The school started at the side of the curb, gracing it's presence with grass and fountains among the otherwise concrete jungle. Alicante University was a smaller, more diverse university in New York which offered a vast array of subjects but catered more delicately to Arts, Tourism, Sports and Hospitality. The lush green was only disturbed here and there by hedges of roses gracing the walkways to and from the large, cobblestoned academic buildings and housing. Clary sighed happily, walking along the pathways into her new life. She'd desperately wanted to come here after learning this was where her mother had attended all of her classes. She'd seen the photos, the degrees of prestige adorning the walls in their quaint study at home, and immediately her goal in her early life was clear; attend Alicante.
It's only been two days after orientation and already she was more than eager to start classes. This past week was all a bunch of nonsense, meeting a crowd of blurred faces and trying to communicate your enthusiasm to each and every one over your acceptance into university and then to make the best first impression was down-right tiresome. Clary was always happy to meet new people but this year she felt awkward at the best of times, and being surrounded by a fresh horde and not knowing a single soul was tough.
I was grateful that at least I was placed, blessedly, with a room-mate who knew how to both charm and ward off the masses. Even in the short time we'd been here, Isabelle kept up a never-ending line of puppy-dog eyed boys' trailing after her and her sarcastic and uninterested wit.
She was strikingly beautiful. Long, straight black hair, athletic, bright blue eyes, no flaw on her face and legs that never ended. I could not have been more jealous if I tried. She was the, if not, exact opposite to me. Short, naturally slim, bright red curly hair, green eyed, pale… In skin and in comparison. Where my skin was porcelain hers was cream.
I sighed, staring out the window from the small, white and pale wood dorm room and muttered to myself unintelligibly. Isabelle glanced over from her over flowing wardrobe and laughed.
"What are you even doing, Iz? We don't have time for this; we need to get to class."
"Some of us aren't fashionably challenged," she said, poking her tongue out at me and returning to her wardrobe massacre. I couldn't believe how many clothes she'd actually tried to stuff into it. I think I can even see a pink boa peeking out from one of the drawers! Who actually has a pink boa? I shook my head.
My phone jerked me out of my curiosity upon closer inspection and I moved around to grab it. A huge grin spread across my face as I looked at the caller ID and Simon's ugly mug flashed across the screen. I'd taken this photo a few years ago when he and Eric were mucking around and pulling faces. He's complained that I should change it to save him the embarrassment but I couldn't bear to let him live it down.
I missed this guy more than I would ever tell him; he'd easily help me out of my uncomfortable and awkward personality that I only ever reserved for anyone outside of my family.
Isabelle noticed the change in my demeanour and rolled her eyes. Again. Her signature move for sure, by this stage. This is the second time he'd called this week, though when I picked up last time I almost had my head barked off by the instructor for not paying attention to her class orientation. Isabelle knew of Simon but I hadn't told her who it actually was.
My smile grew; this situation was going to be fun. I picked up the phone and turned away from her and lay down on my bed.
"Hey rockstar," I said by greeting.
"How are you?" Simon asked. She could just picture him and his smile through the receiver; his glasses falling down his nose, his floppy hair in his eyes, his lame shirts.
"I'm the best, Si. I've been accepted into Art here at the university, can you believe it?!"
"Of course I can. Do you remember the drawing you had of our Art teacher, Mr. Dennings? You've always been the class Picasso."
I laughed, rolling over on the new double bed and staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, recalling the crude drawing of stink lines coming from his arm pits. I think we were eight, or so, at the time. "He was always very… Invasive."
"I think you got detention for like a week but your mum totally let you off the hook at home for your creativity once she saw the drawing." Simon laughed.
"I was told I was grounded for a week too but when mum came home the drawing went straight on the fridge. I don't think she ever went to a parent-teacher meeting of mine after that year. It's-" I paused, a hiccup catching my breath while I tried to speak uncomfortably around the lump in my throat. I made sure to hide my face behind my hair to stop Isabelle from asking any questions. Thankfully she had just left to go to the bathroom to do her make-up.
Simon's laughter died.
"How are you? How's your tour?" I asked.
"Long." Simon complained, barely covering his water-logged throat sound, "I feel like I haven't had this long a break since it started!" Simon sniffed and coughed again, obviously trying to cover his emotions for my benefit. "The boys are getting restless I think they are ready to go home too. New York is only at the end of this week. Only one more week of this shit and I'll be done until the next album."
"Have you started writing already?!" I groaned.. "Simon, you're in over your head." I smiled though, realising his vocabulary has started to become more colourful hanging out with the boys on tour. It's about time really, he sounded like a ninety year old nun.
"Hell no. Well there's this one song but it's cheesy and lame so I don't think there's anything to it."
"Cheesy and lame… from you? No. Never. Impossible." I laughed. "What's it about? Or who, should I say. "
"No way, Fray. You're not getting it out of me this time. The last time I played you one of my cheesy songs it somehow, magically, found its way online and I don't know how you did it but I'll never forgive you."
We were both laughing when Isabelle tornadoed (yes, that is the only word for it) through the room looking like a Victoria's Secret Angel and started exclaiming we were late for our first class.
So, I've noticed that I do jump from first person to second person in many of my stories so I have tried to clean this one the best up that I could. Please, don't hesitate to tell me when and where/if I do it. I appreciate each and every review for my stories. Until next time, readers, happy reading!
Next chapter will be called "The Art of Planning."