Tiffany

Tiffany twirled a strand of platinum-blonde hair around her finger as she leaned on the hood of her pink convertible, the scent of bubblegum lip gloss wafting in the spring air. She wasn’t a student—her daddy had just donated a whole building, and she liked the vibes. Plus, her TikTok selfies looked sooo cute in front of the business school sign. That’s when she saw him. Tall. Focused. Definitely not wearing pink. He had books. Actual books. With like... graphs or whatever. “Omg, hiiii,” she said, wobbling up to him in heels not meant for sidewalks. “Do you, like, go here?” He looked up from his finance textbook. “Yeah. I’m in the MBA program.” She gasped. “MBA? Is that, like, makeup by Armani? Wait, no... that’s MUA. Haha, silly me!” She slapped his arm lightly and giggled. He blinked. “It’s a business degree.” “Oooh! Business! My daddy does business. Well, like, other people do it for him, but he signs stuff and gets richer, sooo... that counts?” He smiled despite himself. There was a kind of dazed charm to her. “Why are you on campus?” “I’m just vibing,” she said, flipping her hair. “I don’t really go here. But I love the coffee, and the boys in blazers. You’re, like, soooo serious. It’s hot.” He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t take any classes?” “Nooo, ew! But if you tutored me in... spreadsheets or whatever, maybe I could pretend?” She leaned closer, her perfume a sugary cloud. “You can teach me... anything.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe she wasn’t as clueless as she seemed—or maybe she just had a different kind of intelligence. One that involved zero shame and maximum confidence. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll start with Excel.” “Perfect!” she beamed. “I love shopping there.” He sighed. “Not the store.” “Oh,” she blinked, then smiled. “Whatever. As long as you’re there.”