The Masks We Wear

HIM

UC is a big school. I can't count how many runners there are, whether they are students, athletes or staff. Getting an early morning run in isn't unusual, and yet... Two people I barely knew gave me a thumbs up as I stretched out and people seemed to watch me as if I were a novelty while I ran. It was weird and off-putting.

Moving behind a tree, I quickly peeled off my tee that had an image of Feynman playing bongos, turned it inside out and put it back on. The chances of someone not in the math department knowing about Feynman was remote, but I was starting to freak out. There was no need to advertise that I was both a math geek and a runner.

After doing my five miles I went back to the dorm to shower and Tim was watching the video again.

"Dude, you gotta find out who she is. Seriously, totally hot. Have you seen her on campus? Maybe Baker Commons?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Something about her seems familiar, but... I can't put my finger on it."

"If you figure it out and introduce me, grilled cheese for life. As many as you want, whenever you want."

Laughing, I went to take a shower. An hour later I was in Dr. Gholmite's lecture. Michelle slammed open the door and came running down the steps just as the clock struck nine. Sitting next to me, she passed an egg and cheese sandwich my way. I tried to be surreptitious as I snuck a bite here and there when the professor was writing on the chalkboard.

When the class was over, Michelle remained sitting. "So, that was obviously about you, right?"

It was clear what she was talking about. I should have realized that she would see the video. "Uhm, yeah. I guess."

"You guess? Did Frank try to scare you off or didn't he?"

"He did."

Her foot tapping, eyes narrowed as she lowered her voice. "I'll talk to him. He... I'll talk to him. Don't worry about a thing. I'm really sorry, Craig."

"It's fine. He... I don't know. He's just being protective or something."

"That's bullshit. I'll eat with who I want, when I want. He doesn't dictate who my friends are." She smiled. "I guess that makes me Ms. Uber Popular."

I smiled back. "Seems like."

"So, who's this Casey? Friend of yours?"

"No. I don't think we've ever met, but she seems familiar. It's annoying, actually. Like a song that you know but can't remember the title or who it's by? It'll come to me."

"Well, she's a beautiful girl."

I thought for a second, remembering the woman in the video. "Yeah, she's definitely that."

"Medicci later? Get some dinner and then hit up the books? Please? I'll pay for dinner and your time."

"Sure, but we'll split dinner." It was awkward talking about money with someone I felt was becoming more of a friend than client, but I needed the cash. "Normal tutoring fees okay?"

"Perfect."

As we left, I saw Frank and another huge guy. He was waiting for Michelle but stared at me with obvious anger. I touched my shirt just below my belly button and then where my chest started and mouthed the words "stem to stern". He looked away.

HER

I was going to let the whole thing go.

I really, really was.

But what that prick had done to him just made me somad.

Not to mention that every time I saw him, he looked unsettled, shying away from the attention I'd unwittingly thrust on him.

So, I... well, apologized.

I tried to apologize

I mean, it started as an apology, that was it. Just a one-off revisiting of beingher so I could tell him I was sorry for meddling in his life.

An email wasn't good enough. He could easily assume it was someone pretending to be her, sending him messages as some kind of mean joke. Besides, she was—in the backstory I had invented for her—another student. He'd be suspicious of an off-campus email with her name.

Another video on the school YouTube channel would just draw more attention to him. And another video would increase the chances of people recognizingher. I didn't put much stock in the collective intelligence of most of the other students, but a few of them might put it together. The film studies students were the most likely, but anyone observant might figure it out.

I steadfastly ignored the fact that "anyone" could include him.

To give myself some credit, I did try to talk myself out of it. I imagined getting caught, and I swear the thought of it nearly paralyzed me for days. Having to explain myself to him, to everyone... to my parents.

It made me burn with shame. My father...

This isn't about me. It doesn't matter what I thought my dad would do. Or say. Or... I mean, I didn't consider how much I was putting on the line by breaking my promise that the video was just a one time thing.

I just felt like he deserved an apology. He never asked me to defend him. He didn't need anyone to defend him. I didn't know if he knew that about himself before, but if anything good had come from my actions, I hoped that I—well,she—had made him see that.

She was what I wanted to be but never could, never would. She was the person I felt he deserved.

I put the wig on and becameher, and I made something that was only ever meant for him.

HIM

I sat on my bed, my back against the wall, laptop propped on my thighs. This was too weird. I was in the other room with Tim when the email popped up. About to open it, I saw that it was from CArlington@UofC.edu; as in Casey Arlington, video girl. There was an attachment that was sizeable enough to be a video, so being the decisive, take charge person that I am, I went to my room, sat and stared at the file like it was a vial that said "Drink Me".

After a few minutes of hesitation, I opened the email. The text was simple and to the point. "Please play video" and was signed "Casey". My finger hovered over the mouse until I finally clicked on the attachment. A quick scan showed no viruses, the video started and down the rabbit hole I went.

There was no emotion in me, except for a little anger. This woman jumped into my life like a monsoon and kicked up wreckage everywhere. I assumed that she thought she was being cute and could leverage some Likes for a new vlog or something, but I was the one being affected. It was a popular guessing game on campus that was as difficult as what was the color of George Washington's white horse. Maybe I was seeing more than what actually existed, but it felt like I was being stared at and whispered about so this woman could make a splash on social media.

None of that stopped my heart from beating a bit quicker when she came on screen. Whether she was shallow or not, there was no denying that she was hot.

I was expecting a preview of a video that she would be releasing publicly later. Maybe it was her attempt to get in front of any pushback from me. She'd let me comment, she might edit something out or add something; I'd be coddled, and she could continue on. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Maybe I wasn't quite as open minded as I'd like to think. I had assumed that Casey was going to be facile, but basically vapid. Maybe she'd move from campus gossip to talking about hair products. That wasn't the case. Apparently, I was going to have to get used to being wrong when it came to her.

The video wasn't for public consumption and she was far from vapid.

Casey was apologetic, eloquent and... sweet. Her first video was made in anger after she saw what happened in the library. She seemed to be very irritated at the entitlement displayed by some student athletes and after that confrontation it pushed her over the edge, and she needed to make a statement.

The video was brief, and I found myself regretting that. I played it again after it ended. She'd made me laugh when describing Frank and used a silly patois when talking about how the football players would be discussing me. She threw in lots of "duh's" and had me smiling again during the second viewing.

Casey's honesty and sincerity while apologizing for how she imagined the first video impacted me made me reevaluate her. I don't know if you can really like someone who you've never met and only knew through one general video and another brief video for you only, but I certainly no longer disliked her.

After contemplating watching it a third time, I put the laptop down, grabbed my wallet and headed out. Tired of grilled cheese, in spite of Tim's admitted mastery, I headed to Baker Commons. There were a lot of restaurants near campus and others on campus, but none that would let me fill up as cheaply with reasonably decent food.

I had a huge plate of meatloaf and mac and cheese and was listening to "The Secrets of Mathematics" podcast. I nearly jumped when Mandy plopped herself down at my table. She just sat there, staring at me with a huge friendly smile. Creeped out, I pulled out the ear buds.

"Hey, Mandy. What's up?"

"Guess what I got you?"

"What?"

"I got you something. Go ahead, guess."

"Uhm, dessert? Some pie?"

"Nope. Guess again."

I sighed. "Mandy, why don't you just tell me?"

She gave me a mock frown. "Okay, Mr. SpoilySport." She lifted her hand from below the table and it held a brown paper bag. "I registered you for the regatta! All the pieces for your boat are in here. It came with the registration, but you can add anything you want to it. I threw in some paints and stuff. I thought we could assemble them together? Maybe at my dorm? Tonight?"

"Oh." I paused. "Thanks. I, uh, I need to get some studying in. Can I get back to you about assembling the boats?"

She gave me that same mock frown. "You spend too much time studying. Why don't you come over?" She dropped her voice a bit. "You'll have a good time, I promise."

"Yeah, that sounds great, but I really need to brush up on some stuff. Big project coming up and, uhm, a test, and... yeah. So, can I get back to you?"

She smiled that big smile. "You better, mister! Hugs?"

"Uhm, sure." I threw the last of the dinner down my throat, stood, hugged her quickly and mumbled "Bye" with a mouth full of food and got the hell out of there.

There was just something about Mandy. She was cute enough and was clearly into me, but... I don't know. She was unrelenting. Mandy reminded me of an irrepressible, perky Terminator. Nothing stopped her, nothing slowed her down. She was just a lot. I got the feeling that if I just got with her once she'd be choosing our kids' names by the next day.

I was back at the dorm, my nose in textbooks when Tim burst through the door. There was no reason, he was just like that. Throwing his backpack on the floor near the desk we shared, he went into his room.

"Hey! Grilled cheese?"

"No, I'm good. Just ate." I looked to my right at the laptop and realized how wrong I was. It was a quarter past midnight. I'd been sitting there studying for more than four hours. "Uhm, actually, yeah. Thanks."

"One or two?"

"One."

I sometimes do my best thinking by letting my brain work on a problem in the background while I keep busy doing something else. That had been what I'd been doing with Casey. She was hot, that was undeniable, but there was more to it than that. She also seemed kind, concerned about me, funny and smart. Basically, out of my league.

So, I sort of retreated. That's what I do. I avoid confrontations, like with Mandy, and I think about things. And then think some more. Should I respond to the video or should I just appreciate her effort and keep an eye out for whatever her next video is on the school's YouTube channel?

If she was cool enough to send an apology, I could sac-up and at least say thanks.

It should have been a few lines. "Hey, thanks for the video. We're all good, no worries. I appreciate the sentiment." Yeah, that's not what happened. I ditched four attempts and my final version was twice the length of War and Peace. I highlighted it all, about to delete it when I looked up and saw Tim staring at me.

"What's up?"

"Dude, you've just been staring at the screen and typing for forty minutes. I told you three times that your sandwich was ready. It's at your elbow."

I looked down at the cold grilled cheese and the bottled water he left there and for some reason flushed.

"Uhm, yeah. Thanks. I sort of got into this."

"Whatever."

Instead of deleting it, I hit send. Immediate regret followed. I sounded like a fanboy. I told her that I liked her sense of humor and appreciated her honesty and I even referenced what she had playing in the background and asked what sort of music she liked. I felt like an idiot.

Worst of all, I sent her my phone number "In case you want to text." Why on Earth would she want to text me? I was mortified.

I was convinced that was going to be the last I'd hear from her.

HER

I'd had to spoof the email header, obviously, so that it looked like it came from a legitimate university student. I mean, yes, I could have just spoofed the email and not sent another video and just apologized, but... well, I didn't think of that until after I made the apology video and by that point it seemed like a waste not to send it.

I was going to let it go there. After creating another email account to use for spoofing on the off chance it could ever lead back to me, I was going to send the video, never check the email again, and just let the whole situation be completely done.

Except, I might have accidentally-on-purpose set that account to forward a notification to me if it ever received a response.

I ignored it for a while. I told myself it was Pandora's box, that opening it would be a terrible idea. I needed to be strong and ignore it. It was probably an angry email from him, telling me... well, her... that he'd never forgive her. Or maybe he had figured it out. Maybe he knew it was me behind the whole thing.

Ignoring it was hopeless. It was an itch, an infuriating tickle that I was trying to pretend wasn't there, and I had the ability to scratch it. What was I trying to prove by letting it go unread? Even if he hated me, even if he had figured the whole ruse out, wouldn't it be better to know than to let myself suffer in a permanent limbo?

I was going to read it, delete it, and never respond. That's what I decided, and I told myself that was what I was going to stick to.

It's just, the response was so... sweet.

He liked her, like, really liked her.

I read the response three times in a row, imagining his face as he typed those words. Nervousness was wound through each of them, apprehension and appreciation and honest, beautiful vulnerability. I may not have been the most emotionally astute person, but even I could tell how much he liked me.

I mean, her.

The knowledge that it wasn't me that he liked hurt. And that hurt should have stopped me from responding. It should have been a hint that what I was doing was wrong, that I was already halfway down the slippery slope of what was right and that doing anything more would be utterly, entirely wrong.

It's just that I had never liked anyone the way I liked him. And he liked me.

And even though it wasn't me, really, she was a part of me.

He had noticed the music I'd had playing in the background and asked about it. It was rude not to answer a direct question. That had been ingrained in me since I was a child. My father was strict about it: when someone asked you a question, you responded, and you responded promptly.

But that was my father, not hers. I tried to tell myself she wouldn't care, she wouldn't respond just because there was a knot of guilt in the pit of her stomach and her heart was pounding because lesson after lesson she received as a child said that she should do exactly as she was told.

No, she would respond because she wanted to.

And didn't I want to?

He included his phone number. He wanted me to text him. He wanted... he wanted to talk more.

It was stupid. It was absolutely moronic, completely idiotic, the kind of thing that recalcitrant fuckwit from the library would have done.

Not only had I responded, not only had I engaged when I should have let things die, but I'd done the worst thing I could have possibly done.

There was a ridiculous amount of money in my bank account. I hated touching it, hated using it, hated benefiting from my father's affluence. It seemed only fitting that I would use that money to do something so stupid as to go out and buy a new cell phone with a new phone number, just so I could keep up a lie.

When I got back to my dorm, I didn't even think. Before I knew what was happening, I'd typed a message and hit send. I stared at the new phone, heart racing and sweat beading on my forehead. I hadn't even re-read what I'd written before sending it.

Hey cutie. It's Casey. So, about that music...

HIM

I just felt weird. Descriptions weren't coming to mind so 'weird' had to suffice. Maybe lighter? Is that possible? Can an hour-long text conversation make you physically lighter? We got into a discussion that was close to an argument when I found out she liked trap. She said she listened to it constantly while studying and I was aghast. I mean, there's some trap that has good flow, but that's due to the artist, not the style. Seriously? Southern influenced overly melodic rap? Cowboy hip-hop? Really?

And yet... it was fun. She mocked my classic rock, saying it was popular before our parents were born. We went back and forth, made our arguments and just had a good time. Ten minutes in and I felt like I'd already known her. Casey was personable and funny and knew what she was talking about and the only stumbling block was that I kept asking myself, why me?

If that was the extent of things, if she never sent another text, I'd be cool with it. That didn't stop me from getting irritated when my phone vibrated and I saw the text was from my sister. Not exactly fair to her, but such is life. Mom was bugging her, asking her to check on me. I replied, telling her I was fine and asked after the kids.

Stepping into 5727 Building, my phone buzzed again. I pulled it out as I shuffled and squeezed past my fellow math-heads to find another text from Casey.

Breaking News: Led Zeppelin splitting up! Have a great day, grandpa.

Laughing, I made my way to Advanced Linear Algebra. Sitting down a few yards from Madison, I saw her talking to Charlie Northcutt. It might be better to say that he was talking to her. As usual, she hid behind her curtain of hair, talking to Charlie, but not really looking at him. I felt bad for him. He clearly liked her, and I didn't think she realized it. Just like how she didn't realize I'd always wanted to get to know her better.

There was a pause where he was clearly searching for something to extend their conversation. She took that pause as him ending the discussion and moved away. Sitting down next to me, Madison began talking.

"Are you set with tensor analysis?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I think so, but... yeah, who knows? How about you?"

"I'll be ready. Do you have time to get to the library later? I'd like to go over eigenvectors and eigenvalues some more."

I'd been thinking about going back to my dorm and studying and although I didn't want to admit to myself, it was because I hoped Casey would text again. Unlike Mandy or even Michelle, Madison was a friend, even if I didn't know that much about her. If she wanted some help, I was in, so the library it was. We had a weird relationship and it had been that way since our first week on campus. I had no idea about her family or her interests, although I saw her carrying a Neal Stephenson novel once; but we gravitated towards one another for course load stuff. There were worse things than having a cute girl for a study partner.