Unfortunately, I did forget something at home. I don’t have anything to fasten the lights to the wall with. Sighing, I put them in the drawer of my bedside table. I’m about to reach for my phone to send Dad a message when I hear a crashing sound in the hall. Someone swears. That doesn’t sound good. I leave the drawer ajar and rush to the door. I throw it open and gasp in surprise.
A girl is sitting on the floor in front of my room. One of her suitcases has burst open, and her clothes are all over the place.
“I told Mom that the suitcase wouldn’t survive the trip!” she says to herself, carelessly pushing aside her backpack as she begins to pick up her stuff.
I clear my throat to get her attention. “Do you need help?”
She whirls around to look at me, a hand on her chest. Her dark green eyes are wide with shock. “God, don’t scare me like that!” she blurts out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
She smiles at me. “That’s okay. It’s not your fault. My day started off like shit, and it was clear that it was going to go on that way.” She blows a strand of red hair away from her mouth. Her hair is darker than mine, not copper but mahogany, almost raspberry, with a violet tinge that fits perfectly with her olive skin tone.
“That bad?” I lean against my door with my arms crossed and can’t stop an amused grin from spreading across my face.
“My sister has food poisoning and threw up all over the house this morning. That’s why Mom couldn’t bring me to the airport. I almost missed the flight, and now, with only a few feet more, this stupid suitcase couldn’t even wait until I make it to my room before breaking.” She grabs two bras off the floor.
“So it’sreallybad,” I confirm, bending down to help her collect her things.
She smiles at me gratefully. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you. My name is Mae, by the way.”
“Zoe,” I say. “Where’s your room?”
She points to the door to the left of mine. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”
* * *
“Do you believe in fate?” Mae twists her hair into a messy bun, and her eyes flash with excitement. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor and picks up the last armful of leotards and ballet skirts, stuffing them carelessly in the bottom drawer of the dresser next to her bed. With difficulty, I hold back a sigh. My fingers are tingling with the urge to organize her things.
“Not necessarily,” I reply slowly. Where is she going with this?
Mae laughs. “I do. It must be fate that I got the room next to yours, of all rooms. After all, I know nothing about Boston, and you were born and raised here. You can show me around.”
“That might just be a coincidence,” I say, but I still have to smile.
We’ve been sitting in her room for two hours and have talked the entire time about everything and nothing. I like Mae. She’s easyto talk to, open and friendly, and she smiles all the time. She’s so different from my high school friends that a part of me feels almost insecure because of how shockingly new that is for me. The other part of me is just relieved.
“No coincidence.” Mae shakes her head. “Fate made sure that I got a neighbor who knows her way around Boston. And not only that, but you’re also nice. A coincidence could have just as easily sent me someone I don’t like. Fate made sure that we found each other.”
“You’ve only known me for two hours. You can’t know if you like me or not.”
“Yes, I can. The first impression always matters to me. And I knew after exactly seven minutes that I liked you.”
The corners of my mouth twitch. “Did you stop the clock?”
“Sure. I have a built-in stopwatch in my brain.”
“Speaking of which, we should get going soon.” I point at the alarm clock on Mae’s nightstand. It’s a quarter to four.
“We should. We don’t want to sit all the way in the back at Mr.Pearson’s talk.” Mae jumps up and offers her hand to pull me off the bed.
Dozens of students come out of the dormitories, laughing and chatting as they walk across the wide lawns. The sun is already low on the horizon, and the buildings cast long shadows on the broad paths, but it’s still pleasantly warm.
I look around curiously. In comparison to Harvard, Boston College, and MIT, the ballet school is tiny. There are four classes for the high school students and four for those of us studying dance as part of our bachelor of fine arts. No class has more than twenty students. Still, when we all walk into the theater at the same time, it feels like there are many more of us.
A group of giggling girls passes us quickly. They can’t be older than about fifteen. Maybe it’s their first day too.
“Are you nervous?” Mae asks quietly as we walk up the wide steps. The theater rises impressively in front of us. The bright sandstone looks like it’s glowing in the late afternoon sunlight. There are pillars on either side of the wide door, above which a sign hangs:
