Page 5 of The Token Yank

“The luxury,” Rafe repeated. “Was this stated anywhere? This is the first I’m hearing aboutit.”

“I believe the information was included on the website. In the program cost, meals were not part of the package.” Her voice trailed up, like a question.Are you really asking methis?

Rafe’s stomach growled. “What if I don’t have anyfood?”

“There’s a café in the studentunion.”

He imagined his parents shaking their heads at him. How could he sign up for a program and not look into the meal plan? He was expecting culture shock to be calling an elevator a lift, not attending a school without dining halls.Maybe I should’ve thought about more than hot British accents.Perhaps his reach for independence was a stretch toofar.

He remembered pushing his parents away when they tried going over study abroad programs with him. He’d never been a bratty kid, and had always welcomed his parents’ opinions. But study abroad stirred something within him. It was about being truly on his own, and the idea of that flashed strongly in his mind like an immigrant seeing the Statue of Liberty in the distance. He was an adult. He didn’t want someone else booking and double-checking his adventure forhim.

His stomach growled in dissent, this time loud enough for the program liaison tohear.

* * *

Rafe rolledhis suitcase down a sloping road into a valley of newly constructed dorms. It was steeper than it looked, and he had to catch himself from slipping since it was slick from a recent rain. He maneuvered down sideways, holding his arms out for balance. His suitcase got caught in the downward velocity of the hill, a snowball gainingspeed.

Bam!The suitcase knocked Rafe in the back of the knees and sent him tumbling down the rest of the hill. He landed in a rain puddle, which seemed about right.Is it too early to gohome?

He found Sweeney Hall, the second dorm in a block of buildings. Kids gave him side-eye for his wet, dirty appearance. Rafe swiped his key and lugged his suitcase to the staircase. With its fresh paint and bright blue carpet, Sweeney Hall had the feel of being untouched. There was nothing quaint about it like he’d imagined his British dormroom.

He swiped into his suite. It was a hallway with bedroom doors and a swinging door at the end that he assumed held the kitchen. Nothing very suite-like about it. More like anunnery.

“Wow.” It was the sliver of good news he needed. A bedroom all to himself with a brand new desk, a full-size bed, and his own bathroom. He’d hit the college dorm jackpot. Maybe his study abroad trip wasn’t a complete disasteryet.

Rafe didn’t even wait to put sheets or a duvet cover on his bed. As soon as he hit the mattress, he was out. It was two p.m. Englandtime.

Moonlight sliced through his blinds when he was jolted out of sleep by a violent crash, followed by the sound of a manyelling.