Boys and love can be lots of fun, but at the end of the day, these girls need more than that to feel satisfied. They were raised to think of professional goals first, and a personal life as something that will naturally accompany their path. The former takes calculated planning and effort; the latter simply requires an open mind and willing heart.
So every day they wake up with a mission, a next step to take in their career. Sometimes they accomplish it, sometimes they don’t…
~ ~ ~
Felix stares in horror at the thick vapors billowing from MJ’s work station. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know!” she says. “I thought I followed the directions. Hurry and help me clear this out before the smoke alarm goes off!”
As they scramble to open all the nearby windows, the older grad students glance over and snicker. Dr. Storm notices the commotion and walks over to see what’s going on.
“Who’s responsible for this?” he asks immediately, his expression dark. He looks at MJ, and she opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out.
“Me,” Felix says.
Both MJ and Dr. Storm stare at him in shock.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I must have mixed the compound too–”
“No,” MJ interrupts. “No, it was me.”
Dr. Storm eyes one student, then the other. “Regardless of who’s telling the truth and who’s lying, you’re both being loyal friends. So I’m going to ignore this little incident. But you both have to stay until the experiment is complete. We need each group’s final mixture to continue our research, and you two are the only ones who haven’t finished yet.”
MJ gulps and nods. After Dr. Storm walks away, she turns to Felix. “You don’t have to cover for me. I can own up to my own failures.”
Felix shakes his head as they walk to the supply cabinet for more materials. “It wasn’t a failure, it was just a simple little mistake.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve made a simple little mistake almost every day we’ve been in lab. After a while, they add up to failure.” He opens his mouth to protest again, but MJ shakes her head. “No, just let me be honest with myself today. It’ll be better in the long run.”
~ ~ ~
On the other side of the ocean, Claudia stares at her computer screen. The word processor is open; the page is clean, white, beautiful. Her fingers are poised above the keys, ready for her command. Minutes pass. She continues to stare.
After completing her first novel at long last, she is out of words. Out of ideas. Out of energy and enthusiasm. She feels like she has given birth, has nurtured this thing full of life and emotion, has finally pushed it out of herself — but in the end she has nothing to show. After all her hard work, her long hours, her sleepless nights, her physical discomfort and her mental anguish, she has no proof, no results. Not even a screaming, crying infant.
All she has is a file, waiting to be sent. If an agent even replies to her queries to say that they want it. Otherwise, it will remain on her computer, dormant and unknown.
So she stares at the blank page on her screen, feeling lonely, untethered, adrift. And she cries, because she is empty.
~ ~ ~
Sophie is holed up in a conference room at Arden Advertising with Reggie and their Creative Director, arguing over a certain ad.
“I still think the purple works better,” says the CD.
“I’m less concerned with the color,” Sophie says, even though purple would be hideous, “and more focused on the copy.”
“What’s wrong with the copy?”
“Well…” She hesitates, wanting to be polite. “I think the second line could be stronger. And I’m not sure the verbiage will resonate with our target audience.”
The CD considers for a moment. “No, I think it’s fine.”
Reggie and Sophie glance at each other. The truth is, the copy barely even makes sense. And there’s a misspelling. Their client would be laughed out of the industry if they released this ad.
“Well, a second opinion couldn’t hurt, right?” It takes everything Sophie has left in her to smile at her superior.
The CD looks at her for almost a full minute. “No. It’s perfect,” he says at last. “I know, because I wrote it.”
Sophie doesn’t even blink. “Why? That’s what we have copywriters for.”
Reggie’s eyes go wide but he stays silent. In fact, he reaches for the bowl of complimentary pretzels at the center of the table. He doesn’t want to be able to answer if they start asking for his opinion.
The CD clears his throat. “Miss Lin, you need to watch your tone. I think you’re a bit out of line.”
“Really? Because I thought it was my job to make sure that our clients are spending their money on the most effective ads in the most effective channels. Especially given the current economic situation. And right now, I can’t advise that they run this ad, because it’s crap.”
Reggie shoves three more pretzels into his mouth, in part to cover his gaping shock.
The CD’s eyes narrow. “We’ll just see what Arden has to say about this.”
“Fine,” Sophie says, fed up with office politics. “Let’s do that. And while you track her down, I’ll take this over to the copy department.” She picks up the offending printout. “I know Arden doesn’t appreciate her time being wasted.”
She turns on her heels and walks out. The Creative Director glares at Reggie, who grabs one last pretzel, waves, and runs after Sophie.
“WHUH WERH OU DINKING?” Reggie asks as they reach their cubes.
“That he’s an arrogant moron that’s going to bankrupt our clients. Or at least make them go to another firm.”
Reggie finishes chewing. “Yes, but he’s our BOSS. You can’t just say whatever you think to him!”
“Why not? Isn’t that what I’m paid for?”
Reggie sighs. “Long-term, yes. But right now, we’re still grunts. And you may be a hotshot grunt, but you’re STILL a grunt. Don’t you get it? We have to play the game.”
Sophie takes a deep breath. Out the window, she sees the city skyline, full of beautiful tall buildings, each covered in shiny windows. She imagines her reflection in all of them. And despite the millions of faces — her faces — that she can imagine staring back at her, Sophie realizes she doesn’t recognize herself at all.
“Maybe I can’t play the game anymore.”
~ ~ ~
At the end of the day, MJ tosses and turns, unable to sleep. Groggily she slips out of bed and turns on her computer. She messages Claudia and Sophie: You there?
They both reply: Yes. The three girls join a conference chat.
MJ tells them about what happened in her lab. Claudia confesses to her writer’s block. Sophie rants about her Creative Director. All three come to an impasse.
At last, Claudia starts to ask the question they’ve all been asking themselves. The question you’re not supposed to ask.
“What if…” Claudia says.
“I’m not…” MJ continues.
“Cut out for this?” Sophie finishes.
The weight of it silences them. What if I’m not cut out for this?
None of them have an answer.
