Page 19 of Falling for Mindy

She laughed. “No, but I should totally make that.”

“Please don’t.”

“Come on. Think of the commentary”, she said.

“Just no. There’s plenty of serious documentary work and activist influencers who make their point without using a piñata.”

“It’s important for the shock value that gets the viewer thinking and engaged in the art piece.”

“What I’d be thinking is, where did the artist store these while she was working. Did she use a shared studio space that she left littered with half finished vaginas while the papier-mâché dried or are they crammed into her apartment with one in the kitchen sink?” I grumbled.

“That would be a visual. A photo series documenting how you made and stored the vaginas until you displayed them. Then do you sell them? Because someone might display it, but what if it’s somebody who wants to bust the piñata? That’s just disrespectful. Also, I would not probably fill them with candy,” she said thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry I mentioned it. Tell me about your class and put me out of my misery.”

“We have to do an installation piece with a partner and the topics are going to be assigned randomly. It’s exciting, but I’m a little worried because what if I get some crappy topic like littering. I mean, I can pile up trash. That’s not going to knock your eyes out and get people angry about the way we treat the planet. I want my installation to be a call to action, you know?” she said.

I smiled at her. I loved it when Katie got over the top excited. She practically sparkled. Katie was so full of ideas just like when she was little.

“You’ll do awesome. I don’t think you could do something boring if you tried to,” I said.

“Thank you. If I need help, like with a women’s studies tie in or something, I’ll ask you.”

“I’d be glad to help. As long as I’m not gluing Easter grass on a piñata to stand in for pubic hair.”

“Easter grass is green,” she said. “What kind of freaky bush do you have?”

“Well, it’s not green. I was thinking of texture, not color. Never mind. Now I’m thinking about the piñatas again. Ugh,” I said, laughing.

“I’m so glad we came out tonight,” Katie said. “Now tell me what Professor Sexytimes did when you saw him.”

“He practically shoved me away and apologized and like ran off.”

“Oooh, so he’s attracted to you!” Katie crowed.

“Uh, no, he wanted me out of his way.”

“No, he was like, oh god, touching her is like fire! I must resist!” She did a dramatic voice.

“More like, she’s in my way and I bet my onion rings are getting cold.”

“Girl, even when your hair is a mess and you’re a hundred percent sweatpants and Netflix, you’re still too pretty for a man to push you aside to get to onion rings.”

“That’s sweet, but it depends on how good the onion rings are, how hungry he is—there are variables to consider,” I said.

“Stop thinking like an academic,” she said. “That’s how come you’re not getting laid. Too analytical. Just have some fun. I still think it’s a shame you couldn’t have gone to bone town with your professor before classes started. You’d be so much less wound up and stressed now.”

“I don’t go to bone town with strangers or with my instructors. In fact I don’t do that with anyone, because no one older than thirteen even says ‘going to bone town,’ Katie,” I said, trying to be serious but also trying not to laugh because of her choice of words.

We both laughed. She started a running commentary on the guys sitting near us, and I pretended like I wasn’t scanning the room for any sign of Professor Quinn. No matter how much fun I was having joking around with Katie, he was on my mind.

My body was keyed up, my breathing a little ragged. I felt kind of like an addict looking for a fix, just a glimpse of him, maybe even him looking at me, meeting my eyes. It was a feeling of anxious hope and a spike of terror as well. If he caught me staring at him, he might know. He might realize that I was so attracted to him that I was wearing out a set of D-batteries a lot faster than normal. Like I needed to buy a bulk pack to keep pace with my sexual urges now that Kyle Quinn was guest starring in my life.

CHAPTER 10

KYLE

My email was up to date. I’d responded to all of my staff and student messages. I had emptied the recycle bin on my computer desktop, and I’d sorted my stacks of books and papers into something that resembled organization. My desk calendar was visible, and I’d penciled in my internship one-on-ones for the week. I stared at my even, square printing in today’s box that read, ‘goals/objectives M. Sayers’ and the time.

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