by Maya Bhat

“That’s a great point, Kara.” I snap out of my daydream of riding a Subway Footlong while eating Cool Ranch Doritos. Wait, did the professor just call the girl who does my homework a name? 

You’re joking! I thought she only existed on my phone. I can always count on 678-415-2309 at 11:30 on a Sunday, after I’ve just had a bangin weekend. Whenever I don’t really want to do work, I just text her “hey lol do we have anything due tomorrow” and 30 seconds later she’s working on my assignment for me.

Disturbed by this revelation, I asked some of my friends in the class to see if she actually was real, or if she was just the result of a hallucination from a wonky blunt. My friends informed me that I was not, in fact, tripping.

The conversation went as follows: “I mean, she responds immediately everytime, so what else does she have to do in her life?…Wait, you’re telling me she attends college as well?… She doesn’t have a major does she?…English?? WOW. Ok, so at least she doesn’t have a major.”

She probably thinks I’m in love with her or something. With my shaggy blonde hair and my cool ass golf cap, who wouldn’t want me? It’s unlikely that she is in all of my classes, but she still does all the assignments. If that’s not her being hopelessly in love with me, I don’t know what is.

I try to picture an image of her in my mind, but all I can see is a blank Word Document titled “Document3.” Why would I even need to be able to recognize her in public? 

Honestly, I’m just not okay with this. Like am I supposed to feel bad for using her? This is no different than how Daisy treats Gatsby in that romcom, and wasn’t she the hero? IDK, I didn’t see the movie.

Maybe I should buy her a coffee or something. Do you think she likes Dunkin’ black coffee? Actually, nevermind, charity doesn’t benefit anyone.

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