How very wrong I was.

The duffle bag once again beginning its torment of my shoulder, as I climbed upwards, precariously gripping the other bags while I was forced to dodge and wait for the numerous other people that crowded the stairwell.

I quickly realized that the third floor was a carbon-copy of the first two, the rooms identically placed over each other, the same institution white covering the walls with university events-posters and an assortment of floor-related papers plastered up. Reaching the third floor, I looked down one hall, then the other. Some of the doors no longer even had the room number plate on it, and for one of the few times in my life, I was thankful for past year's graffiti across the wood surfaces which proved a sufficient alternative. Room 308 was at the end of the hall, and gracelessly I let my bags fall to the floor.

This was one of the few doors where the plate was still untouched, surrounded by a multitude of photos and sorority clips all centered around the white dry-erase board with the name "Charley."

Despite having the key in my hand, I could not bring myself to barge into another person's room, even if it was to also become my own. I knocked quietly, drawing back as the door flung open. The girl whose face and bare figure were visible on so many of door pictures stood inches from my face, easily a few inches taller and dressed in a robe. She massaged her wet hair with a towel.

"Hello?" she asked vacantly, raising an eyebrow.

I swallowed. "My name is Christine duPreé. I'm—."

"Oh, right, the foreign student. I forgot you were arriving today." She paused, shrugging helplessly at me. "As you can see, this really isn't the best time. Hold on." Even if I had interpreted what the girl said, the promptly closed door was certainly answer enough.

Slumping against the wall, I pulled out the worn picture of my father from my pocket. It had not even been three months yet. Three months and I was already standing in a foreign land, my few friends a continent away, surrounded by people I did not know and could barely understand.

Charley burst open the door, looking down disdainfully at me. "Well, come in," she ordered, leaving the door propped open. Bags surrounded my person yet there was certainly no offer of assistance. I pushed myself off the cold tiles and grabbed everything I could carry.

Once inside the room, I stopped and stared at my surroundings. The room hardly qualified as anything more than a large closet, but I expected nothing more. However, much to my distress and amazement, the outside door was only a mere taste of what I stood in now. Risqué posters of men covered the walls, more pictures (I did not see one without her in it) taking up the rest of the wall space. Clothes and shoes were strewn in every odd place, leaving no open space of the floor untouched. The only objects I found remotely attractive were the strings of white Christmas lights adorning the whole of the room save for the miserable corner where a plain bunk bed rested. It was not hard to determine which corner would be mine.

I approached the corner warily. Thankfully already arranged in a space-saving position, the dresser and desk sat underneath the bed. Neither was especially big (I noticed they were not the same models as my roommate), but I was too tired to complain. Putting my things down next to the dresser, I reached outside the door and dragged in the rest of it. Charley stood unmoved in the middle of the room, arms crossed. I shifted uncomfortably under her insistent stare.

"So where are you from again?"

I had heard those words spoken enough in the past few days to recognize them immediately. "Perros-Guirec," I answered quietly. At her confused expression, I continued. "In Brittany, France."

My roommate shrugged. "I thought something like that. You have a strong accent. But I have some friend from Europe, so it shouldn't be too hard for me to understand what you say."

She shut the door and proceeded to stretch herself out on the futon, flipping on the TV, an obviously new 27 inch sitting atop of a hardwood stand. "I wasn't even supposed to have a roommate," she said, glancing back at me, "but the school let in far too many students this year, most of which don't deserve to be here."

Despite the obvious distain in her voice, I offered up a weak smile and mumbled an apology. Looking around the room again, I could not help but feel the sharp pang of regret, and ashamedly, envy. This was a girl well established, confident. Perhaps, in some small degree, the way I once was.

I nearly tripped on the designer heels scattered carelessly about the floor on route back to my corner. I do not know if Charley snickered or not—the TV was turned up too loud. Serenaded by reality shows and repetitive, melody-lacking music, I began the task of unpacking.

Author's note:

I apologize—I know the beginning sections aren't the most exciting, butexposition and character development is always important.

TerpintineMind, thank you very much for your comment!

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.