“This is a beautiful campus, mate. You’re going to love it. How long are you herefor?”
“Just until mid-December. So a little over threemonths.”
“That’s nothing. It’s going to go like that.” Joseph snapped his fingers. “So make the most ofit.”
“I will. Good luck with Janine! Remember what I told you. Stand in a heart made of candles and rose petals outside her balcony. Balconies are inherently romantic. Make sure the candles are unscented. She will be swooncentral.”
“Thanks,mate!”
Joseph dropped him off at the castle. A study abroad liaison waved Rafe over and led him to an orientation room with about a dozen other Americans, all wearing red Cornell T-shirts, and all just as sleep-deprived. They took up an entire row in thefront.
“Welcome toStroude!”
Rafe meant to say something back, but yawned instead. “Sorry!”
“Don’t be. It’s the jetlag. It’ll wipe you out for a good two days. Just whatever you do, resist the urge to go to sleep this afternoon.” The woman pointed him to aseat.
The thing with a British accent is that while it can be sexy, it can also lull someone to sleep. It’s consistent and modulated like a metronome. She went over life at Stroude, the school’s history and academic system. Rafe had picked out his courses before he arrived, and he looked up where they were on the campus map. But eyes had trouble focusing, and all they wanted to do was close. They drooped and drooped and the room wentblack.
“And don’t you dare try to sneak a fag in yourroom.”
His eyes bolted open. “What?” he yelled maybe tooloudly.
“Rafe?” the liaisonasked.
“That seems a littlediscriminatory.”
“All rooms in Sweeney Hall have smoke detectors. If you try to disable yours, you will receive afine.”
“Wait,what?”
“That’s why we don’t want you smoking in yourroom.”
“But yousaid…”
“Apologies.” She blushed. “Fag meanscigarette.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sure you will have many instances like this during these next three months. Cultureshock!”
The kids up front laughed amongst each other, turned around to look at him, then laughed some more. He could tell they had all the friends they needed, and Rafe would not be one ofthem.
The liaison went on a few more minutes about life on campus, and when it was over, Rafe walked up to her with a question. She tensed up, seemingly anticipating another awkwardmoment.
“You didn’t say anything about the meal plan. Or maybe I missed it.” He bonked his head. “Jetlag.”
“I’m not sure I know to what you’rereferring.”
Even in his tired, anxious state, Rafe marveled at how eloquent Brits were off the cuff. An American would’ve just askedHuh?
“Meal plan. Where do students eat on campus? Dininghalls?”
“There arenone.”
“What?” Rafeyelled.
“All dormitory flats are equipped with full kitchens. So you have the luxury of keeping and making your ownfood.”
