She’s cute for being such a little shite.

The Indian girl sitting nearest to me shuffles her syllabus. “It says we’re supposed to make introductions.” She has an American accent. “I’m Priya. I’m a business major with an emphasis on public relations. My hometown is Chicago, no I’ve never lived in India, yes I love mehndi and use henna on my hands, yes I speak Hindi.”

Okay then.

“What are your hobbies?” the guy in front of me asks.

“Shopping and reading. I’m also getting my pilot’s license.”

“Whoa, that’s awesome” they all seem to murmur breathlessly.

Priya flips her long, glossy black hair. “My father is a pilot and it’s just something I’ve always wanted to do, so last year I started taking classes. There’s a small airport nearby. I take my classes there.”

More impressed oohs and aahs.

“So that’s me.” She shoots me a pointed look. “What’s your story, Mr. Tough Guy?”

Mr. Tough Guy. Ha.

“My name is Ash,” I begin. “Ashley. Go ahead and have your crack of fun.”

People usually have something to say about my name considering in America it’s primarily a woman’s name, but in Britain, it’s a man’s name that goes back centuries.

But no one in this group laughs, so I clear my throat and go on. “I’m obviously not from here.”

This time, they laugh, and I tick off a few facts about myself, counting them off on my fingers as I go.

“I play rugby. Senior. Surrey, England. Fish and chips.”

“You forgot to tell us your major,” Priya reminds me.

“Business. Will probably go to grad school, but I won’t get that degree in the States—I’ll do it back home. We’ll see.”

Surprise raises the brows of two of them.

They wait for more, but there is none.

Everyone turns to face Georgia.

She clears her throat self-consciously and blushes. “Hi, my name is Georgia. I’m from a tiny town in Texas, and this is my first semester here. They cut my scholarship for track so…here I am. Uh. My major is business, like most of yours, and I’d love a career in public relations.” She pauses a few seconds whilst she thinks. “I’m on the track team and run hurdles. I love baking and can’t function without caffeine. Uh…I love Target?”

The girls in the group giggle.

“That’s me. That’s it. I mean, I could talk for days, but I’ll stop, ha ha.”

Fuck she’s cute.

“Wait—if you’re a transfer student from Texas…do you live in the dorms or are you in a house off campus?”

Georgia blushes again. “I’m in the dorms. Orientation for track two weeks ago was only the second time I’ve been on campus, so…” Her shoulders rise up and down.

“That sucks,” Priya announces. “Which dorm?”

“Lucas Hall—I think it’s mostly older students? I think. I’m not sure, I don’t pay attention to anyone.”

“Yeah that’s mostly older people,” the other girl clarifies. “I have a friend who lived there last year. It’s not totally horrible.”

Georgia gives her a grateful smile.

All heads swivel to the bloke directly in front of me.

“I’m Jamal. Junior. Second baseman on the baseball team. Major is economics, I’ll probably study contract law.”

Baseball team?

I knew I recognized him.

We fist-bump.

“I’m from Jacksonville, Florida. Like comic books, sports, grilling out.” Jamal shrugs, ending his introduction. “That’s about it.”

On to the next dude.

“What’s up, I’m Brian. Canton, Ohio. Political science except I’ve changed my major twice so I won’t be graduating any time soon and my parents are going to kill me.”

Sucks to be Brian.

My mum and dad would flip—no tolerance for extending my stay, though they’ve been gracious enough not to row with me about moving from the UK to America. Not yet, anyway.

I know if it took me longer than four years to earn my degree, they’d have something to say about it, and that something would be less than charitable.

Yup, sucks to be Brian.

He better get a move on. No sense in dallying.

What’s his holdup? He trying to be in school the rest of his life? I like it here, but dang—I’m not staying any longer than I have to.

“I’m Nalla, and I’m local. Well, sort of local—I grew up about forty-five minutes from here. I used to live on campus, but now I commute so I can work after class. I work for my parents. They own a printing company, do mostly clothing. I don’t love it, but whatever.” Nalla shifts in her seat. “My major is mass comm and marketing. I love drawing and art museums and graphic design.”

We all look around at each other, done with the task and the introductions.

“Now what?” Nalla says. “Do we just sit here, or…”

Georgia scrunches up her face. “I think the professor said once we were done we could leave and then we’d pick up on Thursday with the actual assignment? We’re supposed to read page blah blah blah in the syllabus.”

Did she just say blah blah blah instead of actual page numbers?

The fives rise up around the same time other groups begin to finish, saying goodbye and peace out, see you on Thursday.

Only Georgia and I are left standing in our row.

“Do you…” I can hear her clear her throat. “Should we get coffee or something?”

“No.” I hoist my backpack up off the ground and shove my papers inside.

“Please? Let me take you for a coffee. Or a sandwich? Everyone has to eat, right?”

Yes, but not with each other. “Stop trying to make this better.”

I turn and walk away, leaving her standing there staring after me.

Three

Georgia

Thursday

I brought him cupcakes.

Cupcakes I made from scratch, which was almost impossible to do given the fact that I live in the dorms.

I had to beg a favor from Tamlin, who lives off campus in a not horrible house with three other girls and a not horrible stove.

She had muffin tins, too, which helped.

Baked goods.

That ought to thaw Ashley Dryden-Jones’s loathing for me.

Ashley.

An old, romantic name for such a huge goliath of a guy.

It suits him in a way—not that there is anything romantic about him. Still, it’s a contradiction, and I like it.

He’s not terrible, just…

Not friendly toward me.

He was perfectly pleasant—even cheerful—with the rest of the fives in our business class, but there was no love lost for me.

The tension was real.

I felt it every time he glanced in my direction but looked right through me instead.

Ouch.

That did hurt.

I didn’t mean to hurt him the way I did; who would have thought a big guy like him would be so sensitive? Which just goes to show: I know absolutely nothing about guys.

He felt slighted, as if I meant to humiliate him in front of my friends. And sure, maybe things would have looked that way from his point of view, but surely it wouldn’t kill him to hear me out!