Again, but Better Read Free Page B

through.
    What?
    “Yes?” he answers, looking mildly confused.
    “Like the first episode of a show!” I continue. Stop talking.
    “Yes, exactly like that!” Atticus chuckles as he flops onto the black leather couch against the wall.
    I almost say: Lost has an amazing pilot! But before I can spit it out, Pilot speaks again, “Yeah, my parents are really, really into TV,” he adds.
    “What?” Babeexclaims in disbelief, at the same time I blurt, “Oh my gosh, I’m really, really into TV!”
    Atticus and Pilot laugh.
    Oh no, that was a joke . My cheeks burn, and I bow my head. Whilst interacting with attractive boys, I have a tendency to experience incoherent babbling and sluggish brain activity.
    I chuckle, keeping my eyes trained on the tiles under Pilot’s feet as the embarrassment wave ebbs.A moment later, the kitchen door opens behind us and Agatha sticks her head into the room.
    “Hey, Flat Three, I’m making my rounds. Orientation is about to start. If you could make your way upstairs, that would be great.”

3. Breathe, Just Breathe
    It’s now been thirty hours since I last slept. Orientation ended twenty-three minutes ago. We were shuffled outside onto the sidewalk and divided up into groups by four different twenty-something resident advisors. I ended up being separated from everyone. I watched, crestfallen, as Pilot, Atticus, Babe, and Sahra walked off in the opposite direction with a differenttour guide. I know it was just a stupid orientation tour, but it felt important in the moment.
    The RA took us around the general area, pointed out the laundromat (I’ve already forgotten where this is), the movie theater (it’s called the ODEON), and brought us to Orange UK (a cell phone place).
    My new phone is a little gray plastic box straight out of 2003. It has real buttons and no flip-topto protect them. When I powered it up, the background was set to a stock photo of a rock garden. There weren’t many options, but I’ve changed it to a close-up of a tiger’s face. Tiger’s face has more of a brave vibe than rock garden. On the way back to the Karlston, we stopped at a cafe where I ravenously ordered quesadillas. Note to self: Don’t order any more Mexican food in England. It’s not theirthing. I’m already getting hungry again. The RA mentioned something about a grocery store somewhere close, but the details have already fallen out of my brain. I can’t be expected to remember complicated things like which way the grocery store is while running on zero sleep.
    I’ve now gleaned the code to the kitchen (which was, in fact, buried in the blue folder paperwork), grabbed Sawyer, andsettled in at the table to write. I want to write about my experiences in England, so I’ve started working on a blog post about my first few hours here. I have my Horcruxes to house my personal musings, but I have a blog to post more polished writing pieces, like short stories that I’ve finished. While I’m here in the UK, I want to turn it into a study abroad blog of sorts and post short story versionsof my adventures.
    I let words drain out of me and into the digital space, until my doc is brimming with all the travel-related thoughts I’ve been wrestling with throughout the day. “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is playing softly, and my fingers are still dancing across the keyboard when I hear the door open behind me. I straighten, anticipating the need to make conversation. You got this.
    I turn in my seat. The hi I’ve loaded up dies on my tongue when I see Pilot. I glance around nervously as the door clicks shut behind him. Do not be silent.
    “Hey,” I force out.
    “Hey. Shane, right?” He meets my eyes.
    I nod as he walks around the table and sits across from me. “Pilot?”
    “Like the first episode of a TV show,” he drops casually.
    I bring my hand up to cover my face.
    He chuckles.“What are you working on?”
    I look at my laptop and back up to his eyes. They’re green. Like olives.
    “Oh,