The thought of Sean getting eaten by a shark made me a little sick, so I took another bite of health gumbo to distract my stomach.
Moving back to his message, I just took it all in, one word at a time.
Dear Olivia –
I hope you don’t mind me being forward and reaching out to you like this. You remind me of a classmate I had back in junior high. I’m terrible with names, but your picture looks really familiar to me. When you popped up as a suggested friend, I figured it didn’t hurt to take a chance and see! If you are her, and we did go to school together, I’d love to reconnect.
Anyway, how are things? Hope everything is going well. Seems like you’ve been keeping very busy since we last saw one another. Best of luck with your modeling career!
Sean
A classic case of mistaken identity. It was almost funny: I created someone completely fictional and managed to find an actual, real-life person who thought he knew her. What a special skill I seemed to have.
But then again, he did know her. Well, me. Could it be that somewhere in the back of Sean’s subconscious, he remembers me from our days in school together? I never thought he had even noticed me before, but if my altered photo reminded him of a classmate… chances were good it was me he was reminded of. Right?
Tangled in my own web of logic, I wasn’t sure what to do, how to proceed. Here’s the boy—now grown to a man—that I had always been in love with, but had never thought to ever pursue. The photo of me, this new person Olivia whom I aspired to become, had attracted him after all this time. What could I do?
I read the message a few more times through, tapping my fingers idly on my desk. I knew Olivia wasn’t real and that I had absolutely no obligation to respond to her messages. Still, there was no way on earth that I would let a message from the Sean O’Dwyer sit unanswered. I glanced at my notebook, waiting patiently nearby for more jotted thoughts and observations. Which I could only get if I took the plunge. Besides, corresponding as my fake identity could really help me explore a whole new angle of my thesis.
And how else could I keep his attention? It’s not like I could tell him, Oh this is a fake profile. You really wanted to talk to Jen… here’s the link to her profile. I’d never hear from him ever again if I sent him to my profile, where my photo was more of a work-in-progress than a satisfying end result.
But was this ethical? I thought about it for a moment, regretting the absence of a cat once more. A cat would know what to do, or at least look like he was listening while I talked about it out loud. Cats have always struck me as very fixed in their morals. Fine pillars of virtue, if you will. I imagined a fluffy orange tabby sitting at my feet, prim and proper, judging me with its beady little eyes.
Stupid cat. Didn’t he know how badly I needed to get an A on this project?
So I typed:
Dear Sean –
I think I remember you from school as well, although it’s been a really long time! I’ve done some traveling since, and met so many people; it’s sometimes hard to keep names and faces straight.
Olivia would totally play it this cool, even if she were the one doing mental cartwheels around the house at the mere appearance of Sean O’Dwyer’s name in her message box. So I kept going, as nonchalant as possible. Claire always said it was good not to look too eager when talking to a guy… so here goes nothing.
I just moved back to Boston last year after hopping from school to school in cities all over the world. With my dad in the military, we never really settled down in one place, but here I am now, trying to make Boston my home again. Are you still living in the area?
Olivia
I had to backspace over “Jennifer” two times before I got my fake name right. Amateur. Then I hit send and watched the screen fade back to my profile page... just seconds before I realized my fatal misstep.
Are you still living in the area? Come on! What was I thinking? The point was to see how he reacted to things, not invite him to have an adult sleepover with me some time. As much as I might like that, I didn’t think it would be easy to convince Sean that I was actually Olivia, not until this weight went vamoose for good.
Olivia, the giant slut, was already having a bad influence on me!
Sean, apparently, liked to hang out online about as much as I did and so I got his reply in mere minutes. I also confirmed my worst fears.
Olivia –
Yes, I’m still living in the area, working with a landscaping company downtown. I love this city too much to move away! Maybe we should get together and I could give you a tour of all my favorite places to visit in Boston. I’m sure you could use a refresher. Besides, it would be great to have an excuse to see the sights myself.
If you’re interested, let me know when you’re free next week.
Sean
What in God’s name am I doing? I hit delete so fast, it made my head spin. And then I wiped my sweaty palms back and forth on my pant legs. Back and forth. Like I was trying to start a fire or something.
The point of this experiment was to stay virtual, not arrange fake tours of the city I’d lived in since birth. No more contact with Sean.
No.
No more.
Don’t even think about it.
****
When the time came for my second trip to Tom’s Workout World, I felt more prepared for what was going to happen. Not only had I been doing some work at home on my own, but I was also properly dressed for the occasion. I wore special sweat-wicking clothing, a fancy hair band to keep fly-aways out of my face, and a new pair of shoes. I considered it all an investment in my future fitness. Even Claire seemed impressed with this show of commitment.
Tom, on the other hand, was about as impressed as I am when I eat my special “diet breakfasts.” He screamed and yelled as usual, while Claire went about her business like the guy she liked didn’t have a split personality disorder. I, on the other hand, found myself distracted by that bulging vein and covered in spittle. Just disgusting.
This time, we hauled ass on the elliptical machines for a bit, swung some really heavy ropes up and down, and then did military-style sit-ups. I thought I was going to throw up mid-way through the sit-ups, but somehow, I kept it together and made it through. I have to admit, if I could stand up and walk away from Tom’s workouts, I felt damn good about myself.
That day, it was rough going for a few minutes, but eventually I found my footing and changed my clothes in the locker room. Claire stayed out on the floor, flirting with Tom again. She didn’t need a change or a shower, probably, since she barely broke a sweat during all of that. Sometimes working out with Claire made me feel like a lazy three-toed sloth when I compared the two of us.
For my own sake, I tried not to compare myself to Claire. Neither in the gym nor anywhere else, for that matter. Life was much happier that way.
In the locker room, I dressed in my sweat-free clothes, a pair of jeans and a holey Buffy the Vampire Slayer t-shirt I couldn’t quite part with, and headed back out onto the floor to find Claire. On my way, I passed a pair of toned, muscly female trainers comparing notes on gym patrons they couldn’t stand. Nearby, there was an older woman working out with a guy that could’ve been Tom’s younger brother, based on his attitude. And then, at the treadmills, I saw Noah again.
He was wearing a plain navy blue t-shirt and a pair of gray jersey shorts—the kind of attire I’m sure most people would love to wear to work. On the treadmill, I saw a scrawny guy struggling to keep up his pace. Rather than take the harsh Tom-like approach, Noah was cheering him on.
“That’s it, Jim. Keep it up! Thirty more seconds. Twenty-nine…” Noah talked loud enough to be heard over the whirring of the machine, but he didn’t scream.
And instead of wincing, treadmill-bound Jim seemed really motivated to keep moving. They meshed—trainer and trainee. Jim got from Noah the tactics he needed to stay focused.
My trainer, on the other hand, was not exactly gelling with me. Not like that. I gues
s we all have our own way of being reached. If I’d learned anything from my two gym training sessions, it was that “my way” was not to be screamed at.
Plus, Noah just seemed so relaxed and… cheerful. It sort of made me want to walk over there and hug him.
Just as I was about to resume my search for Claire, Noah turned and spotted me watching him. We shared an awkward moment of eye contact across the gym and then he gave me a little wave. I waved back—careful not to look like a child who’d just spotted Santa at the mall—and used the moment as my excuse to move on. If I stood there any longer, he might come over and talk to me.
Right then, who knows how much I’d have been gushing over him? I couldn’t be trusted.
So I wound my way around various pieces of gym equipment to the front desk where there was no sign of my sister. Since she was my ride home, it was kind of important that I find her. I checked the parking lot and spotted her car, so I knew she was somewhere inside still. Good to know I hadn’t been abandoned. I mean, leave it to Claire to ditch me in a gym as an extreme method of either fitness motivation or torture. Or both.
I checked all the little alcoves of the gym, anywhere that wasn’t within my direct line of sight, but I came up empty. I revisited the ladies’ locker room, careful to keep my eyes straight ahead as I walked past Noah again. The locker room was empty, so I poked my head into the men’s room to call out their names really fast. Nothing there either.
Just as I was about to give up, I turned on my heel and almost crashed into a sculpted male body in a navy blue t-shirt.
“Come here often?” Noah asked with one eyebrow raised.
I blinked at him a couple of times. “To the gym?”
“To the men’s locker room.”
Busted. “Oh!” I smoothed my still-damp hair down over my hearing aids and tried not to blush. “No, I was looking for my sister.”
“Does she come here often?”
My nervous laughter sounded forced, high-pitched. I cringed.
“It’s Claire, right?” As he said this, Noah stepped into the locker room to do a quick scan for me. He came out shaking his head.
“No, I’m Jennifer,” I said, utterly crestfallen at having my name confused for hers. Again.
“I know that. I meant your sister is Claire.”
“Oh…uh, yeah.” This cheered me a little bit.
“She comes in here all the time, works out with Tom, right? About 5-foot-8, dirty blonde hair?”
I nodded, impressed by his recall. And his tactful way of not saying “super-hot, long legs, big boobs.” It was almost refreshing.
“Yeah, I know her. And I think I can help you find her.” He put his hands on his hips, considering me for a moment. And then he started walking.
I followed Noah back through a set of double doors labeled “Employees Only.” As soon as I crossed the threshold, I started checking over my shoulder, as though I could get arrested for trespassing or something. Paranoia is such a bummer sometimes.
“They come back here together, once in a while,” Noah said, thumbing toward a door that was Tom’s office, judging from the plaque. “They don’t know that I know that, though, okay?”
“Oh… uh, thanks,” I muttered. Noah waved to me again, and then headed back the way we came in, toward the men’s locker room. I watched him walk all the way back down the darkened corridor, mesmerized by his perfect form. It almost wasn’t natural, how good he looked.
The world of gym culture was a remarkable place indeed…
Shaking it off, I turned back to Tom’s office door and knocked deliberately. It wasn’t a habit of mine to interrupt or try to catch my sister in the act, so to speak, but I needed to get home in time to get my stuff together for class this afternoon. When no one opened the door right away, I held my ear close to it—not quite pressing it against the wood, because contact makes my hearing aids buzz with feedback—and listened. Rustling, low voices, a chair scraping across the concrete floor. I couldn’t make out any words, or be completely sure who was speaking, thanks to my stupid hearing loss. But I could at least say there were one male and one female in there.
When the door finally swung open, I was faced with Tom’s unusually smooth forehead. Whatever he had been doing in there, it wasn’t a private training session.
“Oh, Jen, hi,” he said, forcing a smile. “Claire and I were just finishing up our training schedule for the next two months. I hope you’ll be joining us for some of the sessions.”
I didn’t miss the subtle way he drew a line in the sand with the word “some,” for the record.
He opened the door wider and Claire stepped around him into the corridor with me. She looked a little flushed, but otherwise normal. It was hard to say for sure what I’d really interrupted, but I had my own opinions on the matter.
“Thanks again, Tom,” she said stiffly, her eyes daring from me to him and back. If Claire hadn’t been intimately entangled with that man just a few minutes’ previous, I was the Queen of England. “See you on Tuesday for the…”
“Race.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “You better watch out for me. I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line. See you then!”
For the entire car ride home, I badgered my sister for information. She stoically resisted every attempt I made, her lips pressed tightly together.
“What’s really on Tuesday?” I asked, poking her in the arm.
“It’s a 5K, Jen. We’re running it for charity and we’ve got a little wager between us. Just some friendly competition.” She kept her eyes on the road.
“What’s the wager for? Huh? Sensual body massages?”
Without looking at me, Claire swatted my leg. “Stop it! It’s not like that.”
“Ouch! I don’t know why you won’t just tell me, Claire. What’s the big deal?”
When we finally pulled into my parents’ driveway, she turned to me calmly and said, “Tom’s just a friend. There’s nothing to tell.”
I’m sorry, but I had to call shenanigans on that.
****
After class that afternoon, I met with Dr. Chase to outline the parameters of my social networking experiment. I’d submitted a one-page proposal a few days earlier, detailing the real profile versus the fake profile experiment, as well as some of my early findings. The meeting was just a formality, or so I hoped, to get final approval to go ahead with my research study and start writing my final paper.
“You’re taking this in an interesting direction,” Dr. Chase said, unfolding my proposal paper and scanning it quickly. “Especially with the blind friend requests. What do you expect to achieve with that?”
“I’m hoping that will show the power of anonymity on the internet. My theory is, as long as you look good in your photo, people will blindly trust you and accept your friend requests. Basically, you can be anyone you want on the internet and, thus, control how people respond to you.”
“Did you come up with this?”
“It was a collaborative effort. My sister’s been dying to help me come up with something really daring,” I rolled my eyes, but smiled at the memory of my ‘photo shoot’ with Claire. “She did the editing on my photo too.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Dr. Chase continued, smoothing the hair into her loose bun. “But I took the liberty of looking up the profile for Olivia Saunders when you submitted your write-up. Interesting stuff there, Jen.”
I shifted nervously in my chair.
“Now, as far as the project is concerned, are you positive there won’t be any legal ramifications of friending at random and posing as someone else?”
“Well, the worst that can happen, from what I’ve gathered, is that the account would be suspended for adding too many strangers as friends. But that rarely happens, judging from some of the people I’ve encountered so far.”
“No fines or penalties or anything?” Dr. Chase was just being cautious, I could tell from her tone.
“As long as I’m not impersonating
someone real, I’m good.”
She nodded, then handed me the proposal back. “You should keep an eye on the main news sites. See if there are any real-life cases you can follow to further your study.”
“Actually, there are a couple already, mostly people posing as ex-boyfriends and stuff. But I saw one report where the FBI was actually using fake Facebook profiles to watch and monitor known criminals. I’m not the FBI, obviously, but it makes me feel better to know law enforcement has been doing this too.” I tried to laugh a little to break the tension.
Dr. Chase smiled back. “You should learn more about that for the paper. Talk about how criminals post so liberally online and don’t realize how easily they can get busted that way.”
Socially Awkward Page 5