last thing I needed was for the librarian to kick us out. This was my only place of solitude for studying. Even when Iwas closed off in my room at the apartment with my headphones on, trying to study, I found myself giving in to watchingStrictly Come Dancingwith Brina or proofreading Mia’s articles or chatting with their families on the phone during Monday night dinners when I should really be making headway on Dover’s paper (as it was marked in my planner under everyMondayin October).

She rolled on, lowering her voice just a spec. “Brina said we get to dress up and watch the actors walk the red carpet before the movie. We have to be at her parent’s place for six in order to make the carpet at seven.”

“When is this?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. I just said that.” She gave me a disapproving glance. “Don’t say—”

I squinted, preparing for the attack, leaning back in my chair. “I think I’m going to—”

“—that you’re going—”

“—to have to pass.” I shielded my face.

“—to pass.” She sighed.

The setting sun coming through the wall-stretched windows was warm enough to put me to sleep. I could curl my arms up and use my overheated laptop as a pillow even with the intimidated look on Mia’s face. Tall, gaunt trees craned for a view inside our hidden corner of the library. Their burnt orange and lemon ricotta yellow leaves were like claws trying to get at the books.

“Tomorrow is the last day of midterms and all I want to do after is read the past six Cultural Comments fromThe New Yorker,watch reality TV, stuff my face with the creamiest vanilla frappe I can find, andsleepbefore I have to do this all over again.” I gestured to the calculator (for creating KPIs), stacks of papers (highlighted printed syllabi), two cups of coffee (that I still loathed) and a mutilated lip gloss tube (because I couldn’tstop picking at my lips and needed to lather them in coconut goodness).

Her mouth was pressed into a line. “Is the project kicking your ass that much?”

“You really know how to comfort a friend, don’t you?”

“I didn’t mean it that way! But I hardly hear you say anything anymore that isn’t ‘planner, assignment, or SEO strategy.’”

My skin smelled like coconut as I dropped my head into my palms. “Midterm assignments have been overriding my semester-long assignments lately, so I’ve just had even less time than usual.”

“What do you have left on your project for Sylvie? It’s the project on watches, right?”

I nodded. I chose this small business that handmade watches in Scotland and engraved people’s wishes on the back of the faces.

“My next step is to create content to put in the editorial calendar. I’ll make some graphics, along with taking a day to go shoot photos. I’m not too worried about it, unless my decision to take some of the pictures on a disposable camera blows up in my face and the film ends up entirely blacked out. But if it goes well, then I’ll end up with these perfectly vintage-like photos that’ll match the timeless, elegant ambiance of the campaign. Imagine a catalog with film photos, a Bodoni italicized font, hints of beige and ice blue bordering images postcard style.”

“No wonder Sylvie was so nice to you that morning. You’re making the rest of us look like couch potatoes,” she threw one of my erasers at my chest.

“I hope she doesn’t forget about the recommendation. It’d be huge.”

“Even if she did, I’m sure she’d still bedelighted if you’d ask,” she finished in a fake British accent.

“I didn’t realize she sounded like the crumpled crab apple of a woman fromSnow White.”

“Are you referencingthe Evil Queen?Did you just forget the name of theeasiestDisney villain?”

“I am tired, woman, I told you,” I argued in a hushed tone, trying not to laugh. Students sitting at the strip of tables against the windows remained stoic. No one passed us a second glance. “All I dream about anymore are spreadsheets, slideshows, drafted emails I’ve yet to send, and Maureen’s stupid cat outside my balcony.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that’sallyou dream about. Let’s be honest here.”

I glared at her.