App Lore in Harvard Dorm Rooms Day 6

Walking the long hallway to seminar was a daunting task. I heard Beethoven slamming angry piano keys in my head, and though Wes was beside me, I felt in over my head and alone.

“Soph?” Wes asked. “You good?”

I cleared my voice and nodded, but I was not good at all. I was a ball of nerves. Groveling was my least favorite activity. Even back in Alabama, I’d avoid it at all costs until it was completely necessary.

I never thought of myself as rigid, but I valued self-sufficiency. Mama instilled that in all of us, but it took with some more than others. My twin sisters came into the world wrapped in each other’s arms and they refused to let go. It was the same at Yale. They’d majored in the same subjects, pursued the same internships, and of course, shared a dorm room. They leaned on each other and isolated as a single organism. I, however, was fine with my chicken.

Wes ran the back of his index finger down my arm as we approached the door, and I smiled wondering if I’d get tired of being with him all the time and soon long for my independence.

Though I enjoyed the way his hair bounced a bit like a toddler, and how his eyes effortlessly did the Princess Diana thing. He was equal parts adorable and sexy which I’d only ever seen in books and old movies we rented from the library. One actor had it by the name of Brad Pitt in a movie where he played the angel of death. It was called Meet Joe Black. After watching it, I asked the librarian if it’d been based on a novel I could check out, but it’d been loosely based on an Italian play called La morte envacanza which I devoured.

“Okay,” Wes said peeking in the nearly empty classroom. “Deacon isn’t here yet. You’ll have to wait here and catch him at the entrance.”

I breathed out hard. “Any last-minute advice?” I looked up at Wes, mirroring him.

“Yes, actually,” he said before leaning down for a quick, soft kiss. “Don’t let him leave without getting your point across.”

I laughed in response. “Well, I know that, but how?”

Wes stepped into the class. “He has everything,” he whispered. “Except the one thing he’s always wanted, likeability. Figure out a way to spin that and he’ll be putty in your hands.” Wes glanced over my head. “You’re up. Good luck!”

I turned around to see Deacon entering the door from outside. He was about seven doors down from seminar, so I rushed to meet him halfway. Hopefully, that’d give me a bit more time to convince him. I walked so quickly that I may as well have been jogging. Surely, I looked ridiculous, but there was no time to care about such things. Then, I reached him.

“Deacon, hi,” I said in a pitch that reminded me of a parrot. “About yesterday.”

“Forget it,” he said shortly and picked up his pace toward class.

“No, I sincerely…”

“Forget it,” he repeated.

“Well,” I said stiffening my neck. “I have a proposition for you.”

“A timeshare, I suppose?” he asked with a very pompous eyebrow lifted.

I wanted to retort but I deserved that. “No, actually, I hear you’re brilliant at application design and I have a phenomenal idea for you.”

“The application boom subsided a dozen years ago,” he said not looking at me. “It’s a cesspool of desperation and poverty, neither of which I am interested in. Not surprised that you are though.”

Another dig. Anger began boiling in my low gut. I could cut him like a weed with the mountain of comebacks building up inside. But I needed him. I hated begging though. I was above this foolishness. Licking the boot of the wealthy. Bowing to the whims of a millionaire who did not earn a penny of it. Brilliant or not, this was not me.

“Stop walking or I’ll embarrass you in this class just like the last one,” I said slight too loudly. I didn’t mean to say it. I was operating on impulse alone, but he stopped like I told him to.

“You dare…”

“I do dare,” I said staring him right in his dark eyes. I could see why he’d be intimidating. He was very tall, likely close to 6’5” with deep set, nearly black eyes and thin curled lips frozen into a look of disappointment. “I’m spearheading a concept from my dorm. A Harvard University dating app only accessible to students with Harvard.edu addresses.”

“Been done…”

“Not like this it hasn’t,” I interrupted. “We will open nominations for the most eligible bachelor on-campus. We have sons of princes and senators and CEOs and even presidents right here on-campus. The nominations process will be, interesting to say the least. The App will dwindle the field down to the top three and then schoolwide voting to choose our guy.”

“This is madness,” he said but he did not walk away.

“Then,” I continued. “Twenty phenomenal women will participate in weekly competitions until our bachelor has chosen the love of his life.”

“So, you’re stealing the Bachelor for Harvard?”

“No, not the Bachelor,” I said feeling him begin to mull the concept. I glanced over at Wes who was staring from his seat at the conference table. “Flavor of Love.”

“My mom loved that show,” he said under his breath.

“Even your mom loved Flav?” I asked. “That’s proof then!”

“I’m not saying I’m interested but why do you need me? Am I the potential bachelor or something?”

I paused to reply slowly and with as much kindness as possible. “No, it’s so much better than that. We need you to help develop the App.”

“Who the hell is we?” he asked.

Wes lifted his hand and smiled from the seminar table. “Him, of course, and my roommate to design.”

Suddenly, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the seminar without giving an answer. Deflated, I entered after him to find Wes absolutely beaming.

“What are you smiling about?” I whispered to him. “He basically ran off after.”

“You don’t know him,” Wes said smiling at Deacon. “He’s so in.”

Wes wiggled his fingers toward Deacon who rolled his eyes in response. Then, the girl next to me gave me a nudge. “Overheard,” she whispered. “What’s the name of the App going to be and how long until it drops?” She took out her phone to type it in her notes. I glanced around the room and saw everyone else do the same — some slyly and some more blatant. I grinned to myself and thought, hotdiggitydog, now we’re cooking with Crisco!