Page 4

“You’ve seen too many movies,” I say dryly, but then I have to smile.

“Yeah, because we didn’t spend our vacations in London with hot British boys.” Katie elbows me in the side, despite my suitcase, which she’s pushing along on its wheels next to her.

“Neither did I,” I reply.

“But why not?” Susannah asks. “After the mess with Archie, that would have been just what you needed. Believe me, the best cure for a broken heart is good sex.”

I shrug and feel myself blushing. She’s probably not entirely wrong, but I can’t tell her that. I never told my friends about the guy I left the party with after finding out how quickly Archie had replaced me. But I don’t tell them much in general. Not about my thoughts or feelings and not about Archie. Something is blocking me. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, so I can’t change it either.

“That just means our dear Lia is a true romantic,” Katie says with a sigh. “Was going to London worth it, at least? How was the city? What were the classes like? What kinds of things did you learn? You have to tell us everything.”

“I’ll tell you after I change,” I say as we approach the dorm. It’s busy like it always is on the first day. First-semester students walk across campus alone or with their parents, on their way to either the administration building to pick up their keys or the dorm to move into their rooms. Among them, I spot groups of second- and third-year students curiously checking out the new arrivals. Normally, we would do the same, but today is different from any other first day. I don’t have time to watch the newcomers.

“All right,” Katie says with a theatrical sigh. “You should get a move on anyway, so we aren’t late for Pearson’s speech.” She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her tight shorts and glances at the time. “We’ve got less than two hours.”

“Hey, wasn’t your mother supposed to pick you up from the airport?” Susannah asks all at once, looking at me curiously.

“Yes, but something came up. A patient. You know how it is,” I lie, forcing a smile. I can’t tell them the truth, I just can’t. I’ve gotten so used to keeping my family’s problems to myself over the last few years that I sometimes forget that Susannah and Katie are well aware that they exist. They know the gist of it, but they have no idea what I’m actually going through. And they never ask, not really. That’s why I sometimes feel like they don’t want to hear the truth. “How was your summer?” I ask, quickly changing the subject. Fortunately, they don’t hesitate to go along with it.

“Pretty unspectacular. Without you, there wasn’t much going on here.” Katie winks at me.

I have to laugh, and it almost feels genuine. “As if anything was going on with me here.”

“More than it was without you.” Susannah holds the door open for us, and for the fourth time in four years, I curse the stairs leading up to my room on the fourth floor. There’s no elevator in the dorm. It’s normally not a big deal, but my suitcases are heavy, and every time I have to carry luggage up the stairs, it feels like twice as many steps.

When we finally reach the fourth floor, Katie and I are out of breath, but Susannah is the image of composure.

“Okay, you get changed, and we’ll head over to the theater together,” Susannah says.

I nod and rummage in my bag for my room key. “Let’s do that.”

“But you’re only allowed to change your clothes.” Katie narrows her eyes warningly. “You’re not allowed to lie down, understand? Otherwise, jet lag will kick in, and that would be disastrous.”

“Fatal?” I ask with a smile.

She nods affirmatively. “Totally.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I promise as I unlock my door and push the suitcases into the room. “There’s not enough time for that anyway.”

“Exactly,” Katie says with satisfaction. We say goodbye, and the two of them turn and head for the common room, while I return to my room for the first time in three months.

My shoulders slump as the door closes behind me. It’s strangely quiet here, and the air is stuffy. White walls, pretty stucco moldings, dark floor. There’s a string of lights above my bed, to which I’ve attached photos with small clothespins. I was gone for three months, but everything is the same as before. Comfortingly familiar. I take a deep breath, and the tension leaves my chest.

Home. I’m home again.

I drop my bag on the floor with a dull thud. Images rush at me, memories that I’ve pushed as far as I could into the back of my mind over the last few months. Dark eyes, dark hair, tousled locks falling across his forehead, and a roguish crooked smile. Hands on my body, heat on my skin, his moans mixing with mine.

We were at his place, of course, not here. But I came back here afterward, so early the next morning that it wasn’t even light yet. I had just come to get my things, with no time to shower again before I left to catch my flight. I still had his scent on me as I picked up my suitcase and got an Uber to the airport. My head was full of him, and my stupid heart too. It was ridiculous. It still is. After all, it was only one night.

But still, it feels strange to come back with the same suitcases, the same bag. Except today, I’m not the same person I was three months ago. Today, I’m who I always was. But on that night, I was someone else. Does that make sense? Probably not.

God, I’m so tired.

My gaze lands on my bed. I desperately want to lie down, just to close my eyes for a few minutes, then I’m sure I’ll feel better. Then I won’t think about him anymore. Not about his lips on mine and how wrong it felt to just disappear. I reach for the necklace I’m wearing. My fingers close around the small pendant, feeling its edges, which have become too familiar even though they shouldn’t be. I made a lot of mistakes that night.

Sighing, I shake my head, shaking off every thought of him. Thinking about him won’t get me anywhere, it really won’t. I have other problems anyway. I shouldn’t be worrying about a guy I’ll never see again.

Mom is one of my problems. Dad too. He wasn’t in touch any more than Mom was the whole time I was away. I haven’t called him, and I don’t know why. It’s different with Mom. I can’t help myself with her; I feel obligated to get in touch with her, even if it’s only to make sure she’s okay.