The Heartbreak Hypothesis

05 - malls and makeovers

Maybe she hadn't heard me. Maybe she was fighting off the onset of laughter. Maybe I should have lied, should have made something up. Sure, Devi told us to get personal when we wrote our statements, but why couldn't I have chosen an opinion ... less personal?

But ... I believed my statement. Wholeheartedly. Maybe I was clinging to the notion that it was true. As if, if it was, and if I could prove it, it would make the pain fracturing my heart that much more bearable.

A sound hitched in Ivy's throat, but it didn't sound like laughter. A low, thoughtful hum.

"Construct..." She drew the word out slowly, almost like she was chewing on it.

"A social construct," I explained. "Its meaning isn't fixed, but informed over time in accordance with collective understanding—which is also always evolving."

Something other than degradation toyed with Ivy's sharp features, something that stirred my intrigue and rendered me silent.

She sat back in her seat, tapping her nails on her armrest. "Not bad, Jaffy."

My stomach unbundled. My fear seemed to wilt. Ivy opened her black leather notebook, etching our statements on the top line of a fresh sheet. Etching our statements—mine right alongside hers. It was something akin to approval. And, from someone like her, it meant something to me that I couldn't quite explain. For the first time since I'd crashed into her in the dorm hall, I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were on the same page.

The clock overhead ticked noon, signaling the end of our lecture. Just as we were packing up our things, Devi's smooth voice captivated the hall once more.

"I know that many of you are interested in the internship position at my lab," she told us.

Instantly, I sat back down in my seat. Her eyes caught me as I did, my haste apparently amusing her.

"You are to work together on one study, but submit your own papers," she explained. "The student who receives the highest mark will secure the internship, should they want it." She pierced us with enough intensity to either scare or inspire. "Be brave. Be bold. Get personal, get messy. Entertain me."

I swallowed hard as I mused to myself silently in my seat, the weight of her offer too tempting to resist. Ivy was already slipping her laptop into its cover, likely two seconds short of disappearing through the door as quickly as she'd appeared. But I was blocking her path, and I couldn't yet let her leave—no matter how intimidated I was.

Working at Devi's lab wasn't merely a great opportunity, nor just an impressive place-filler on my budding resume. It was my dream job. It was a chance to tick off one of my college resolutions. I absolutely had to get it.

"How do we do this?" I asked, feeling a rush of urgency sweeping in. Hell, maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was jumping straight from Ivy and into me. "Should we do a survey? Show the different ways that different people define and conceptualize love?"

Ivy screwed up her face. "Boring."

My influx of conviction splintered under her scowl. I didn't know whether I agreed with her, but I also didn't know if I had what it took to take her on. She was so together, and I was so broken. What was more, she was a senior. She would know what kind of study was impressive enough to earn Devi's respect. And, if I wanted that internship, I needed to earn Devi's respect.

Ivy stood and placed her hands on her hips, tapping her black nails in a thoughtful rhythm. I was surprised that she didn't just leap over me and straight out the door; she was usually always the last to come to class and the first to disappear.