Page 10 of I Love to Hate You
“Uhh, yeah. My name is Eddie Thomas,” he starts. “I got into this because it’s sort of the family business. My father owns Sandcastle, which I’m sure you know is a huge ad agency in South Philly. I’m already working there, but my dad insisted I get a degree, so here I am.”
The room goes silent as everyone waits for Dan to respond. I'm even curious what Dan could say to a kid who’s attending a career fair when he already has a job and a father who is an owner. Some of the people in this room will probably end up working at Sandcastle underneath this little asshole named Eddie.
“Oh, well … that's awesome that you’ve already got your job lined up,” Dan says, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’s not actually happy for Eddie. His eyes don't convey the awesomeness he speaks of, and I don't blame him. The two of them have a bit of a staring contest before Dan exhales and moves to the girl sitting next to Eddie. “Umm, how about you, ma’am? Why'd you choose advertising and marketing?”
“It’s just something I’ve always been interested in,” the girl says in a sultry, serious voice that commands the room.
I look at her from behind, and there’s something about her that draws my attention even though I can’t see her face. Her curly hair is tied into a ponytail, with the dark strands reaching the middle of her back. She's wearing a black tank top, revealing caramel brown shoulders that reflect the light. There isn't a single inch of dry skin on her. She glows in the room, like a dark space lit up by the single flame of a match, and every woman here looks at her like they recognize her. Her presence is stunning, even to me.
“May I askwhyyou're interested in it?” Dan says with raised brows.
“Well,” the girl begins again, sitting up in her seat this time as if it’ll help her focus. “Advertising is a career path that requires a lot of spontaneity, wit, and creative thinking. It’s perfect for someone who likes to do a bit of everything media related and is highly creative, and that's me.”
Dan’s mouth slowly develops into a smile as he nods his head. “Yes, that’s the perfect answer,” he says.
The girl with the flawless skin nods, obviously happy with herself for giving “the perfect answer,” as Dan asks another person why they chose this career. While the student rattles off some bullshit about his degree, a couple of girls sitting to my right begin to giggle to themselves. I have no idea what it’s about, but in the blink of an eye, the girl with perfect shoulders and curly hair whips her head around and glares at the giggling two. The second they see her stare, they turn to stone, wiping the smiles off their faces instantly and refraining from speaking another word. The entire thing is shocking to witness, because that’s usually the reaction I get when I look at someone like I want to kill them, and without thinking about stopping myself, I chuckle aloud.
The entire scene plays out like a movie in slow motion. The low rumble of my voice reaches her ears, and the second it does, the girl has to do a complete one-eighty with her head. She turns to her left until her neck is twisted nearly backwards to look at me. My heart leaps into my throat at the display, and my brain short circuits with misfires as I’m both stunned by her beauty and terrified by her gaze. She's like a gorgeous, evil owl with her head turned back to face me and wide eyes staring into my soul.
Holy shit, I think to myself, but I swear she can hear my thoughts because her eyes narrow as she stares daggers into me.
Just like the giggling two girls, I freeze in place, wondering if she’ll attack if I move a muscle. It takes a moment for me to get over it and realize I’m being gawked at by another human being. Beautiful or not, I don’t like that shit, and my startled expression morphs into one of annoyance. My brows furrow, pulling my face into a scowl that seems to make her uneasy, because she suddenly looks confused. It’s almost as if she’s not used to anyone looking at her with the same hostility she gives off. She can dish it but doesn’t like taking it. Typical.
“Okay, so I came up with a little activity for the group,” Dan announces in his cheery voice, suddenly pulling the alluring and bitter owl out of our stare down. She looks me up and down a couple of times before facing front. “I’d like to split you all up into groups, and I want each group to work together to design a product and pitch it to me. You’ll have thirty minutes to come up with your product and pitch, and then we’ll watch each group try to sell me on their idea. There are no wrong answers. This is simply a quick assignment to show you all how things could go if you find yourself working as an intern for any ad agency or marketing firm after you earn your degree. Now, if you are picked up as an intern, you probably won’t know the people in your intern pool, so to avoid groups being filled with friends, I’ll pick who ends up in each group. It looks like we have one, two, three … fourteen people total, and I’d like to do five small groups. So, we’ll split it into four teams of three, and then we’ll have one group with just two people. Okay, let’s see here.”
As Dan begins picking people who aren’t sitting together to be in a group, I’m much more aware of where I am and what’s about to happen. Stuff like this is exactly the kind of thing I hate, and after seeing my mother struggle last night, I’m certainly in no mood to play advertising games. I don’t know anybody in this room, and I’m suddenly regretting my choice for my degree as a whole. I only chose to get a degree in marketing because I thought it would be easy. Now that I see it’s a bunch of socializing and group projects, I’m ready to hurl myself through the window to escape this bullshit.
I slump down in my seat as Dan starts to pick people close to me. Maybe if I look completely uninterested, he’ll just leave me alone. So I cross my arms and pinch my lips together, trying my best to look annoyed, like maybe I had a bad morning and shouldn’t be fucked with.
“Last but certainly not least, our girl with the perfect answer. Let’s build your team,” he says, but I don’t look at him because out of everyone here, the girl with the perfect answer is the one I really don’t want to work with. We made eye contact for all of ten seconds, and she has already managed to get on my nerves.
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Dan questions.
“Maya,” she answers, and for reasons that evade me, butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“It’s nice to meet you, Maya,” Dan replies. “Let’s put you on a team with … sir, in the back, what’s your name?”
My heart rate quadruples as I cut my eyes over and find Dan pointing and staring directly at me. There’s no mistaking it. There’s nobody else around for me to hide behind or say he’s talking to instead of me. Dan and I make eye contact, and I know I don’t have a choice now. All that’s left is to take a deep breath and accept my fate.
“Kendrick,” I respond.
“Awesome,” Dan says. “Kendrick, you and Maya are our team of two. All right, we’re all set. Everyone, get into your teams and get started. You have thirty minutes.”
Dan spins on his heel and takes a seat at the desk in front of the class, leaving who I now know as Maya standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at me, her eyes narrowed into slits. I stare back and everyone else fades away.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself as I stand. “Here we go.”
Maya
Nine
~ MAYA~
Who the hell does this guy think he is? He sits in the back of the class in a row all by himself, and has the nerve to look down on the rest of us with that smug expression on his face? After having to listen to those other two bitches giggling about me, I hear him chuckling to himself. I know a little more about Kendrick Kennedy than I did the first time I laid eyes on him, and I know he has quite the reputation, but there are things I don’t stand for. I don’t care who he is.
The first time I saw Kendrick was last week, when the bang of a tray and the shuffling of bodies brought everyone to the front of the cafeteria where Kendrick was beating the living shit out of some poor nerd. It was an obvious mismatch, and as the staff dragged Kendrick out of the room, he didn’t even look interested in what he was doing. It was as if punching a kid in the face didn’t actually mean anything to him. He did it because he could, and I hate people like that—guys who pick on smaller people for the fun of it, not because they have any real issue. While I certainly have concerns about my own temper, I like to think that I don’t lash out without cause. I don’t go battering and bruising the faces of people half my size just because I can, and I certainly don’t laugh at people who are trying to make something of themselves at a career fair. It’s embarrassing enough speaking in front of people. Having someone laugh at you multiplies the stress and anxiety of it all. So, as far as I’m concerned, fuck this guy.
The presenter for the class tells Kendrick that he and I will be partners, and I watch Kendrick stand up with a look on his face that makes me want to throw a desk at him. He’s dressed in a form-fitting white T-shirt and black pants, and it’s not until he starts to saunter down the stairs that I realize how tall he is. I’m only five-six, so Kendrick towers over me with a height of at least six-foot-two, to go along with broad shoulders that make him look as wide as a house. Once we’re face-to-face, I see that his light brown skin is complemented by light brown eyes, a well-maintained beard, and thick eyebrows that hold a permanent scowl. His hair is short on the sides and an inch longer on top, and before I can tell myself otherwise, my brain defines him all on its own. It comes up with two words to describe the way he looks—beautifully intimidating.
