CATFISHING THE CEO

1| BICHOTA

Zoraida's nails cried in anguish. Time moved but for her it stalled. Remnants of nails coated her very old desk, enhancing the ugly brown color it possessed.

Vintage, her abuela called it. Zoraida knew better. The desk was a piece of junk that her grandmother fished out of someone else's rubbish outside. Her grandmother had fetched the rag from the kitchen. "With a little Fabuloso, like new."

Zoraida should have been thankful that someone paid attention enough to get her the much-needed furniture. She had been tired of working on the kitchen counter where her papers were constantly at risk of little tiny fingers or scuff marks from tools that had no business being in a place meant for food consumption.

Everything she owned was like her life, shared. In a house full of nine individuals, she had no moment of reprieve. This is why it has taken her forever to respond to user scottman69.

In the darkness of her room, if the basement could be labeled as such, the computer illuminated her face. The words on the screen taunted her.

Scottman69: Don't you think the due date for this little project is expiring? When should we meet to go over the final details?

She loved the way he talked in key, using formal words and business-appropriate lingo. It filled her head with not-so-appropriate scenarios. Still, he was asking to end their screen time because it was time for the final handout, the meeting of one another. She had no words.

Another second passed. Her finger took the familiar route to her mouth as she leaned on her elbow and bit the already sore nail. This time there was no easement in the act.

A colorful curse flew out her mouth at the newly sensitive skin exposed from biting a little too aggressively. She had told herself she would quit such a nasty habit but that would have to be another thing on her to-do list.

Regardless, the pain spurred her into action. She straightened up and rolled her shoulders as if she was warming up for a game. To an extent, others could claim that is exactly what she was doing.

It certainly commenced like one when she first opened the dating app years ago. A means to distract herself, she encouraged herself. She had been tired of constantly working. Not only in college but her day-to-day tasks with her family could be categorized as employment, an unpaid one.

She wanted companionship without adding more to her plate. No strings attached.

In the beginning, it started like this. Several men contacted her and she enjoyed the thrill she got at how hard they tried to impress her. Some sent her poems. Other sweet promises.

The real straightforward ones would instantly ask for pics, but even that gave her a small satisfaction that someone was pinning for her. Except, they weren't exactly picturing the true Zoraida.

After all, the app was meant to escape the realism of her life. These men did not need to know her true name or appearance, which is why it made perfect sense to choose an image opposite from her.

No man busted their neck if Zoraida walked across the street. But, user Zobaby, a blond, 5'2, could hardly weigh over 130 pounds, was not only turning necks but snapping them. Under this snapshot, guys were dropping lyrics to get her attention.

Message by message rushed in on her first day of the app. Using her friend's, Clare, picture had been the right choice. Clare had no short list of contenders. Throughout their friendship in college, Zoraida quickly noticed that no one was going to glance her way with Clare at her side.

Zoraida was the empanada with too much stuffing. The burnt tortilla that was left in the back burner for a second too long. She was fine being the unwanted papaya because she had no time for distractions.