Monkey Business

russ becomes a copycat

Sunday, February 29, 7:30 p.m.

Score is four nothing, us. I’m tired, but I gotta keep going. I can’t remember the last time I slept. When is my superstrength going to kick in? And why is a fucking asshole second-year blocking me? Have to get past him. Move. Sweat. Can’t get it, shoot, block, miss, fuck.

Crack.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

Ow.

I try to shake out my hand, but it hurts too much.

Ow.

My eyes sting, my hand kills. This sucks. There is no time for this.

“What’s wrong, Russ?” Nick asks, out of breath.

The middle finger on my right hand looks abnormally bloated, and ferociously angry. Ow. “I think it’s broken.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I don’t think so.” Ow. Maybe if I just shake it out-ow.

“I think you need to go to the health center, dude.”

Three hours later, I’m back at the Zoo, and my finger is wrapped in a metal plate. I am not happy. The nurse told me that MBA men have the highest broken-bone ratio of any group of students at the university. Apparently we all think we’re eighteen. This week she saw one broken leg, two pulled-out backs and one sprained neck.

“Where were you?” Kimmy asks when I knock on her door. “I thought you wanted to work on our Corporate Strategy assignment.”

I show her my hand. “I had a run-in with a basketball.”

“Looks like the basketball won.”

“Funny. It’s sprained.”

“I really wanted to go over the assignment, Russ. I’m done, but I wanted to check it against yours, in case.”

Hello? My hand? “Well, excuse me,” I say, annoyed.

She locks her door behind her. “We have to meet the group now about the female condom project. Sorry about your hand,” she says, almost as an afterthought, then leans over to gently kiss it.

“I’m okay,” I say, suddenly trying to be the tough guy. I guess I shouldn’t tell her I haven’t even read the Corporate Strategy assignment yet.

Nick and Lauren are waiting for us in Jamie’s room. “How are you feeling, dude?” Nick asks.

I shrug. Kimmy and I sit on the floor, our backs against the wall.

Jamie claps his hands together. “All right children, let’s get to work. I e-mailed each of you my part last night. Did anyone read it?”

“I did,” Kimmy says. The rest of us nod, but we’re looking at the floor.

“Did any of you finish your parts?” Jamie asks.

Nick and Kimmy simultaneously say, “I did.”

I’m staring at a very interesting crack in the paint on the wall.

“Guys, we have to finish this. I wrote the intro, but I can’t write the conclusion until you all give me your sections. It always helps when the intro and conclusion have something to do with the rest of the paper. And we have to practice. We’re presenting it as well as handing it in. Has anyone thought about props?”

When did he become so psycho? “Jamie, man, you have to chill,” I say. “The paper isn’t due until Wednesday.” I have other pressing priorities. Clubs, Kimmy, my finger. Another assignment due tomorrow. I thought breaking up with Sharon would free up some time, but I’ve been busier than ever these past two weeks.

Gotta keep moving, as they say. You have time to think when you stay still.

“I have a surprise,” Kimmy says. “I spoke to the retailer, and she sent me a box of freebies to give out to the class.”

Freebies? We would need them, but we’re not using condoms anymore since she’s on the pill.

We make plans to work during all our free time tomorrow and on Tuesday. We break up at around eleven.

“Are you coming to bed?” Kimmy asks, yawning.

“I can’t. I have to finish Strategy.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

She sighs. “Why don’t you use my work to fill in anything you’re missing? And let me know if I’ve forgotten anything major.”

Sounds good to me.

I go to my room, and start copying: “The all-stock purchase of Time Warner (TW) by America Online (AOL) was perhaps the ultimate display of Internet-era exuberance. The merger represented a supposed model for the future, where an endless stable of content was delivered anywhere at any time through seamless networks that integrated with effortless hardware.”

When did Kimmy become so articulate? Who knew? I’m impressed. And aroused.

I flip my chin between her paper and my keyboard, typing what I see. I change a few words to make it sound like mine. Forty minutes later, the words start to swim in front of my eyes.

Telephone rings. “Time for bed?” Kimmy purrs.

“Definitely,” I say, and hit the print key.