Vocabulary, dates, and assignment details are pouring from every orifice of my body when I stagger back to my room after my last class of the day. To my surprise, Sage isn’t studying. She slings a small bag over her shoulder and heads for the door.
“Where are you going?”
She pauses. “I’m heading to Northampton for the afternoon.”
Hope swells in me. Sage blowing off our first afternoon of studying to hang out in the city? Maybe I was wrong about her. I drop my bag and step closer, an eager look on my face.
“Uh, did you want to come?”
“If you don’t mind. I could really use the break.” I grab my wallet. “Do you already have plans?” My thoughts trail to shopping, dinner...
“I want to buy more school supplies.”
Of course she does.
Sage and I board the van and she immediately pulls out a planner as big as her lap and flips to this week. She starts jotting down due dates for each class in different-colored pens. Her cursive is perfect. Maybe she does calligraphy on the side.
Usually I’d be put off by her ignoring me, but after an entire day of lectures, I need the silence. We’re almost to Northampton when she finally sits back, looking as contented as a fat cat after a bowl of milk.
“Impressive,” I say.
“More like required. Between classes and my research in London, I need to organize every hour in the day or I’ll go crazy.” She looks me up and down. “Do you have a planner, Ellie?”
“Well... I was waiting to, uh, get something from England.”
“Oh, I can help you pick one out!”
I laugh at her sudden enthusiasm. “You really love school, huh?”
“I don’t always love it. But I take it seriously, if that’s what you mean. It’s the ticket to my future.”
Of course school is Sage’s ticket. She’ll probably get into any college she wants, unlike me. I’m not sure I’m destined for college at all. It’s not that I’m a horrible student. I’m not flunking out or anything. I’ve just never done well enough in school to really care about it. I’ve rarely made the merit roll over the years and I’ve never been on the honor roll. Plus, it’s hard to be motivated when I don’t have a career in mind.
“I just want to soak in every minute of England.”
“I do too.” Sage puts her forehead to the window. “But this trip isn’t only about me. I promised my mom that big things would happen if she let me come on this trip. I can’t let her down.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.”
“Well, not all of us can treat this like a vacation.”
I flinch. I don’t want to argue with her, but I have no interest in spending this entire semester locked inside a room studying. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live in another country andforgetabout regular life, not dive deeper into it. Maybe, if I start small, I can get Sage to see that too.
The van stops and I follow her into an office supply store. She rolls her shoulders back. “Let’s do this.”
It turns out shopping for school supplies is actually fun with someone like Sage to show you the ropes. I already knew about the basics—yellow highlighters and sharply pointed pencils—but I had no idea such a range of products were available to help me manage my life. I find a desk organizer set covered in a pattern of ferns and pick out color-coordinating pens, notebooks, and Post-its. Sage picks out a planner for me that’s so detailed I can schedule my studying down to the half hour. The thought makes me break out in a cold sweat, but then she shows me how I can give myself a rainbow sticker every time I finish one of my daily goals. I end up buying five extra sticker packs. I might not enjoy studying, but I do love crafts.
By the time we’re finished shopping, we’re laden down with bags and smiling. Everything here is just different enough to make the most mundane shopping trip more exciting.
“Do you want to grab a coffee before we go back?” I ask. I’m nervous Sage will say no, but she nods enthusiastically.
“Yes.I need more caffeine or I’m not going to make it to dinner.”
We duck into an adorable little coffee shop, grab coffees and scones for good measure, then wander farther down the street. It’s fun to take in the city with her. We get a kick out of how many barbershops line this section of the road—at least three—and a sketchy-looking restaurant called American Pizza & Fish Bar.
We exchange a glance.
“Could be interesting...,” I say, and raise my eyebrows.
