Month 6 – The Best Kept Secret

 "Sydney, before you leave, can I speak to you for a moment?" I hear my dad's voice echo slightly through the hallways of SD-6. I nod and move towards an empty briefing room.

I sit down as my dad clicks the button to shut the doors and pulls out his pen-bug killer.

"Tomorrow, when you are at school, go to classroom 132 sometime between ten and twelve. There will be a display set up to interest students in various exchange programs. When the program coordinator asks if you have any questions, ask him how much rain they really get in London. I don't know what he will be able to tell you, but this is the only lead I was able to turn up for you."

I smile gratefully at my father. "Thanks Dad."

He nods, but this time he meets my eyes. "Just be careful, Sydney."

…

I wander up to the display for England. The poster features a gorgeous campus and describes the year long program available. I casually pick up a pamphlet and pretend to flip through it as the presenter finishes talking to another student.

After a few minutes the coordinator comes over.

"Are there any question I can answer for you Miss?"

"Sure," I reply, putting the pamphlet down and studying the man in front of me. He's tall and lanky, but he carries himself with a bit of grace. He casually runs a hand through his reddish-brown hair.

"I know this is going to sound silly, but I have this friend that was telling me how great this exchange program was, except for the fact that there was hardly ever a sunny day there. Now I've lived in Los Angeles all my life, and as you can imagine, I'm quite used to the sun.  So if I am considering going overseas for a year, I just want to know, how much rain do you really get in London?"

The man scrutinizes me for a moment before turning around motioning for me to take a seat in one of the desks. There are still a few students milling about so I comply.

"So you're Sydney?" he asks me quietly as he sits down across from me, turning the chair around so that he doesn't have to sit backwards.

"Yes. And you are?"

"James Nottingham." He extends his right hand to shake mine. From his earlier demeanor I expected a wimpy handshake but his is firm and strong. I notice that there is a lot of intelligence behind his blue eyes "Program coordinator you could say. I've heard a lot about you."

I can't help but raise an eyebrow. "From my father? He's the one that suggested that I visit this presentation."

I watch James fidget with a pen that was lying on the desk. "Ah, yes, well your father did mention that you were considering applying for this program. But I was thinking of one of your friends that has already participated in the exchange program. Ah…his name escapes me at the moment but I remember that he spoke very highly of you."

"Really? Well my friend told me some things about the program and it sounded very exciting, but I'm just worried that it might be too good to be true."

He looks at me for a moment, his expression softening slightly. "Yes well, you understand why we don't advertise much. There are only so many spots available, and the competition is always very tough."

I nod. "I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, I'm not even sure if I will apply."

I notice that another student has approached us and is waiting for him to finish talking to me. It's obvious that James sees him as well.

"Well, even if you decide not to apply to the program I sincerely hope that you come and visit sometime. London is a beautiful city, and there are some excellent tour packages that you can buy. Just make sure that you get one that includes a visit to the Tower of London. It's not included in all the packages and some people don't think about visiting it until the end of their trip. They call it our best kept secret. Funny isn't it?"

I try and smile, but instead I feel like crying. All my doubts, all my worries, they were for nothing. I had been right in the first place to believe him. "Thank-you for your time," I manage to push out of my mouth.

"My pleasure Miss Bristow." He shakes my hand again before getting up and moving to another student.

I walk quietly out of the room.

I would have thought that receiving confirmation of his story would lighten the weight on my shoulders somewhat, but it doesn't really. I feel guilty for not believing him, and I am also angry with myself for letting other people's opinion change what I believed was right.

I don't know how I can possibly hope to apologize to him for all my doubts; in him and in myself.