Monkey Business

kimmy’s quasi quarantine

Wednesday, October 1, 5:30 p.m.

I’m going to fail school.

No, really. I feel like a six-year-old sitting in on a molecular biology class. It’s been a month since I got here, and I still have no idea what’s going on.

Russ, Lauren, Nick, Jamie and I are sitting in a study room in the library working on our group Accounting assignment, which is due next Wednesday. I already handed in the individual portion, which was due today. I’m sure I failed.

Russ pulls out the case. “Did everyone read it?”

I keep my mouth shut. No need for Russ to think I’m a moron. Which I’m sure he does already. Which I’m sure is why he’s been avoiding me.

“No,” Jamie says. “It looks huge.”

Russ flips through it. “It’s not so bad, man. Mostly graphs. These things are deceiving. Some of them are fifty pages long but have thirty pages of graphs, and others are thirty pages with only five pages of graphs.”

“It’s like fat-free food,” I say. “You have to eat twice as much to feel full and you end up consuming the same amount of calories anyway.”

Everyone stares at me.

I spend the next forty minutes executing my reinstated keep-your-mouth-shut plan while the rest of my group does the work. And as usual, even though Jamie hasn’t done the reading, either-he hasn’t even bought the books yet-he seems to be able to wing it.

“I don’t think you all see the big picture,” he says, then launches into an explanation. The rest of the group nods. How is it that he can barely skim the case yet still have a deep understanding of it? He usually writes up the assignment as we’re discussing it. He’s a great writer. Used to be a journalist, I think.

We’ve already gotten two assignments back, and we got B-pluses on both of them, no thanks to me. I contributed nada.

It’s only Wednesday. Another whole day of boring classes. The weekends are more fun, because at night everyone gets wasted, but we still spend the days in this claustrophobic room.

Every few hours, Jamie, Lauren and I get Cokes from the vending machines, and Nick and Russ disappear outside for a smoke. I think they might be smoking more than cigarettes, but I don’t ask. I did spot the Visine in Nick’s laptop bag. Not my problem. I don’t think I have the right to criticize, especially since I’m so useless.

I repeat, I’m going to fail school. Besides the individual portion of the Accounting assignment, I handed in a Stats assignment today and I am one-hundred-percent sure it was all wrong. Jamie had offered to help me, but I was nervous he would try to molest me if we were alone together. I couldn’t ask Russ, since I don’t want him to think I’m more of an idiot than he thinks I am. Besides, he’s been ignoring me. He won’t even sit next to me. Today he came into the study room, saw the empty seat beside me, then sat on the other side of the table next to Lauren. What’s up with that? When school started he couldn’t get enough of me, and now I have SARS? He’s the one from Toronto.

Lauren waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello? Do you have an opinion on question number five or not?”

“Sounds great,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. Fuck off, I think but don’t say. Here’s one stat I’m sure of: she’s one-hundred-percent bitch.