‘Just because they’re from the same country doesn’t mean they know each other,’ Alice points out. ‘Do you know every English person?’
‘Yes. Every single one of them.’
Oliver still hasn’t spoken. Instead, he sits across the table, looking at me with heavy-lidded eyes. I put my fork back down on the table because my stomach has seized up so tightly there is a distinct possibility I will never eat again.
‘We, um, we went to the same school,’ I offer. ‘Back home.’
‘Fancies himself a bit,’ Michael says through a mouthful of food. ‘Bloody good striker though. Anything I need to know about him?’
I shake my head. ‘Marshall is a big school, we really didn’t know each other. Different subjects, different schedules, he ran with the soccer crowd.’
‘And what crowd did you run with?’
Oliver looks at me with pleasant expectation, his question hovering between us.
‘English?’ I try. ‘The English crowd?’
Bryn looks up, eyes bright. ‘There were English exchange students at your uni?’
‘English lit,’ I clarify. ‘I was studying English literature at home. And here. Everywhere, both places, here and there.’
And now I can’t stop talking. Fantastic. Why will no one put me out of my misery?
‘Have you got your schedule?’ Oliver asks, gifting me a sleepy smile, and I’m not sure if I even have the ability to speak, let alone find a single loose sheet of paper in my bulging bag.
‘Uh, somewhere.’
Fumbling around in my tote, I comb through my belongings, a notebook, pencil case, three lip balms and the handful of tampons I tossed in at the last minute in case my period came early, or I met someone in a bathroom who needed one, and who wants to be caught without a tampon?
‘Here, found it.’
I pull out the schedule and Oliver holds out his hand. Obediently, I pass it over, his fingers grazing mine. My breath catches and underneath my sweater, all the hairs on my arm stand on end.
‘Very nice selection,’ he says without looking up. ‘We must have similar taste.’
‘Fantastic, another pretentious wanker,’ Michael says with a pleasant smile and Alice and Jenna hit him at the same time.
Oliver passes my schedule back, his hand brushing against mine again but this time he lets the contact hold. The tips of his fingers are rough with callouses from his guitar, the nails ultra short, and I suck my lips under my teeth to stop myself from sighing out loud.
‘Can’t wait to get stuck into the Brontë module.’ He grips the schedule a moment longer, holding my eyes with his. ‘Jane Eyreis my favourite book.’
‘Mine too,’ I reply. ‘Well, sometimes it’sJane Eyre, sometimes it’sWuthering Heights, but I love the Brontës.’
‘We should study together. Maybe you can help me understand why Jane has such a low opinion of herself when everyone else can see she’s just wonderful.’
A tiny whimpering sound escapes the back of my throat and even though I try to conceal it with a cough, it’s obvious from Alice’s pitiful grin I’m not entirely successful.
‘Enough course talk,’ Jenna announces as I stuff my schedule back into my tote and try to pretend Oliver isn’t still looking at me. ‘On to more important matters. Autumn bop, what are we wearing?’
Everyone groans, even Alice, but Jenna’s dark eyes sparkle. ‘Don’t give me that, you know you all love it really.’
‘Jen, it’s weeks from now,’ Michael says, drawing an imaginary noose around his neck. ‘Can we have five minutes before you start dressing us up like Barbie dolls? You know I hate fancy dress.’
‘Fancy dress?’ I frown at the thought of what might pass for fancy in my current closet. ‘As in a formal?’
‘As in costumes.’ Bryn shakes his head at his own statement. ‘It’s a Hemden tradition for some reason.’
‘And we have to kill it with ours this year,’ Jenna insists, turning to me to explain. ‘It’s the first official bop of the year, so the whole uni gets involved. The first years always dress like shit, but as third-year students we have an obligation to absolutely smash it and embarrass each and every one of them.’
