Author's note:
The University of St. Thomas, as appearing in this work, is a fictional school and setting completely from the author's imagination, and any semblance to an existing school(s) is entirely coincidental.
Current day, fall—
"I need to see your id."
I do not know how long I stared at him, trying to formulate the words over and over in my mind. Inwardly, I cursed myself…how many years had I studied the language? To have a memory lapse now, of all times…
I swallowed, taking a hapless glance at the several bags cluttered about my feet—all mine, much to my shoulder's protest. Did he want one of those? Did the university even do security checks? It was too much at once—too much stress, too much bustle, too many people, sights and sounds that were so foreign…
There were anxious murmurs from the growing line behind me. Cheeks flaming, I sent another pleading look at the young man seated at the desk.
"Your id?" he repeated, slower this time, raising an eyebrow. Against hope, I reached into my pocket and pulled out new piece of plastic, handing it to him slowly.
I had to resist a sigh of relief as he snatched it up, flipping jadedly through the box filled with little envelopes, at last selecting one for me.
"Your key to your room. Enjoy," he said flatly, looking past me.
"Thank you," I mumbled, grabbing the returned ID and envelope before shoving both in my back pocket. I heaved the bags up on different shoulders, anxious to get out of the grumbling line and curious stares. Avoiding the hordes of people bearing everything from 35" TVs to fish tanks, I stood by the corner, somewhat removed from the action, and leaned against a wall.
I had not slept in over two days. Despite the length of the flight from Paris, I could not fall asleep, the nervous twinge never leaving my stomach. Not traveling outside France since I was a little girl, the thought of going to a foreign country, meeting a grandmother I had never known and then being cast off to an American university was hardly inspiring.
I had somehow managed to find a taxi and direct him to the address I was given, at last arriving at one of the largest houses I had ever seen. Gated, the expansive brick house stretched the length of several of the other surrounding homes, rose bushes and columns lending a majestic, foreboding appearance. My bags dumped outside on the driveway, an older woman in a black dress greeted me at the door. I smiled, reaching to give her a kiss and she immediately backed away, her gaze turned downwards. Another woman appeared in the foyer, hair stark white, her clothing immaculate.
"Are you Christine?" she asked, her voice low and sharp.
I nodded, giving a weak smile.
"Very well. Someone will get your bags. Come with me."
Leaving my bags to the attending servants, I followed her into a large sunroom, taking a seat across from her.
"Tea?"
"Yes, thank you."
She poured me a cup, looking at me sharply. "You speak with a heavy accent." I gripped the teacup handle tightly. Truth be told, I thought she spoke with an even stronger British one, though it was not my place to say so. As it was, I was struggling to keep up with her words.
"You have a very beautiful home, grandmother."
She lifted an eyebrow and raised the cup to her lips. The conversation continued as thus, dry, rigidly informative, her eyes constantly looking over my travel-weary appearance. I did not understand how my mother could have been related to this woman at all; in my memory, she remained gentle, affectionate, her soft voice lulling me to sleep…
Someone bumped into my side, snapping me from my reverie. With some reluctance, I looked over to find the sloppy, handwritten notices pointing to the different directions of the dorm. It took me a longer than usual to decipher them with the montage of passing bodies, but it was not a futile attempt.
Gritting my teeth, I slipped past the doors to the correct wing, and started up the stairwell, whispering a prayer that my roommate would disprove my doubts of this place.