Page 4 of This Stays Between Us

Phoebe

Then

The sound of knuckles brushing hesitantly against wood comes a moment before the door to my new shared dorm room eases open.

“You don’t have to knock,” I say, as Claire walks over the threshold, water droplets left from the shower dampening the shoulders of her T-shirt, her wet hair slicked back into a ponytail. “This is your room too.”

Her cheeks flush as she busies herself rearranging her suitcase.

I’ve noticed she hasn’t unpacked a single object other than the ones she used in the shower, as if cautious not to leave her mark on the room.

My eyes flick back to my bed, the week’s worth of outfits I’ve strewn over the scratchy comforter as I tried to settle on the best option for tonight.

“I wasn’t sure if you were doing something.

I just figured I’d let you know,” Claire mumbles down towards the floor.

When she looks up at me, her eyes widen, taking in my silhouette in the cheap mirror affixed to our cinder-block wall and the outfit I’ve carefully curated: a skirt that falls just below my waistline, showing off my protruding hip bones, the white tank top hovering a few inches above it, the Tory Burch sandals strapped to my feet.

“Wow,” she breathes. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” I say, seeming to shrug off the compliment, but it buries in my heart. I glance over at her, taking in her wet hair, her baggy T-shirt, the flannel pajama pants.

“Uh-uh,” I say, “what is this? Why are you dressed for bed?”

“I’m so tired,” she says. “I didn’t get much sleep on the flight and—”

I wave away her explanation. “Nope, I won’t hear it. We’re only here for a month. We need to make the most of it. The campus bar is open until ten. I figured we could stop there first.”

Claire looks like she’s considering protesting, but then changes her mind. “Okay, just give me a minute to get ready,” she says, pulling on a pair of baggy jean shorts.

“Wait,” I order, tossing her a discarded sundress from my bed. “This will look great on you.”

***

Twenty minutes later, we’re ready to go. As soon as we throw open the door to our building and emerge into the shared courtyard, the early evening heat descends like a stage curtain. Sweat pricks my underarms, but I relish it, thinking of how early it’s been getting dark back in Atlanta.

We stroll through campus; narrow walkways weave around man-made ponds, small purple flowers littering them, dropped from the perfectly landscaped jacaranda trees that seem to be everywhere.

It’s gorgeous, that’s for sure, but it’s also…

empty. We don’t pass another person the entire fifteen-minute walk to the campus center.

Exams must be over by now, I realize, the students all returned home for the summer break.

Concern bubbles in my stomach. If campus is this empty, I can’t imagine the bar will be much better.

The student center is only marginally livelier.

Stores line the hallways—a travel agency, a pharmacy, even a salon—until the building opens up into a food court–style cafeteria.

Most of the stores are closed, but I spot an “open” sign outside one at the far end of the hallway.

It looks like a convenience store from here.

I grab Claire’s hand and guide her that way.

“Come on, there’s something we should do.”

Ten minutes later, we exit the store, each equipped with the type of black Motorola flip phone that was in fashion five years ago.

In the dozens of pre-trip emails sent from Adventure Abroad, the coordinators advised us to buy new cell phones for our time in Australia, as the ones we used back home wouldn’t have service.

I had planned to splurge for an iPhone, but upon seeing Claire blanch at the price tag, I decided not to embarrass her.

“God these are ugly,” I say. But then I catch myself. “Wait, I’ve got an idea.”

I dig into the oversized purse I’ve brought with me, fishing around until I find my small makeup bag. Buried at the bottom are two strips of sticky-backed face jewels. I peel a red one off and stick it on the back of my phone, then do the same with a blue one, affixing it to Claire’s.

“This’ll spice them up a little.”

Claire smiles and it brightens up her whole face. Her lashes are darkened with mascara, and the blush I carefully applied to her cheeks back in the dorm before we left glows in the sunlight.

“Oi, ladies!”

The shout comes from up ahead, and I spot long tanned legs and a head of bleach-blond, pink-streaked shoulder-length hair pushing through the door to the student center.

The girl jogs towards us, and as she gets closer, I take in her sun-kissed skin, the loose jean shorts, and cropped T-shirt that screams surfer girl chic. I swallow a bite of jealousy.

“I thought I saw you in here as I was walking past. Claire and…Phoebe, right?”

“Yes,” I answer cautiously. “Should we be concerned?”

“No,” she says with a laugh, turning the two-letter word into multiple syllables, so that it sounds more like na-ar.

“I memorized the photos of you all. All the Adventure Abroad students,” she clarifies when my eyebrows crinkle.

“I’m Hari, the teaching assistant for the program.

I’m like your student advisor. I’ll be traveling with yas. ”

We exchange greetings, Claire’s smile nearly as wide as her whole face. I feel that same pinprick of jealousy again.

“So where ya headed?”

“We’re going to the campus bar. Phoebe suggested it.” Claire shoots me a shy smile.

“Nah, you don’t want to head there. This time of year, it’s dead as.

” I wait for her to finish, but she leaves the comparison hanging.

“Everyone’s already gone home for break.

But hey, you’ve probably not had a chance to meet the others in the program, ’ave ya?

Come on.” Hari grabs our arms gently, and I watch Claire’s eyes widen at the unsolicited physical contact as she leads us back in the direction in which we’ve come.

“Let’s head back to your dorm. I’ll introduce yas. Then we can all head to a local pub.”

I want to protest, to regain control of the situation, but at the same time, I don’t want to miss out.

“Sure,” I say instead, increasing my pace so that I’m the one leading the way back.

We reach our dorm a few minutes later, Hari chatting the entire way, peppering us with questions.

Where we’re from—me, Atlanta; Claire, Illinois—what our majors are—me, marketing (the easiest major offered at my school); Claire, nursing.

But Hari barely stops talking long enough to listen to our answers.

When we finally walk up to our brick building, a girl is leaning against the front of it, leg propped, staring down at a cell phone.

Her face is so decorated with silver jewelry it’s nearly impossible to make out her features aside from blue-streaked braids that fall to her waist, but as we get closer, I can tell her eyebrows are knitted together.

She gives off a tough vibe, but her face transforms when she sees Hari, the hardness melting away, and her chocolate brown eyes turn warm, gentle.

“Hari!” she yells excitedly.

“Girls, this is Ellery. She’s…Canadian?” Hari prompts.

Ellery nods. “I’m from Ottawa originally, but I go to school in Toronto.” Ellery’s voice is higher than I expected, making her upbeat personality even more incongruous with the safety pins dangling from her earlobes. “Majoring in social work. What about you two?”

Hari leaves us to introduce ourselves, ducking inside the building to find the others, just as another girl exits.

I inhale sharply as I look at her. She’s gorgeous, like model gorgeous—Hari’s beauty on steroids.

But unlike Hari’s surfer-chic style, every inch of this girl is polished, from her perfectly highlighted long blond hair to her glistening cheekbones to the darkened eyelashes framing her steel-gray eyes.

Her tanned legs seem to stretch on forever, something she’s clearly aware of given her choice of skirt, a denim number that barely reaches past her pubic line.

“Ah, and this is my roommate, Adrien,” Ellery says.

Adrien’s eyes skirt over the two of us. She dismisses Claire quickly, but her eyes linger on me, scanning my outfit, spotting a threat. Dislike blooms immediately.

I know this girl. Or her type at least. A mean girl, just like the ones back at my university in Atlanta.

The ones who ruined my first attempt at a fresh start.

It only took one of them to recognize me, and then the rumors started, filtering through my entire dorm and lingering like a bad scent.

All about the thing I did, or what they thought I did at least—no one could ever prove it.

But my roommate requested a transfer, leaving me alone in a single, and everyone else followed suit.

“Where are you from, Adrien?” Claire asks.

“Cape Town,” she answers in a superior tone. “South Africa.”

“So, is this an all-female program or something?” The question sounds more bitter than I intended, but I’m desperate to take the attention off this Kate Moss knockoff. As if on cue, Hari leads out a group of four guys from the dorm building.

Heat throbs in my chest as I take them in, the possibilities.

My eyes scan quickly over the first one.

He’s endearingly nerdy looking. His long brown—almost black—hair is parted neatly down the middle and looped behind his ears, and his wide eyes, located just a touch too far apart on his face, are emphasized by a pair of thin, Harry Potter–esque glasses.

“Okay, okay. Time for introductions!” Hari announces. “This is Tomas. From Italy.”

Tomas gives us all a small wave, a broad smile reaching from cheek to cheek. “Ciao.”

“And this is Josh,” Hari points to the guy next to Tomas, who looks like he just stepped out of a frat house. He’s wearing a backwards baseball cap over blond hair that reaches below his earlobes, and has round blue eyes.

“Hi. I’m American as y’all can probably tell. I go to school in California.” He rattles off the name of a pretentious college that I should probably be impressed by.

“Declan,” Hari pushes on, signaling to the skinny Irish-looking one with auburn curls that set off his pale, freckled cheeks. When he speaks, his thick brogue confirms my suspicions. I feel Claire stiffen next to me, and when I steal a glance over at her, her gaze is locked on him.

“And last but not least.” The final guy of the four steps towards us, not waiting for Hari’s introduction.

He has a perfectly manicured face with dark eyes and a thick-lipped mouth filled with teeth as white and perfectly shaped as Chiclets, all topped with jet-black hair gelled into a side part.

He’s beautiful, that’s for sure, with the confidence that comes with someone being told as much his entire life.

“I’m Kyan,” he says, in a posh accent. “From Singapore, but I went to school in the UK. Just finished actually, so I’m a bit older than the rest of you.

But I couldn’t resist one final hoorah before starting real life.

” He looks at me with that comment, a glint in his eye, and winks.

I feel my heart beat faster, heat rise in my cheeks.

“Nice to meet you all.” This comes from Adrien, her previously cold tone now replaced with a put-on honey warmth. I bristle as Kyan’s attention turns to her and her typical Barbie-like beauty. I think fast, desperate for a way to get his eyes back on me.

“So, are we going out for drinks or what?” I ask.

Hari chuckles. “Right, right. We can head there now. Bar’s just a kilometer or so down the road. Figured yous’d be okay with walking.”

We take up behind her, and I make sure to sidle up next to Kyan, close enough that his arm brushes against mine, sending a frisson of pleasure along my skin.

“So, yous ready for your first Australian night out?” Hari asks midstep, turning back to take in our expressions.

I decide to play it cool. “I guess, as long as there’s alcohol involved.”

But my comment is lost among the excitement from the others.

“Of fucking course,” Kyan pipes up, at the same time that Tomas shouts, “Absolutely!”

And I realize my mistake. I don’t need to play down my excitement—the others aren’t. Instead, I notice a strange glance from Josh, a note of judgment for my lack of enthusiasm.

I force a smile onto my face, hoping no one else noticed my brief error.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like they did. The others are all smiling and talking as we walk. And why wouldn’t they? This group is going to become family for the next few weeks as we have ridiculous adventures and experiences.

I try to do the same, but a pinprick of dread lodges in my chest. Because I know how fine a line I’m walking. How easy it would be to become the girl I left behind in Atlanta.

One small misstep could bring everything crashing down.