Definitely, Maybe in Love(2)

"That's amazingly huge," I blurted and dropped my bag. "Whatever it  takes. If you don't think my thesis is strong enough now, I'll work on  it. I'll do anything."

He leaned back in his squeaky chair. "I do have a few ideas, but first … "  He toggled to a new page on his computer. "I see that you took  twenty-one units last semester and nineteen last fall."

"Yeah," I confirmed, eyeing the screen.
                       
       
           



       
He arched his bushy eyebrows. "Pretty ambitious."

I shrugged.

"So that means you're ahead of schedule, credit-wise."

Oh, please don't ask me to be your aid. I'd rather take on another shift  waiting tables at the country club than correct freshman papers.

"Have you ever considered picking up an econ minor? A few of your core classes cross over. It looks like you're halfway there."

This was a surprise. "I took the two required business classes," I said,  "but other than that, I don't know much about economics."

Masen toggled back to my proposal. "I know," he said deliberately. "That's my point."

"Oh." I swallowed, visions of seeing my name in a periodical vanishing  like the Amazon rainforest. "How do you think an econ minor will help?"

"Did you do debate in high school?" he asked, which seemed out of left field.

"No," I admitted.

"But you understand the concept?"

"You argue either side of an issue," I began, hoping it sounded like I  knew what I was talking about. "You have to know enough about the  opposition to fight for both sides."

"Exactly." He pointed at my proposal on his screen. "That's precisely what this needs. The opposition."

Under my braids, the back of my neck tingled in alarm. The sensation  spread up my throat and across my cheeks. A year ago, fearing that I  wasn't getting noticed in my classes or community, I'd made some pretty  big changes. It wasn't just the heavier work load or Green Peace  marches, it was the braids, the vegetarian diet, the purposeful lack of a  social life … all in the name of being taken seriously. Finally, I felt  the part and looked the part. Everything should be falling into place by  now. But if Masen, my advisor, still didn't get how resolute I was,  what more could I do?

I was starting to get that drowning feeling again.

"Professor Masen," I began, "for the last two years, Environmental  Science has been my life. Sustainable living, promoting free and healthy  land, supporting the local EPA. I chose Stanford because of its liberal  programs, and you're saying you think I should-"

He lifted a hand to stop me. "I don't mean for you to drive a Hummer or  drill for oil. Sustainability is a critical issue, and I think you've  got a handle on it. A clear understanding of the economic side will  round out your research, give it some meat." He pointed at the screen  again. "Judging by your proposal, you're too close to the subject. I  need you to step back and get a new perspective."

"Perspective," I repeated, my head feeling heavy.

"In any arena, to truly best your opponents, you must understand them,  inside and out. You have the heart, Spring, but you don't have the  business mind. Not yet." Masen did his chin rub thing again. "You  mentioned the EPA. What if you went the other way and studied up on the  human impact, the benefits of land development?"

Before I followed my natural instinct to blurt out that there was no  such thing, I forced myself to stop and think. Perhaps I couldn't see  Masen's vision yet, but I trusted him. I kind of had to. The man held my  academic future in the palm of his hand.

"The benefits of land development?" I paused, waiting for my brain to wrap around the concept.

"Talk to a few econ students," he suggested, "or better yet, someone who  knows the finer points of land development-that's key. Delve into your  research. Maybe then your proposal will flesh out and we can talk  publication."

That word again. Publication. It was intoxicating. Whether he was using  it to guide me or manipulate me didn't matter. It worked. "Whatever you  say," I replied, picking up my bag. "I'll start on it right away."

Masen slid on his glasses. "I look forward to hearing about your progress very soon. Let's set up another meeting."

After he gave me a few more instructions, I felt like clicking my heels  together and giving a salute, but refrained and headed down the hall,  dodging other overachievers as they rushed to class. Once the initial  adrenaline was gone, though, panic set in. And by the time I was halfway  home, I was in a pretty deep haze, my backpack feeling heavier with  every step.

When would I have time to start a brand-new research project and maybe  add a minor? Where, exactly, was I going to find a land tycoon at  Stanford University? And more importantly: how much of my soul would I  be willing to sell to learn from such a creature?

My focus was pulled to a U-Haul truck parked in front of the house  across the street from mine. Three moving guys were unloading boxes. So I  guessed the wannabe Big Bang Theory physics students had moved out. Too  bad, I would miss their weekly explosions.                       
       
           



       

As I got closer to the house, about to cross the street, a guy came  wandering out the front door. Because of his height and long legs,  striding was probably a better term. After running a hand through his  dark curly hair, he slid on a pair of black sunglasses and stood in the  middle of the newly sodded lawn, signing a clipboard one of the movers  handed him.

He turned his head. Even from a distance, I noticed the cut of his jaw.  It was a nice cut. As he handed off the clipboard, he lifted his  sunglasses for just a second, revealing the rest of his face.

Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all. In fact-

"Hey," the guy said, kind of barking at one of the other movers. "Do not  touch the Viper." He pointed at a long and sleek black sports car  parked crooked in his driveway. "It's worth more than your life."

Sheesh. What the hell?

I was halfway across the street, still gaping at the guy, when my roommate Julia called from our front door.

"Spring!"

The guy's head snapped in my direction. When my eyes locked straight onto his sunglasses, I felt my face go red.

Totally hated getting caught staring, but it wasn't like I was snooping  around. I was crossing a public street in front of my own house in the  middle of the day. Not exactly a felony. Still, I knew the guy was  watching me as I headed toward my house.

"If you want me to do your nails before tonight," Julia added, "we need to start now. Hurry up."

I cinched the strap on my bag, feeling his eyes on my back. Great. Nice  first impression, Spring. I'll be known as the woman who not only cares  about manicures, but can't do one herself.

"Yeah, coming," I said, hustling up the path and inside my house. "You  didn't have to yell that." I dropped my bag by the door and followed  Julia's red hair up the stairs.

"Yell what?"

I shook my head and laughed under my breath. "Never mind."

Ten minutes later, I was sitting on the floor in a corner of our  oversized bathroom, my legs stretched out in front of me. Julia bent  forward to apply a second coat of Russian Navy to my toenails. Anabel,  our other roommate, drifted in and out of the bathroom with a group of  her friends, their banter skipping from lipstick and the new frat house  to Adam Levine and stilettos. Before I was tempted to bust in and direct  the conversation to an item I'd read in the news, I grabbed a magazine  off the floor and concentrated on fanning my toenails.

"Do you have plans for dinner?" I asked Julia.

"I thought I was meeting up with Tommy," she replied, "but I haven't heard from him."

"Tommy called the house phone this morning right after you left for class," I said. "Anabel talked to him."

Julia's bright green eyes grew wide in alarm, but then she smiled and rolled them to heaven. "Oh, really."

I patted her arm. "I'm afraid you lost your date to our demonstrative roommate, bunny."

She rolled her eyes again. "It would seem so."

"Anabel knows no shame when it comes to nabbing a man. What possessed  you to give a male of any species our home number instead of your cell?"

Julia bit her lip. By far, she was the prettiest co-ed in a five-mile  radius. Tommy, or any guy, was hers for the taking. But she didn't  compete for dates.

"It's your own fault," I continued. "You should learn to play dirty.  Next time the house phone rings, use your elbows. That's why God created  them."