girl for the first time. She’s a gorgeous, willowy, blond überbabe, oozing the sex appeal of a Victoria’s Secret model.
Wait. I think they’re called Victoria’s Secret Angels.
We make our introductions.
Kars just grunts her name and I say coolly, “I’m Maddy.”
“Mika,” he says with a casual nod.
And in a girly, high pitched ring, the Victoria’s Secret Angel chimes, “My name iz Ingeborg.”
Whoa! She sings like a nightingale, but what a name!
Meanwhile, Kars is making a highly unsuccessful attempt to suppress a snort. I studiously ignore her, trying my best to be gracious to our newfound friends.
I decide to make some small talk. “So, Mika, where are you from?”
“Belgium,” he replies with a faint accent.
Kars pipes in with her big mouth, “Hey, you guys make the best chocolates ever!” She pauses for a beat and then adds, “Or is it waffles?” Suddenly she has an epiphany and answers her own dim witted, asinine question, “Oh I know! You guys make the best Belgian chocolate waffles!”
I make an apologetic grimace.
God. Kars can be so embarrassing at times.
I turn to the überbabe. “Where are you from, Ingeborg?”
“I’m from Pazardzhik, vhich iz in zouthvest Bulgaria,” she singsongs sweetly.
Instinctively, I shoot Kars-the-loose-cannon a quelling look.
Uh-oh. I can see the wheels whirring about in her head, but before I can intercept, Kars blurts, “Bulgur wheat!”
Ingeborg squints and shoots Kars a peculiar look.
Thankfully, Glenn shimmies over and briskly hands out four sheets of paper. “Guys, I want you all to work together and figure out these brain teasers.”
After taking a minute to study it, I glance at my teammates. “Okay, first one—Hamlet Words. Anybody?”
Karsynn yawns and bats her eyelids like she’s not remotely interested. I’m pretty sure she knows the answer but she just can’t be bothered. I, on the other hand, have a man I want to impress. I need to bowl Mika over with my wit and intelligence.
I jerk my head at Ingeborg, but she looks lost in space.
Mika shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t know the answer either.”
“Okay then, how about...a play on words?” I eye my teammates, trying to gauge their responses.
They nod approvingly, and so I jot down the answer.
I move on to the next teaser. “Second one. Hmm, there’s just nothing there.”
I get two blank stares and another big yawn from Kars.
“Let’s see, how about...a blank slate? Or tabula rasa?” I suggest.
Ingeborg gives me a puzzled look, as if I had just been speaking ancient Sanskrit. “Vhat did you say? Did you speakity Spanish?”
“Tabula rasa?” I repeat. “No, it’s Latin for ‘blank slate’.”
Ingeborg shakes her head. “Szorry, I don’t gezt it.”
“It’s the concept of a young mind that hasn’t yet been affected by experience,” I find myself explaining.
“Yep, learned that in my psych class,” Karsynn quips with a scholarly nod. “The whole nurture versus nature thingamajig.”
“Kars,” I say in a teasing voice. “Why thank you for gracing us with your presence.”
She ignores my jab and tilts her chin at Ingeborg. “Do you want to hear more about this whole tabula rasa theory?”
“No!” I say a little too quickly. “Let’s get back to the exercise, shall we?” I coax, giving her a tight-lipped smile. If I allow Kars to go on with her psychobabble, we’ll never see the light of day.
Kars was a Psych major, which is pretty ironic since she’s quite possibly the nuttiest girl I know. Her nickname in college was ‘psycho-bitch,’ which she naively accepted as a compliment.
She thought it was due to her mad skills in psychoanalyzing, but the real reason she got her nickname is that she freely doled out her psych advice to anyone who’d listen. And as her BFF and roommate, I was forced to listen.
Seriously, I couldn’t wait for Kars to get her Psych diploma so I could call her a certified lunatic.
I steer Karsynn back to the task at hand, and in ten minutes, we’re done! All around us, the other teams are still hard at work.
“Maddy, you’re pretty good at this,” Mika remarks.
I flip my hand in a oh-think-nothing-of-it gesture, but inside, I’m basking in his praise.
Twenty minutes later, Glenn goes over all the answers with the class, and our team slays the competition.
For the grand prize, we are each awarded a Kit Kat bar.
Mika takes a bite of his candy bar and I catch him watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.
I look away.
After class, Kars confronts me. “All right, Miss Flirty Pants, what’s going on with you and Mr. Belgium?”
“Nothing,” I say innocently.
Kars is too perceptive. “Maddy! Don’t play dumb with