ELIAS
Of course I Googled it. What I found was a lot of churches, like alot.Those white steeple kind that aren’t anywhere near as prevalent in Germany. I think they’re Evangelical. Anyway, there was a lot of them. Also, a lot of big white houses with white picket fences, and well, just a lot of white everything.
On the morning we’re due to leave, I pack a bag, suddenly nervous and feeling out of my depth. While I didn’t grow up poor, we weren’t particularly wealthy, either. Since my brother signed to a Premier League team, of course he took care of his family, but that was ‘new money.’ Even I know that’s very different from ‘old money.’
I pack my tennis clothes and rackets and some clothes to relax in as well as one good shirt and pair of trousers for the party. When I moved, I didn’t bring a good pair of dress shoes like the kind Ben wore to the sorority party, but I’m sure I can find a pair at if I really need to.
Ben’s waiting in his discreetly expensive car, when I come downstairs, lugging my bags over my shoulder. He gets out and helps me load them into the trunk.
“I don’t know if I overpacked,” I say as I put the last bag in.
Ben laughs, but he seems nervous, too. “Having to carry your rackets everywhere can make it look like you’ve overpacked, but that can’t be helped.”
I could be paranoid, but now I’ve been living here for a little bit, I’m sure I can hear a certain refinement in Ben’s accent. Don’t get me wrong—most American accents still sound the same to me. But the little differences are there. I thought I noticed something in Nate’s accent, too. The slightest hint of something different from his fraternity brothers.
“Ready?” Ben asks.
I feel like a little kid again, going on a trip. I wish he’d let me drive, but of course, that’s ridiculous.
“Yes. Let’s go.”
Whatever music was playing when I climbed in, Ben switches off immediately in favor of the radio. A little blush appearing on his cheeks.
“What were you listening to?”
“What? Oh, nothing, just a playlist.”
He backs out of the driveway leading up to the dorms and I find myself suddenly desperate to know what he was listening to.
“Put it back on.”
“You don’t want to listen to my moody playlists.”
“Yes, I do.” I shoot him a teasing grin in the mirror.
He smiles through the blush.
“Fine, but don’t make fun of me.”
My heart sinks. Why would I make fun of him?
A vaguely familiar voice comes through the speakers while Ben chews his lip, one eye on the road.
“Is this Lana Del Rey?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never heard this one before.”
“It’s an album song.”
I listen to the haunting melody, the depressing lyrics. Ben catches me smiling.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“No,” I correct him. “I said I wouldn’t make fun of you.”
“Nate teases me for my taste in music. He calls me a Tumblr Sad Girl.”
