I jerk my chin in his direction, a silent thanks but no thanks. He really is my new wingman.
‘Cheers,’ she says, tapping her bottle against mine, looking me up and down, her gaze travelling over my chest, my lips, my eyes. Then she smiles.
Hazel eyes, juicy lips and long, thick red hair caught up in one of those plastic clips that looks like it’s been carved out of a shell. Her tight black dress just barely covers her ass and the spaghetti straps are straining to hold in her tits, and when I move closer, I can smell strawberry shampoo.
‘Cheers,’ I say back, lowering my voice so she has to lean in tohear me. When she wraps her lips around the opening of her beer bottle, everything south of my stomach tightens. I’m not interested, I’m not. But it can’t hurt to talk to the woman.
‘So, Bethany.’ I raise one arm above my head and lean against the wall, cutting the two of us off from the rest of the party. ‘Tell me everything I need to know.’
‘About Hemden?’
‘About you.’
I don’t mean to flirt, I swear, but it’s hard to break a habit of a lifetime. When I pull back, squinting in the low light of the crowded room, I can’t help but think she looks a little like Breanna. Her cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink as I sip the fresh beer. One more isn’t going to kill me. After all, it would be rude to make my new friend drink alone.
Behind Bethany, I see a face frowning in my direction and since there’s only one face I recognize in this entire country, I reposition myself until she’s out of my eyeline. If anyone knows about being rude, it’s the librarian.
‘I don’t know.’ Bethany’s soft voice catches on a nervous laugh. ‘What exactly do you want to know about me?’
‘You could tell me anything in that accent,’ I say, cocking my head to one side. I’m not interested but if I was … it’s just talking, just a conversation. Until she aims a playful punch at my shoulder, never once breaking eye contact, and I know I’ve got her. She doesn’t know my ex, she doesn’t know my brother, she doesn’t know anything about me.
Maybe there’s an upside to exile after all.
6
Mia
Back in my room, late Sunday night, two things are true. One, I am completely wiped out and two, I am totally wired. Hyped up on new friends and jet lag, I swap my dress for my pyjamas, shoot my mom a text to let her know I’m okay but too tired to talk, then set to fixing up my room. Rushing out to meet Alice meant I didn’t get a chance to unpack and even if my brain and body weren’t on completely opposing time zones, I wouldn’t be happy until all my belongings have an official home in my new room. I’ve always been someone who feels calmer when everything has its proper place, somewhere it belongs. Even when I don’t. Especially when I don’t.
My room is beautiful, exactly like the ones in the brochure I’ve been toting around for two years. Low ceilings, freshly painted walls and the wooden floorboards set in a herringbone pattern underfoot, worn to a warm brown with age. The twin bedissmall, but the mattress bounces under my palm when I press down to test it, and a dark wood closet slid in next to an actual fireplace looks like it might lead me to Narnia if I’d only step inside. Best of all, tucked into the bay window that looks out over the campus, is an old, leather-topped desk, perfectly positioned for daydreaming. Kneeling on the floor, I open up my suitcases and wonder about the people who might have stayed in this room before me. Hemdenwas established in the eleventh century, these halls originally built in the sixteenth. Someone could’ve sat at this exact desk, writing an essay on Shakespeare’s tragedies, before South Carolina even existed.
‘And now it’s me,’ I whisper, looking around in awe, before the sound of a slamming door next door echoes through my room.
Ethan.
Pushing soccer boy out of my mind, I try to distract myself by concentrating on the task at hand. Clothes in the closet, toiletries in the bathroom, pens, pencils, notebooks on the desk, framed photos of my parents and two brothers on the shelf. Once everything is where it’s meant to be, I step back to appraise my work. It’s good. Orderly. I feel calm. At least I do once I’ve adjusted the small stack of emotional support books I couldn’t bring myself to leave at home to make sure their spines are in perfect alignment. The rest of my library stayed behind, dozens if not hundreds of second-hand books bought at thrift stores and yard sales, along with a few special editions I convinced my parents to buy me for birthdays and Christmas. As non-readers, they always baulk at spending so much money on a single book, but nothing sets my heart racing like foiled boards and fancy spredges. As much as I love my Kindle, the feel of a book in my hands, the weight of it, the tangible excitement of turning each page, knowing you’re getting closer and closer to the end? There’s nothing like it.
‘Mia, you need to get laid,’ I mutter to myself.
It’s a deeply, deeply true statement. I haven’t had sex in more than two years and that was the kind of experience that was more of a haiku than an epic love story for the ages. I can’t count the numbers of nights I’ve laid awake fantasizing about my future Hemden lover. Will he be stoic and complex like Edward Rochesteror wild and passionate like Heathcliff? Hopefully, not quite so fatally flawed as either of my favourite Brontë heroes, or the kind of man who tries to neg me into submission like Mr Darcy, but someone smart and thoughtful, funny and caring. Loving books as much as I do is a non-negotiable, and even though I’m sure Jane, Cathy and Lizzie would all say looks don’t matter, I want my man to steal my breath away, to stop me in my tracks every time I see him. Just like Oliver had.If only he’d shown up to Members tonight, I think, trailing a fingertip downJane Eyre’s spine and shivering as if it were my own.
A huge yawn rolls through me and all at once, I’m so tired even hauling myself onto my bed feels like an effort.
‘This is it,’ I murmur to myself, eyelids flickering already. ‘This is your chance.’
In middle school, I thought things would be different in high school. In high school, I was convinced college would be my dream come true, but when my parents refused to let me move into the dorms, my life barely changed at all, except for how quickly I lost touch with my high school friends. Everyone I was close with either moved away or started work, while I stayed exactly where I was, stuck in some kind of middle ground purgatory. But I’m here now. Turning onto my side, I press a pillow over my head when my neighbour’s door bangs again. I’m here now and nothing can ruin it.
On my desk, I hear my phone ping.
Mom.
Hey sweetie, sleep tight! Love you!
As soon as I put it down, it pings again.
Did your luggage make it? Dad was tracking your AirTags but they’ve disappeared from the app. Just checking in! Love you xoxoxo
‘Yep, you’ve checked in four times already,’ I say, tapping out a response to say as much, deleting it then starting again.
