Her sunglasses, perched atop her cranium, pushed back the matted mass of hair that collected round her forehead. A thick layer of moist film on her face plastered stray clumps of curls here and there, which she wiped away with oil secreting fingers.

It was hot. The thin cotton of her shirt stuck to her skin like cling wrap, so wet with sweat, her decorative bra was visible. The embroidered pink and periwinkle blue flowers pressed through the fabric like an embossed pattern. Her barely there shorts did nothing to alleviate the intense heat that assaulted her system. The way her thighs rubbed together while she walked created a sticky paste and set her off, as discreet as she could, digging and wiping, only for more to slick her skin there minutes later.

Despite the heat, she was at the University, taking refuge in one of the buildings, a science building (because they had this sort of stuff) while she grazed the message boards, to see if any posting pricked her interest.

The air conditioning was a god send and a curse. Cooling and refreshing as it was, it soon worked on the layer of sweat she sported and turned the hairs on her back to prickly icicles jabbing out on end. She stood there, rubbing her arms trying to shave away the goose bumps. She sniffled and felt the tickle of a sneeze in the back of her nose. She wouldn’t be surprised of a cold took her after the constant swap of walking through humid soup into dry chilly turrets.

Shifting her weight, she continued on down the line, her eyes hovering from post to post. The best studies were the ones which provided a large compensation. Most required passing a second phase to get it, but that was no problem.

She coughed slightly before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, the tenth one today. Sucking it down, deep, she coughed again and cleared her throat. Her eyes squinted as the coughing increased and she waved the smoke away. It was always like this when she lit one up. These damn cigs tasted terrible. She might as well lick the bottom of a bum’s grotty shoe. There was hardly any tobacco in it, just chemicals made in some nuclear hubble by impoverished children, just so she could get her money. But after tomorrow, she wouldn’t have to smoke them anymore.

Her eyes wandered further until she saw a sign in big bold letters SUBJECTS NEEDED: EATING DISORDER RESEARCH STUDY with tear off and take home slips at the bottom. Now now, it wasn’t worth anything unless the price was right. Subjects needed for a research study exploring the side effects of eating disorders. A list of symptoms informed of the subject criteria…yeah, she could do it. $200 compensation, not bad. She could pay half a month’s rent with that.

Reaching her arm up she ripped off a tab, taking half the sheet with her.

“Shit,” she hissed as the other half shot down to the floor like an armed trajectory.

Sticking the cigarette between her lips, she bent down to pick up the decimated notice. How typical of her to destroy it with just one touch. It was torn, right through all the information and the bold title. She sighed and sucked in another breath of carcinogen laced nicotine. As her ass reached the apex of its curve, she noticed a pair of chunky cross-trainers clunk-clunk-clunking away at the tiles, coming closer to her.

She stood, straightening her back and watched the woman waddle her way across the floor in a limping fashion. Hair frizzed out to the point of looking like she’d been struck with lightning, a stained white shirt, a pill-blue skirt riding up her thin legs, the poor woman looked miserable. She had probably been completely against working during the summer at a university, but her boss would have strongly suggested it, for the better of her career. But she still couldn’t see what the hell good it did to sit in an office all day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

Her face was terrible, all scrunched up and splotched red from either anger or heat. Her eyes darted from the cigarette to the poster board to the decimated paper and back.

“Show me you student I.D.”

“What?”

“Show me your student I.D.”

“Why do you need to see that?”

“Let me see it.”

Assuming this woman was some form of authority, however low on the ladder she was, the I.D. was shown. She frowned, screwing up her lips in what looked like an angry scowl, or something that was trying very hard to do so.

“Marnie Williams, you do know that it’s illegal to smoke inside university buildings?”

Marnie nodded her head as she puffed on the cigarette. A smoke cloud erupted between them. The woman joined her in hacking up lung tissue.

“Yeah, but I have to, until tomorrow at least.”

“Excuse me?” she said, voice strained. Her eyes darted around Marnie’s face as she put two hands on her hips. Marnie glanced down, unimpressed. This woman’s lips pursed together, twitching to say something not so professional.

“Well,” Marnie said, “I’m a subject in a study about smoking, and I’m not a smoker, really, so I have to suck down all the cigarettes I can.”

The woman frowned as she jutted her head forward. Shaking her head and waving away the cloud of smoke, she pinched her eyes together.

“What?”

Marnie took one last drag on her cigarette and squished it against the wall. Ashes left a black crusty streak on the tan cork board.

“The compensation is at least $500. If I want to get that I need to become a convincing smoker.”

The authoritative glare drooped from the woman’s face like a melting wax, slow and thick. It was the reaction Marnie counted on, typical of someone she would have a delight torturing, and someone she would never think twice about as soon as she left ‘em. This one wasn’t so old as to be shocked by more…licentious comments, but liberal and green enough to think her a victim of vice.

“T-There’s no smoking in this building,” she repeated. Her feet were re-planted in the ground, looking firm and rooted.

Marnie took a pin from the board and tacked the meager scraps of the notice paper back where she found it. The number was safe in her hands, soon to be in her pocket. She coughed again before smiling at the woman.

“Sorry,” she said, quick and curt. The grin on her face knew better. Things had to be said to placate people.

The incredulous glare she received was customary, only made her smile more. If she could smile, enough to make her laugh every day, then the lather-rinse-recycle-repeat patterns wouldn’t seem so bad. Of course, there were kinks to every plan.

The vibration of her phone tickled her butt. It was the short short loooooooong pattern, it had to be Susie.

“Hello?” Marnie said with a full on gummy toothy smile.

“Get your bum over here. We need to talk, face to face.”