So after I stumble out of the shower—the only real time I spend
awake
without my hearing aids is when I’m in the water—I get to work preparing my communication lifeline to the rest of the world.
While o
ther girls are stressing over mascara smudges
,
I’m worr
y
i
ng about why
my earwax seems to have doubled in quantity. Then, when I’m ready to go, that’s when I look in the mirror and think to myself,
Gee… one of these days I should get up earlier so I have time to wear mascara.
Then I go to class.
Class time those days was, obviously, made better by the use of my iPad to chart my progress online as Olivia Saunders. During one of Dr. Chase’s many lectures that week, I learned that I had officially reached the “friend recommendations” stage of the experiment. Meaning, total strangers who had become my virtual friends on Facebook had begun to suggest “people I may know” among their own friends. They were passing me on and helping me to connect with more and more people, bringing my total up over
3
00.
Flipping back to my own profile, on the other hand, showed that not all Facebook profiles were c
reated equal. Of the more than 2
00
‘blind’
friend requests I had sent out as plain old Jennifer Smith, only
26
had acc
epted—mostly normal-looking wome
n like myself with regular
interests like reading, baking, and playing Monopoly. All of the hot guys who snatched up the opportunity to friend Olivia seemed to be ignoring my real
profile’s
requests.
W
ell, w
ho wants to be friends with those guys anyway?
As I scrolled through my notifications for the influx of new friends, however boring they might have been, one name caught my attention above the others. If I hadn’t been in class, I might have slapped myself.
Noah Wayland, trainer extraordinaire.
Well, it didn’t say the part about being a trainer extraordinaire—obviously. I added that part myself when I read the name in my head. All the same, there was his dimpled profile picture, smiling back at me from the screen of my iPad. I knew I was blushing and it needed to stop before Dr. Chase noticed. I took a deep breath, paid attention to her lecture long enough to get the basic idea, and then turned back to Noah’s profile.
He’d sent me a note along with the friend request: “Thought I could keep an eye on you online. Don’t worry… my policy of trainer confidentiality is still good on the internet.” And then he added a little winking smiley face at the end of it. No signature or anything, as though we were the kind of friends that ne
eded no formalities to stand
between them.
My head spun at the thought. Because, up until about five minutes before then, I hadn’t even known that Noah and I were friends at all.
“All right, Jennifer?” Dr. Chase’s voice cut into my thoughts, sending the room spinning around me. I forced my eyes to focus on her.
“Fine, Dr. C,” I offered a weak smile, embarrassed that the rest of the class was now staring at me. Lyla squinted at me from across the classroom, trying to show some concern. I gave her the tiniest shake of my head that I could manage.
As Dr. Chase resumed her lecture, the attention shifted from me back to note-taking for most of the other students. Struck by an idea, however, I couldn’t quite jump into the lecture just yet. Instead, I accepted Noah’s request and sent a light-hearted message back to him: “Are you sure you know me? There are about a thousand Jennifer Smiths out there, you know.” I added my own winking smiley so he would know I was kidding and not panic and unfriend me. How awkward would that be?
Meanwhile, the lecture had shifted into a discussion again, something about human rights in today’s world or something. I hoped Dr. Chase would just leave me out of this one, since my brain felt a lot like Jell-O right now and couldn’t be trusted to spit out any reliable information whatsoever.
Besides, my final project had absolutely zero to do with human rights anyway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A month into my
Master’s
project and three weeks into my exercise plan, I was starting to hit my stride. Olivia had racked up a total of 353 friends in that short span of time. And I had lost
almost
10 pounds. Things were moving along well, all in the right direction for a change.
I was almost suspicious.
But it felt too good
to be
so busy and so successful all at the same time, so I decided to just keep going and not think about it. I’d been visiting Tom’s Workout World three times a week, doing yoga DVDs
on alternating days
in my tiny living room, and eating a strict diet of Green Light foods. Sometimes I snuck a Yellow Light food in there, but not often. The number going down, down, down on the scale was too thrilling to let a Yellow or Red Light food binge ruin things. I was actually choosing to ignore the vending machines on campus, navigating straight to the salad bar in the cafeteria, and passing up on the carb-loaded dinners my mother kept trying to force-feed me. Claire was helping with that part, too, since my mother is a special breed of stubborn.
Of course, I leave that part out as I recap the story for my mother, who is hanging on my every word at this point.
And as far as the internet thing was concerned, I had to admit my alter-ego was helping me stay away from junk food. I guess I just needed something to keep my brain and hands occupied. I’
d been reading a lot of articles about social networking, media and technology, and modern communication on Google Scholar, loading up my iPad with
links and notes, and trying out new ways to connect with people.
Olivia joined some groups too. One for horseback riders, one for lovers of French cuisine, another for models with acting aspirations. There really is something for everyone on Facebook. I bet my actual profile might benefit from joining some groups or “liking” a few things here or there.
If nothing else, at least this sociology experiment would teach me a thing or two about social networking. It couldn’t be all bad, right?
Not that this project wasn’t without its bad points too, or at least, its unsavory ones. I had to repress my gag reflex that night as I
navigated through a string of distasteful conversation openers in my message box. Highlights included:
“You’re so hot! How old are you?”
“Please pos
t more photos… wearing less clothing
!
”
“
You look familiar…
Did I meet you at the Playboy mansion that one time?”
Please, people. Disgusting, unimaginative, and just downright wrong. When
guys t
hink you’re gorgeous, is this how
they talk to you? Having never fielded
a pick-up line
before
, either online or in person, I didn’t really have a frame of reference. I took note of the comments, deleted the messages so I didn’t barf on my keyboard, and
let the mouse hover
over Sean’s picture on my Friends list.
I knew I shouldn’t be talking to him, because it was too risky and totally unfair to him. But compared to the other guys whose comme
nts I’d just barely been able to read while keeping
my lunch in my stomach, Sean
was so different
.
He didn’t belong grouped in with these losers.
But it had been so long since we’d known each other..
. How could I really know what kind of person he was? You could be anyone you wanted to
be online.
And with me being such a poser myself, who was I to judge?
More importantly, who was I to try to start something with a guy like Sean?
Like the weather in New England, my resolve wavered easily from extreme to extreme. If I gave myself enough time, I knew I’d change my mind. Sure enough, as I updated my real profile photo that night with a shot of me and Claire from the previous weekend, I found I couldn’t stop staring at myself. Sure, I still had a long way to go, but the Jennifer Smith in this picture was starting to look different. She was starting to shape up a little, smile some more. She was getting closer and closer every day to that airbrushed photo of Olivia. I got a chill just thinking about how much closer and closer I was inching toward this ideal.
So when Sean messaged me again that evening, I could only blame the false bravado my changing appearance gave me for my actions. It had been a while since we’d spoken,
and I couldn’t be sure if he’d lost interest or if he was being cautious around me because I’d come across as
too
casual. Knowing nothing about flirting etiquette or how to keep a man’s attention, I was at a total loss. Message him? Post on his wall? Leave him alone?
I had no idea what I was doing. So, just for a moment, I imagined myself as Claire and tried to figure out how she would handle a situation like this. She, I knew from experience, would do something simple to reignite contact and, thus, interest. Then an idea hit me.
Carefully, I scrolled through some of Sean’s recent pictures from his visit to his sister’s place in California. Sean on the beach, in a bathing suit, shirtless, tanned and glistening and… Yeah, this wasn’t exactly helping me to focus. I clicked through a few more until I spotted an innocuous picture of him with his arm around a girl that I took to be his sister and “liked” it.
There… now he’d know I visited his profile, seen his pictures, and cared enough to click a button. What did that mean, exactly? To me, not a whole lot. But given my experiences with others online, it could be considered a big deal if you were waiting to hear from someone. Satisfied, although a bit puzzled by social networking culture, I decided to step away from his profile before something bad happened and I screwed things up for me… er, Olivia.
Man, dating is hard.
I sighed and closed my laptop. It was time to get going anyway. I didn’t want to be late for my workout. A statement, which, as I thought it, just sounded plain bizarre inside of my head.
****
I met Claire, as usual, in front of Tom’s Workout World. She had been an angel during the previous three weeks of exercise, joining me for every one of my
thrice weekly
workouts. Of course, she was already so toned before
w
e started that these workouts were just maintenance for her, but it was really nice to have a sweat buddy. And Claire was a nice enough sister never to boast about how many more sit-ups she could do than I could.
When we walked inside, it was the first time that we weren’t greeted at the front desk by Tom. Instead, another familiar face smiled at us. I hadn’t forgotten about Noah, but I hadn’t really talked to him
in a couple of weeks
. I’d
begun to think it was
a fluke that he’d even talked to me at all and pushed it from my mind. That day, however, I was feeling good about my 10 pound
weight
loss, my newfound cardio endurance, and my hot workout clothes. Well, they were kinda hot, anyway.
As hot as Jennifer Smith can manage, anyway.
“Hey Noah,” I smiled back at him, determined to exude confidence in every word and movement. If Claire was surprised about this at all, she didn’t let on.
“Good to see you again.”
I nodded to him
then introduced my sister as though
Noa
h and I were old pals. Yeah, we went way back… a whole three weeks.
“Where’s Tom today?” Claire finally asked, once the introductions were over. I glanced around the gym but saw no sign of the hard-muscled owner. When my eyes found their way back to Claire’s face, I noticed
the concern wound through her features
.
“He took a few days off this week. Some family stuff
or something
,” Noah shrugged, oblivious to my sister’s worried grimace.
“Well, I hope everyt
hing’s okay,” I offered, more for
Claire
’s benefit
than
f
o
r
Noah
’s
.
“
I’m sure it is.
H
e didn’t seem upset.” Noah stepped out from behind the desk and gestured toward the treadmills. “Shall we?”
While Claire seemed reluctant to comply, I was beside myself with glee. Finally, I was getting the chance to work with a trainer who wasn’t a maniac with
a
multiple-personality disorder. If Noah was as calm as I’d seen him demonstrate with his other clients before, I might actually take some enjoyment from the day’s activities. It also didn’t hurt that I feel like I was betraying my sister by staring at my trainer’s ass.
Speaking of which, Noah’s was even
better
than Tom’s. I didn’t know that was even possible.
We jumped right into some cardio and I found myself motivated to do even
more
mileage today than normal. As expected, w
orking out with Noah was a lot like working out with Tom, except that I found myself to
be in a much, much better mood
. He didn’t have a weird vein bulg
ing
out of his forehead. He didn’t spit in my
face
every time he screamed. In fact, he didn’t really scream that much
at all
. I guess I didn’t give him much of a reason to scream at me, since I was pushing myself harder than I ever had before. Claire, on the other hand, seemed to be doing the bare minimum. And still, Noah’s attention was fixed on me.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t really mind being the center of someone’s attention at all.
Not if it was going to keep
m
e on point and help me shed these extra pounds. This was the kind of attention I knew better than to let bother me.
Almost in a trance, I let him direct me from the treadmill to the weight lifting area and
got
to work.
“Come on, Jen, fifteen more. You can do this
. One! Two!
”
He
spoke
loud
ly
enough for me to hear above the weight machine
without screaming
. I’d long since forgotten that
,
with my hair in a ponytail, he could probably see my hearing aids. It was nice not to be thinking about them for a change.
“Come on!
Three, four
…
”
The sound of Noah’s voice counting out my reps provided the focus my tired muscles needed.
I pushed through
with a fiery burst of energy. I had no idea where it came from, but I used it to my advantage, ignoring the burn
ing sensation
in my muscles, reveling in the thought of being sexy enough to actually date a guy like
Sean O’Dwyer
some
day
.
As I hit
six
, then
seven
reps, I watched
Noah
in front of me, his eyes transfixed o
n
my arms, studying my form.
He was going to be the one to help me do this, not Tom.
Eight, nine
. Aside from the hot, hot,
smoldering
hot body,
Noah is actually a really good looking guy. That’s not always the case with these gym rat types, you know. But he’s got those crazy dimples and these really bright blue eyes that I couldn’t stop staring into. Noah keeps his hair fairly short in a style that seems appropriate, given his career, and it’s a
nice
sa
ndy, brown color that works well
with
his medium skin tone.
Ten
. I also appreciated that he didn’t seem to be the type of guy to spend hours in a tanning bed or something, just someone with a naturally moderate skin pigment.
Eleven.
Like he had Italian or Greek or something mixed into his lineage.
Twelve
. Totally normal, totally natural. Except for the fact that his muscles were… gigantic.