For example, with Adrian: it seemed like it was past time for a performance reevaluation. All the articles she’d read for this class stressed that regular feedback was critical to effective management. So they ought to talk about his continued role in her life. Did he have the resources he needed to be successful? (If he needed money for things like the art show in Miami, Caroline could set up an expense reimbursement process.) Did she have any feedback on his performance? (She thought he could stand to act like her boyfriend a little more consistently.) Was he interested in picking up any additional hours? (It was hard not talking to him from Sunday to Tuesday.)
And there was the very basic issue of employment duties. The original job description had been restrictive. But he’d hinted in his profile that he was highly qualified—no, perhaps even available?—to perform a broader range of responsibilities. Ones involving no fraught decisions on appropriate attire. (She could easily be naked.)
She’d been very clear at their initial interview that hands-on personnel management was not required for his particular role. But maybe she’d been too hasty.(Maybe she’d given him shit about it on too many occasions.) Maybe she needed to adopt a growth mindset.
What if, with Adrian, it was better? If he’d initially assumed that she’d want to sleep with him, she was inclined to trust his judgment. He was so good at finding things to love in his own life, and he just wanted to show her how to love them too. Maybe there was some higher-quality type of sex known only to connoisseurs and enthusiasts. She could imagine his hands on her body, his smooth voice in her ear,I think you’ll like this—
She had imagined it. A few times now.
Did she risk making things horribly awkward? He looked disappointed every time she didn’t enjoy something he’d planned, even if they were hitting more than missing these days. And though Caroline was beginning to suspect that sex would be more fun with someone who knew what he was doing and cared if she had a good time too, what if she still didn’t? Would he take that personally? Would it hurt his feelings?
She put a note in her phone to talk to Adrian about it, even as her stomach spun at the thought.
At the end of the hour, the professor reminded them about the career reception directly after class in the main administrative building. Caroline had dutifully put the event on her calendar at the beginning of the semester without knowing much of what it entailed, and she was surprised none of the other students in her class seemed to have any questions about it.
She turned to the guy next to her to ask if he planned to attend. He was the same one who had invited her to his party almost two months ago. Even if they hadn’t really spoken since, maybe he’d be willing to walk over with her and tell her what it had been like the previous year.
“I’m not going,” he said, shoving his laptop into his backpack. “I think most people are working wherever they did last summer. It’s mostly for undergrads.”
“Oh, really?” Caroline said, feeling her stomach contract again.
“Yeah, most of the Street firms and consulting shops want to see you for more than one summer before they extend a final offer, you know?”
Caroline didn’t know. She’d spent every summer after her freshman year working at Sonic, and the previous summer she’d been busy dealing with the executor on her grandmother’s estate. She had no clue what Wall Street firms or consultants expected in terms of summer employment. She hadn’t been in a position to make a reasoned decision on whether that was a thing she wanted to do. Panic rose at the idea that it was already too late to pursue these careers she’d never even known to consider.
Her anxiety must have shown on her face, because her classmate hurried to reassure her that, “Tech, you know, or industry, they usually don’t hire until they know they need the head count.”
“Okay,” Caroline mumbled. “I’ll go look into that at the career fair.”
He scrunched up his face again, hesitating to go, even though he had his backpack on.
“Uh, are you going to wear that?” he asked.
Caroline looked down again at her leggings. She was still dressed for the gym.
“No, I meant to work out this morning,” she said. “I’ll just run over to my locker and change.”
“Yeah, cool, cool,” the guy said with a tight smile. “Good luck.”
By the time Caroline had runbackto the gym, changedinto jeans and a sweatshirt, and found the big event space in the basement of the administrative building, she was a little flushed, as well as late for the dean’s speech. The configuration of the room meant she was entering via the corner nearest the dean, within full view of the other students standing to listen to him. She plastered herself to the wall, trying to be unobtrusive, but she couldn’t help but feel on display as she walked past the other students.
And then she also noticed that everyone else was wearing button-down shirts and black wool trousers, or even sports jackets and pencil skirts. It was immediately obvious, even to her, that there was a dress code for career fairs here. She felt the beginning of a headache to cap off the gut-twisting feeling of being just a little bit off, again, from what everyone else was doing. If there had been a dress code in the event description, she would have added it to her calendar entry. She would have bought the ugly pants and had the hem let out. She would have been ready. She wouldn’t have been the only one in jeans and sneakers.
She’d already missed the announcement of half the potential employers present, but she took her phone out and tried to jot down notes on who all was there. A couple of big companies whose names she recognized. She took a deep breath and told herself to get her shit together, because she was only one set down; she could still win the match.
After some polite applause, the dean released the students, and everyone dispersed to mill around the room and collect cups of coffee or diluted iced tea from the drinks station. Some of the adults in the room were professors, and some were employer representatives; Caroline didn’t know who she was supposed to approach first.There were a few booths around the edge of the room where people had set out brochures and business cards—those were probably easier to start with. So she sidled over to the first one she saw, only to attract the dean’s attention as she moved.
“Oh, Ms. Sedlacek,” the dean said. “Glad you could make it. Are you settling in all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said automatically, trying to edge by him.
He’d been speaking to a middle-aged man in an expensive-looking suit whose name tag readedward conway, arctree master fund advisers. He also turned to regard Caroline and took a sip of his ditchwater-colored iced tea as he sized her up, gaze lingering on her sneakers.
“Caroline is the first student we admitted from her undergrad,” the dean reported.
“Where from?” Conway asked without much interest.
“Central Texas Baptist. In Texas.”
