Like a Boss - Annabelle Costa Page 0,18

wished I could have said if the professor wasn’t there. Then I’d take out my anger on the Thayer toilets.

One day in October, I was scrubbing a particularly filthy bathroom in Thayer. Most bathrooms were just grimy, but this one had dirty towels tossed all over the floor and boxer shorts hanging off the sink. I picked them off and threw them into the living room, trying my best not to inhale. What a bunch of slobs. You just knew this bathroom belonged to a bunch of rich brats who had no experience cleaning up after themselves.

“Hey!” a voice interrupted my thoughts. “It’s the twelve-fingered girl who never read Shakespeare!”

I looked up and there he was: Luke Thayer. I guess it made sense he’d live in Thayer House. He was watching me with an amused expression on his face. I really, really wished I hadn’t admitted I’d never read Shakespeare.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Luke pressed me.

I gave him a dirty look.

“I guess they didn’t teach you manners in school either,” he said with a shrug.

My blood boiled. I grabbed a dirty, moldy towel from the floor and hurled it in his direction. I had wicked good aim and it nailed him right in the head. He pulled it from his face, looking pissed off. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “You know, I could get you in a lot of trouble for that, Twelve Fingers.”

“My name is Ellie,” I said through my teeth. “And it’s your goddamn towel, douchebag.”

“Actually, it’s Steve’s towel,” Luke said. “He’s the slob around here.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Luke watched me for a second. The towel had mussed his yellow hair and as much as I hated to admit it, he looked very sexy like that. It was frustrating that someone I hated so much could be so physically attractive.

“So tell me, Ellie,” he said. “What’s the trick to getting a toilet so spotless and clean?”

“Go to hell,” I replied.

“If you’re not going to tell me,” he said, “maybe I should watch.”

The thought of Luke watching me clean his bathroom was almost too humiliating for words.

“You can’t watch me,” I said.

“Then how will I know you didn’t dunk my toothbrush in the toilet?” he said.

“I would never do that!” I was totally planning to do that.

“I bet you wish you had kept those other fingers,” he mused. “You’d probably be much faster at scrubbing toilets.”

That did it. I struggled to my feet, using the toilet brush for support. I poked him in the chest with the brush. Hard.

“Hey!” He looked down at the splotch the brush left on his chest. “You got toilet water on my shirt!”

“Listen, Thayer House,” I said. “You can’t talk to me that way, just because your great-great-great-grandfather was some rich asshole who gave the college a bunch of money.”

“Geez, you’re touchy, Twelve Fingers,” he said. “Are you on your period or something?”

I swear to God, I nearly decked him. “That’s it!” I snapped. “You can clean your own goddamn toilets!” And I stormed out in a huff. Unfortunately, I left all my cleaning supplies behind and had to sneak back later and get them.

That day in the dorm feels like a million years ago now. We’re both so much different now. Part of the reason I hated Luke so much is because of his privilege, and I believed that would never change. I believed he would always get exactly what he wanted out of life.

Chapter 9

From Twitter:

I hope @LukeThayer dies slowly and painfully. You hear that, Thayer??????? You better watch your back, man. #comingforyou

My Chinese lunch session with Luke turns out to be the first of many. All business, of course. He’s helped me a lot with strategizing on how to move forward with my project. It’s surprising how much he understands about coding considering he’s a business guy.

As we’re finishing up the last of our Subway sandwiches on Friday, Luke says to me, “What’s the deal with your shitty interface, Ellie?”

I lower my eyes and take a bite of my meatball sub. “What do you mean?”

He raises his light brown eyebrows. “I mean that you could have the best app in the world, and it’s useless if nobody can figure out how to use it. You didn’t code it, did you?”

“No…”

“Who did?”

“Jenna did.”

“Well,” he says, “she sucks.”

“She does not suck!” I throw my sub down and fold my arms across my chest. “Look, it has a few issues. I’ll fix it.”

“Uh-huh.” He rolls his eyes. “Or…