Buffy pulled off her sunglasses, folding the black frames in her left hand as she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the dirty looks she was receiving from her fellow pedestrians. She stood frozen, staring up in wonder at the billboards and marquees of Times Square. It was just like the pictures she'd been staring at for the last five years; the wrinkled sun-bleached magazine cut-outs she'd taped to her bedroom walls.
There were sidewalk vendors on every corner, their carts full of baseball hats, hot pretzels and fake Rolex watches. Office buildings were right next to flower shops, and the entrances of apartment buildings were alongside restaurant fronts.
The city throbbed with a constant energy that Buffy had never seen before. Car horns blared as taxi cabs swerved in and out of traffic. Tourists filled the sidewalk while people in business suits darted through the crowds on their way to work.
None of Buffy's pictures had ever captured the pulse of the City, and she had never imagined that any place in the world could be so vibrant. New York City was a far cry from the one Starbucks town she'd grown up in.
It was nothing like California; Buffy hasn't been able to stop comparing the two since she got off the plane at JFK. People seemed to flow with such purpose; everyone knew exactly how to navigate the identical streets lined with identical buildings.
She took a deep breath and squeezed the straps of her bookbag for reassurance. Buffy licked her lips, doing her best to memorize every detail of Times Square. Tossing a look over her shoulder, Buffy joined the flow of people who were moving towards the street corner.
The light summer breeze threw her golden-blonde hair across her eyes, obscuring her vision and getting stuck on her pink lip-gloss. "Ugh, gross," she complained, wrinkling her nose. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, separating the highlighted pieces with her perfectly manicured nails.
Straightening her shoulders, Buffy slipped back into the flow of traffic. It was time to look confident; she was a freshman in college and old enough to be on her own.
"Now left or right," Buffy wondered out loud, standing in front of the crosswalk, a confused expression twisting her lightly tanned face. Her green eyes narrowed as she squinted down the long street, searching vainly for some point of reference.
The directions she'd copied down from NYU's website said to follow Broadway down until it crossed Third Street.
They would have been wonderful directions if Buffy has any idea about which way she was supposed to go on Broadway. Did she want to go North or South? For that matter which way was North and which way was South?
The street signs above her head said that she was on 44th Street and 7th Avenue. A wave of loneliness washed over her and Buffy swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. She had no idea where to go, and coming to New York seemed like the worst idea she'd ever had.
"Get a grip," she mumbled under her breath, "just think for a minute. This can't be that hard."
She turned her head to one side then the other, but both streets looked the same. "Well I gotta pick a direction," she said, forcing herself to sound calm and carefree. Her heart was racing with every step she took, and Buffy squeezed the handle of her suitcase even tighter.
Squaring her shoulders, Buffy walked towards the giant light board in the center of Times Square. It had a strange name, Jumbo something….Jumbo Tron, that was it. Everyone called it the Jumbo Tron, she reminded herself sharply, the knuckles of her left hand turning white as she clutched her suitcase in a death grip. Buffy wove in and out of the crowded sidewalk, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as the summer sun beat down on the people.
She stopped at another intersection, waiting to cross the street away from the chaotic mess of Times Square. Sliding her sunglasses back over her eyes, Buffy stepped into the crosswalk, hoping she didn't look as lost as she felt.
Tossing her long hair over her shoulders, Buffy grimaced when her right hand came in contact with frizzy wisps of hair. So much for making a good first impression, she thought bitterly. She hadn't even met her roommates yet and already she looked like a ragged mess. Gnawing nervously on her lower lip, Buffy looked at the buildings around her, hoping that she was going the right way.
Fifteen minutes later she was standing beneath a green street sign that read Broadway and 41st Street, a goofy smile on her face. "Alright, I found Broadway," she congratulated herself, "now Third Street should be pretty close."
Hoisting her bookbag higher on her shoulder, she pressed her hand against the lump created in the top by her purse before continuing down the street. She kept having to reassure herself that she was actually here, in New York City, thousands of miles away from the sleepy town she'd called home for eighteen years.
Twenty-five minutes into her trek, Buffy ducked into a Starbucks. Surprisingly the coffee shop wasn't too crowded and after waiting for the two people in front of her to place their orders, Buffy approached the register. "Can I get an iced mocha," she asked, wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand. She passed a five-dollar bill across the counter, smiling gratefully at the clerk as he returned her change.
Turning towards the other end of the counter where the finished coffees were being lined up for waiting customers, Buffy paused. She asked the teenager behind the counter how long it would take to get to Third Street. He chuckled, his eyes dancing behind the thick frames of his glasses.
"About an hour. It'd be quicker if you catch a cab."
Buffy grimaced. "Thanks," she mumbled, twisting her backpack around so she could reach into her purse. Pulling two wrinkled bills out of her wallet, she sighed heavily. First thing to do after she found her damn apartment was to go find an ATM. Spending all day in airports and then wandering around the City was quickly cutting into her cash.
She walked back outside, her green eyes flickering through the traffic, searching for a cab. "How hard could this be," she muttered under her breath. New Yorkers used cabs every single day; it couldn't be that tough to find one.
Raising her right arm in the air, Buffy called out "taxi," her high voice swallowed up by the cacophony of car horns and police sirens. Three more attempts and a battered yellow car that looked like it should have been retired a decade ago pulled up alongside the curb.
Buffy stepped into the street and slid into the backseat of the cab. "Third Street and Broadway," she told the cab driver, leaning back against the rough leathery seat. He grunted in response, swinging the car back out into the traffic.
She shifted her purse around inside her book bag, pushing her suitcase further across the bench seat. Looking out the dusty window of the cab, Buffy tried to drink in all the sights and sounds of the City.
It was hard to truly get the feeling of New York when she was trying to navigate long avenues and avoid walking too close to anyone for fear of losing her bag. Sitting back in the cab, Buffy felt herself relax for the first time all day.
Ripples of excitement tinged with fear swelled up inside her, and Buffy pinched the fleshy part of her bicep. She was still in a state of shock and disbelief, the last few hours felt like they had been a dream.
"You got an address lady or you just want me to keep driving 'til you see the right place," the cabbie asked, his rough voice bringing Buffy back to reality.
She double-checked the address she'd scrawled on a scrap of paper, and told the driver the number of her apartment building. He grunted again, swinging the cab into the right lane without even bothering to see if there were any cars in his way.
Four screeching turns later the cab came to an abrupt stop in front of an impressive high-rise building. "Here you are," the cabbie said, "that'll be ten-fifteen."
Buffy passed him a twenty dollar bill. While she waited for her change, Buffy pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. Giving the cabbie two dollars for a tip, she smiled gratefully as she stepped out of the cab.
She licked her lips, tipping her head towards the sky, fascinated by the sheer height of the building. Buffy stared up in awe at the massive structure, guessing that there had to be at least fifty stories inside. Glancing at her watch, Buffy couldn't suppress the goofy smile that spread across her lips. Kicking the side of her suitcase so it would roll properly, she grabbed the handle and pulled it towards the revolving door.
"Welcome to college," she muttered under her breath, crossing the sidewalk. Pushing the tarnished gold bar of the door with one hand, she struggled to keep her suitcase upright. Three-quarters of the way around the small circle, Buffy stepped out of the revolving door, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder.
Pulling off her sunglasses, she slid them into the bag before taking a hesitant step into the foyer. She'd imagined her dorm to be small, intimate and homey. Instead the entranceway to her building looked like a sterile hotel lobby. Several elevators took up a wall to her left and to her right were four closed doors, partially hidden by a long concierge desk.
In the center of the entranceway, several folding picnic tables were set up next to an enormous wooden sign that read "Welcome Back". To the right of the tables was a narrow hallway, which Buffy assumed was home to more offices.
Glancing at the pieces of paper taped in front of each student sitting behind the desk, Buffy stood behind an Asian girl, waiting for the R-Z line to begin moving.
She looked around at the other people milling around the entranceway. Parents and their teenage children were moving back and forth between the elevator and the revolving door, carrying boxes, shopping bags and duffel bags in a never-ending stream.
Within a few minutes, she was standing in front of a girl in a faded NYU sweatshirt whose nametag read Jasmine. "New student," she asked, taking one look at Buffy's wide eyes and smiling understandingly.
Buffy nodded, "yeah. Buffy Summers."
"Okay," the slender girl murmured, the hundreds of tiny braids in her hair moving back and forth as she flipped quickly through the enormous box of manila envelopes.
"Here you go. There's your orientation schedule, student id card, mailbox key and address, freshman handbook, map of the city and class schedule."
Buffy's green eyes widened as she took the heavy envelope.
"Just initial this and here's your room key," Jasmine continued, sliding a smaller envelope across the table towards Buffy.
"Thanks," Buffy said, taking a step away from the table. She stopped, "does it matter which elevator I take," she asked, not wanting to get lost in her own building.
Thankfully her question didn't seem too uncommon because Jasmine didn't even bat an eye. "The two on the left stop at the high end of the hall, middle one stops in the middle and the two on the right stop at the low end."
Before Buffy could ask which one she should take, Jasmine pointed to the far right elevator. "Take that one up to the seventh floor, make a right then a left. Your room'll be right there."
Buffy nodded, smiling gratefully as she moved out of line. Two steps away from the table she realized that she has no idea where to pick up her moving boxes. Instead of carrying everything on the plane with her, Buffy had filled enormous moving boxes and shipped them to the City. At the time it had sounded like a wonderful idea except now she had no idea where to find the boxes.
Tears welled up in her eyes and Buffy bit her lip savagely. "Shit," she whispered under her breath, turning around to see Jasmine already talking to another student. All of the other students behind the picnic table were handing out packets and making notes on their clipboards, trying to work through the never-ending line of people.
Buffy ducked her head down, tucking long pieces of blonde hair behind her ears as she turned in the direction of the elevators. Maybe once she found her room and came back down to the lobby, the lines would be shorter. Before she could take more then two steps, Buffy collided into someone.
Wincing, she squeezed her eyes shut, counting to five before opening one eye. She looked up, surprised when she was eye-to-eye with an olive green shirt. Tipping her head upwards, she smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry," she squeaked out.
"That's alright." Thankfully the person she'd almost run over didn't seem to be as temperamental as everyone else Buffy had met so far. His sandy-colored hair fell across his forehead and Buffy thought that he looked more like a football linebacker then a college student.
He smiled down at her, hazel eyes taking in every inch of her tiny frame, extending his hand. "I'm Riley."
Buffy slid her hand into his, never breaking eye contact. "Buffy," she said softly, pulling her hand away before he thought she was a clingy lunatic.
"You look a little lost," Riley said, tipping his head to the side.
Buffy let out a harsh giggle, "that's putting it mildly."
Her eyes widened and she looked up at Riley, wide flirty smile in place. "You might be able to help me though," she added, doing her best Scarlett O'Hara impression. Channeling her inner Southern Belle always worked on her mother, it was worth a shot with this guy.
Riley's smile widened and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll try."
"I mailed some boxes before I got here and was wondering where to pick them up."
He nodded, "that I can answer. See this little hallway, it's the last door on the right. Just go in there and they'll give you all the stuff."
Buffy smiled; never underestimate the power of feminine wiles. "Thanks," she said, moving past Riley, mumbling how it was nice to have met him.
Instead of catching the hint, Riley started walking alongside Buffy. "Those boxes can get kinda heavy," he said, "if you want some help, I'd be happy to carry them for you."
Buffy's smile went from flirty to strained in less than a second. She'd heard all about crazy ax-murderers who looked normal and then snapped once they got their victims alone. Her mother would have a fit if she found out that Buffy was enlisting help from people three minutes after they met.
"I'm actually going up to my room now. Just wanted to know where to get the boxes," she said, trying her best to sound apologetic and not bitchy.
Riley grinned understandingly, "no problem. Nice meeting you, by the way."
"Likewise," Buffy said, wiggling her fingers as she walked towards the elevator bay.
Once the elevator doors hissed shut, Buffy let out a relieved sigh and leaned against the mirrored wall. She pulled open the envelope with all her housing papers in it, looking inside the manila envelope with anything with her room number on it. The first paper she pulled out had a sticky note with Room 659 written in black marker. "Thank God," she muttered.
As if on cue, the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Buffy stepped off the elevator, her room key and a pile of papers clutched in her left hand, dragging her suitcase with the other. "659, right then a left" she muttered under her breath, wondering if she would ever learn where anything was.
So far New York City was a confusing mess of streets that all looked alike, filled with people who knew exactly where they were going, with no time for lost college students. Her dorm didn't seem any better, every hallway looked exactly the same.
"655. 657. Here we, 659."
Sliding her key into the lock, Buffy turned it to the left, the heavy door sliding open. She stepped cautiously into the apartment, not sure what to expect. The only thing she could imagine were pictures she'd seen on the virtual tour of campus.
She stepped onto the gray carpet, her sandals sitting on top of the unyielding material. A bounding bass greeted her ears and Buffy winced. Apparently one of her roommates was already there. She dropped her suitcase on the floor and slid the straps of her backpack over her arms.
Taking a deep breath, she locked the door behind her, trying to absorb every detail of the apartment. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, trying to steady the unrelenting butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. At first glance the apartment was exactly like the pictures she'd looked at on the Internet.
A ratty sofa and armchair was directly in front of her, in an unofficial sort of living room. Between the two pieces of furniture was a chipped coffee table that sloped to the left a bit. A bookshelf and TV cabinet sat on the opposite wall; instead of being covered with knickknacks and videos, both were empty shelves of plywood painted with cheap wood veneer. If all her roommates were already moved into the apartment, they hadn't made any effort to put their stuff around the common area.
The kitchen area was on her left, a small bit of tiled floor with pathetically small counters, a refrigerator, stove, microwave and sink all jammed together. A metal table with four chairs sat in the center of the tiles; Buffy supposed that it was meant to be the kitchen table but it looked like something better suited for a patio.
She walked further into the apartment, turning around the sharp corner that separated the bedrooms from the rest of the space. There was a door on her left and two on her right, with an open door to the bathroom at the end of the tiny hallway. One of these must be the double, she thought, remembering that there was a double and two singles in every unit in this particular building.
Pausing outside the door on her right, Buffy knocked tentatively, feeling the door thump in time with the music. If the head banging, electric guitar squealing, screeching singer with a drum solo music was any indication of her future roommates, she was screwed.
"It's open," a loud voice with a rough accent called. The music dropped down to a less-then earsplitting volume as Buffy stepped into the room, a plastic smile already on her face.
A curvy brunette was standing on one of the twin beds, trying to hang a long poster on the wall. She turned to face Buffy, her brown eyes rimmed with black liner, dark red lips parting in an equally fake smile.
Leaping off the bed, she wiped her hand on the back of her black tank top. "I'm Faith," she said, extending her hand towards Buffy.
Buffy smiled and introduced herself.
Faith chuckled, cracking her gum like a waitress in a roadside diner. "Got it. Two down, one to go. 'Cause, you know that there're only three of us, right?"
When Buffy continued to stare at her blankly, Faith snorted. "Some chick bailed. At least that's why the guy down at check-in central said."
Shaking her head, Buffy tried to keep track of the whirlwind conversation; the combination of Faith's thick accent and the pounding music was making it difficult to think.
"Sit down," Faith prompted, jutting her chin in the direction of the other bed, the one that wasn't buried beneath piles of stuff. Turning down the volume on the CD player, she flopped onto the bed, oblivious to the mess of clothes spread all over.
Her legs dangled over the sides of the bed as she sat, sprawled across the tiny mattress, her eyes fixed on her new roommate. Buffy sat down gingerly, crossing her ankles together, folding her hands tightly in her lap. She felt like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, in that stage of awkwardness that no witty conversation starter could really break.
It's going to be a long semester, Buffy thought, staring at a spot on the wall somewhere above Faith's head.
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