Escapism (The Escapism Series) Read Free

Calliope, whose eyes were filled with contempt.
      After the tour ended, the girls and I walked around to become better acquainted with the big campus. Calliope found some entertainment along the way. He was tall, blond, and built like a football star.
      “Excuse me. Can you point me to Vaneer College?” She asked. He examined the map in Calliope’s hands.
      “You mean Vanier,” he scoffed. He pointed to the direction and we continued on our walk.
      “Thanks a mill,” Calliope replied, rolling her eyes.
      Marla and I stared in awe. Her impromptu pickup lines usually worked. Calliope was used to having all the attention in high school, but this episode demarcated a clear indication that we were no longer on familiar territory. Impressively, her feathers remained unruffled.
      “I didn’t expect him to know how to read,” she said. We giggled as the smug guy stood just a few feet away and had likely heard us.
      “It’s okay, Cal. He’s only the first guy to ever not flirt back with you. Maybe he’s gay,” Marla said.
      “Or maybe he has a girlfriend. Who knows and who cares,” I added, attuned to her ways. It was all a game to Calliope, anyhow. Calliope was definitely on a manhunt. She smiled and waved to another guy on a motorcycle. He definitely liked what he saw.
      “Excuse me, girls. It’s my turn to make a new friend.” Calliope winked as she walked toward her new target.
      “Call me! I need you to be my makeup artist tonight,” Marla shouted after Calliope, excitedly.
      Marla hardly ever wore makeup.  She was a natural beauty, with her big brown eyes and pinkish hue on the apples of her cheeks.  She relied on us—the ones who wore makeup on occasion—to fix her up a fancy face on special nights. Particularly, the final night of summer break, which marked the start of college life and its epic parties—who wouldn’t be excited?
      I drove Marla home conveniently down the street from me. I had a ton of laundry to do and Marla had her own errands to run before the party so we went on our separate ways.
      “Thanks for the lift. Call you later, Xeni,” Marla said, waving goodbye.
      “Later,” I responded, starting to feel the excitement boil under my skin. My parents called me Xeni, which had rubbed off on Calliope and Marla. In high school, they had nicknamed me “Z.”
      My last summer before university had been pretty uneventful—the days had whisked by. I decided to go for a run to clear my mind while the washing machine did its thing. Oddly enough, the more time I spent outdoors, the fewer people I would see. With so much available to us indoors—thanks to the Internet—virtually everything was within our grasp from the time we were children. Fewer youth occupied the streets; instead, they stayed indoors, neatly tucked away from the supposed dangers of the outside world, however blindly immersed in the inherent dangers of the world wide web.
      On my run, I felt as though I had the entire road to myself. There was little traffic on the otherwise deserted road and the summer air felt crisper in the afternoon—more like autumn weather. I strapped my Cyclopod to my arm and blasted some of my favorite alternative tunes while I jogged, peacefully clearing my mind. After twenty-minutes passed, I returned to check on the washing machine, which had nearly completed the spin cycle. In dire need of rehydration, I grabbed the first container within reach, chugging the orange juice and spilling a little on my T-shirt before I walked up to my room.
      Our monumental night began with the ring of my Cyclopod and me tripping over the cables to my laptop.
      “Z, what’re you wearing tonight?” Marla asked. She always called to ease her wardrobe dilemma.
      “I still haven’t showered, Marla.” I was anxiously preparing an outfit in my mind. “I’m leaning toward a black miniskirt, a gold sequenced tank top, and nude stilettos.”
      “That’ll look so good . I