“God these are ugly,” I say. But then I catch myself. “Wait, I’ve got an idea.”
I dig into the oversized purse I’ve brought with me, fishing around until I find my small makeup bag. Buried at the bottomare two strips of sticky-backed face jewels. I peel a red one off and stick it on the back of my phone, then do the same with a blue one, affixing it to Claire’s.
“This’ll spice them up a little.”
Claire smiles and it brightens up her whole face. Her lashes are darkened with mascara, and the blush I carefully applied to her cheeks back in the dorm before we left glows in the sunlight.
“Oi, ladies!”
The shout comes from up ahead, and I spot long tanned legs and a head of bleach-blond, pink-streaked shoulder-length hair pushing through the door to the student center. The girl jogs towards us, and as she gets closer, I take in her sun-kissed skin, the loose jean shorts, and cropped T-shirt that screams surfer girl chic. I swallow a bite of jealousy.
“I thought I saw you in here as I was walking past. Claire and…Phoebe, right?”
“Yes,” I answer cautiously. “Should we be concerned?”
“No,” she says with a laugh, turning the two-letter word into multiple syllables, so that it sounds more likena-ar.“I memorized the photos of you all. All the Adventure Abroad students,” she clarifies when my eyebrows crinkle. “I’m Hari, the teaching assistant for the program. I’m like your student advisor. I’ll be traveling with yas.”
We exchange greetings, Claire’s smile nearly as wide as her whole face. I feel that same pinprick of jealousy again.
“So where ya headed?”
“We’re going to the campus bar. Phoebe suggested it.” Claireshoots me a shy smile.
“Nah, you don’t want to head there. This time of year, it’s dead as.” I wait for her to finish, but she leaves the comparison hanging. “Everyone’s already gone home for break. But hey, you’ve probably not had a chance to meet the others in the program, ’ave ya? Come on.” Hari grabs our arms gently, and I watch Claire’s eyes widen at the unsolicited physical contact as she leads us back in the direction in which we’ve come. “Let’s head back to your dorm. I’ll introduce yas. Then we can all head to a local pub.”
I want to protest, to regain control of the situation, but at the same time, I don’t want to miss out.
“Sure,” I say instead, increasing my pace so that I’m the one leading the way back.
We reach our dorm a few minutes later, Hari chatting the entire way, peppering us with questions. Where we’re from—me, Atlanta; Claire, Illinois—what our majors are—me, marketing (the easiest major offered at my school); Claire, nursing. But Hari barely stops talking long enough to listen to our answers. When we finally walk up to our brick building, a girl is leaning against the front of it, leg propped, staring down at a cell phone.
Her face is so decorated with silver jewelry it’s nearly impossible to make out her features aside from blue-streaked braids that fall to her waist, but as we get closer, I can tell her eyebrows are knitted together. She gives off a tough vibe, but her face transforms when she sees Hari, the hardness melting away, and her chocolate brown eyes turn warm, gentle.
“Hari!” she yells excitedly.
“Girls, this is Ellery. She’s…Canadian?” Hari prompts.
Ellery nods. “I’m from Ottawa originally, but I go to school in Toronto.” Ellery’s voice is higher than I expected, making her upbeat personality even more incongruous with the safety pins dangling from her earlobes. “Majoring in social work. What about you two?”
Hari leaves us to introduce ourselves, ducking inside the building to find the others, just as another girl exits. I inhale sharply as I look at her. She’s gorgeous, like model gorgeous—Hari’s beauty on steroids. But unlike Hari’s surfer-chic style, every inch of this girl is polished, from her perfectly highlighted long blond hair to her glistening cheekbones to the darkened eyelashes framing her steel-gray eyes. Her tanned legs seem to stretch on forever, something she’s clearly aware of given her choice of skirt, a denim number that barely reaches past her pubic line.
“Ah, and this is my roommate, Adrien,” Ellery says.
Adrien’s eyes skirt over the two of us. She dismisses Claire quickly, but her eyes linger on me, scanning my outfit, spotting a threat. Dislike blooms immediately.
I know this girl. Or her type at least. A mean girl, just like the ones back at my university in Atlanta. The ones who ruined my first attempt at a fresh start. It only took one of them to recognize me, and then the rumors started, filtering through my entire dorm and lingering like a bad scent. All about the thing I did, or what they thought I did at least—no one could ever prove it. But my roommate requested a transfer, leaving me alone in a single, and everyone else followed suit.
“Where are you from, Adrien?” Claire asks.
“Cape Town,” she answers in a superior tone. “South Africa.”
“So, is this an all-female program or something?” The question sounds more bitter than I intended, but I’m desperate to take the attention off this Kate Moss knockoff. As if on cue, Hari leads out a group of four guys from the dorm building.
Heat throbs in my chest as I take them in, the possibilities. My eyes scan quickly over the first one. He’s endearingly nerdy looking. His long brown—almost black—hair is parted neatly down the middle and looped behind his ears, and his wide eyes, located just a touch too far apart on his face, are emphasized by a pair of thin, Harry Potter–esque glasses.
“Okay, okay. Time for introductions!” Hari announces. “This is Tomas. From Italy.”
Tomas gives us all a small wave, a broad smile reaching from cheek to cheek. “Ciao.”
