London Falling. Chanel Cleeton
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The more was what kept me up at night, reliving our conversations, basking in the memory of our kisses. The more meant I was basically screwed.
I pushed the golf ball-sized lump out of my throat. I wanted to be alone and yet I didn’t. Sitting in this room, reliving that night with Samir over and over again in my head, would drive me nuts. There were ghosts here. Ghosts in every hallway, every stairway, in the cafeteria and common room. Memories of last year I couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard I tried.
In the beginning, he’d just been this guy I’d met on my first day at the International School—a guy who, embarrassingly enough, had accidentally seen me naked. I didn’t know then that he would become my friend, or be the one I’d share my first kiss with. And I’d never expected him to become someone I couldn’t live without.
He’d been single for most of the year, so when he’d casually mentioned he was dating someone, it had been a shock. I knew everyone said it was an arranged relationship, one his parents wanted for him, but that still didn’t ease the ache inside me, and I had no clue how to push past it. I needed a distraction.
“Do you want to go out?”
“Tonight? The night before our first day of classes? On a Sunday?” Mya looked at me like I had three heads.
I shrugged, the idea forming, taking root. Alcohol and dancing might be the only things that would make this disaster better.
“It’s only the first day. At most we’re going to read the syllabus. I bet none of our classes will even go past the first half hour.” Not to mention the fact that over half the student body routinely blew off the first week of classes. “Besides, it’s London, there are a ton of bars and clubs open on Sunday. It’ll be fun.”
“Okay, what have you done with the real Maggie?”
I flashed her an easy grin. “Maybe this is the new-and-improved-Maggie.”
I’d done the moping-over-a-guy thing for way too long. If Samir wanted to walk away and pretend nothing existed between us, fine. But I wasn’t going to wait around for him. Last year I’d spent too much time obsessing over Hugh, the twenty-seven-year-old British bar owner I’d casually dated. Not to mention how much of my freshman year I’d spent in knots over Samir.
This year was going to be different. It had to be.
“Are you sure everything’s all right?”
The concern in Mya’s voice was what made her an amazing friend. She was the first person I’d befriended freshman year and was easily the nicest person I’d ever met. Unfortunately right now I needed less emotion, and more champagne and dancing on tables. I needed Fleur.
“I’m fine. Just a little stir-crazy. I spent months in the U.S. not being able to drink and hanging out with my grandparents. I love them and all, but I kinda need to have some fun. You in?”
Mya grinned. “Fine, I’m in. But it’ll be your fault when I fall asleep in class.”
“Fair enough.”
I grabbed my phone and shot off a quick text to Fleur.
Drinks. Dancing. Tonight. No boys.
Ten minutes later, Fleur waltzed into the room. “So where are we headed?”
“You tell me. What’s the new, hot place no one can get into?”
With a model’s body and a socialite’s wardrobe, Fleur was the epitome of trendy. Long, sleek brown hair, big brown eyes and the kind of tan it took a tanning bed for me to achieve made her a knockout. Her personality made her trouble—the kind you couldn’t resist. Despite our rocky start freshman year, she was now one of my best friends.
Last year had been rough for her, and she didn’t seem to want to party as hard as she used to, but she was still the go-to for social advice. I figured she needed to let off steam as much as I did.
“I like where your head is at. There’s this place called Air.”
“Seriously? What kind of name is that?”
Clubs in London tended toward edgy, one-word names, as I’d learned last year. The décor may have differed between clubs, but there were always a few staples you could count on—overpriced drinks, half-naked girls, and plenty of drama.
“It’s an oxygen bar.”
I had to laugh at that one. These were the moments when I felt the furthest away from my unremarkable life back in South Carolina.
“Of course it is.”
* * *
ONE OF THE benefits of my not-so-glamorous summer job in retail was the employee discount. At a school like the International School, being on scholarship made it tough, if not impossible, to keep up with everyone else. My bags weren’t Gucci or Prada; my shoes weren’t Jimmy Choo or Giuseppe Zanotti. But thanks to my discount, I had a whole new wardrobe of cute dresses. I would never look like I’d walked off the runway like Fleur, but it was good enough for me.
We were in full-on pre-gaming mode—loud house music blared through Fleur’s computer speakers. I was more of a hip-hop fan, but I wasn’t complaining. We’d gotten into this habit last year—pre-gaming in our room before a night out. Having Mya here as a roommate made it so much better. We traded hair and makeup tips, shared outfits, and did some dancing and drinking while we got ready.
I’d missed them desperately these past few months.
“You guys all set?” Fleur asked, a wide smile on her face.
This summer had been good for her. She seemed lighter, happier. Last year had been rough. Her boyfriend, Costa, had dumped her before the start of the semester for another girl at the International School, but then continued to fool around with Fleur, making her believe he really cared. I hadn’t understood why she was so connected to him until she’d told me about her accidental pregnancy—and subsequent miscarriage. It had all come crashing down around her at the end of last year when Fleur had learned how fickle he really was, a devastating loss that had pushed her into a drug overdose. It had been a scary wake-up call for all of us, but one Fleur had seemed to need.
The Fleur standing in front of me was laughing and smiling again, some of the sadness erased from her. She finally seemed to be over Costa. Now I just needed to find her a nice guy—the right guy. Given how things had ended last semester, with him bringing her flowers in the hospital, I had high hopes for my friend George.
I grabbed my purse off the bed, weaving slightly as I walked. A summer of not drinking was catching up with me, and my normally low alcohol tolerance seemed even lower than usual.
I followed Mya and Fleur out of the room, excitement and anticipation filling me.
I loved nights like this—unplanned, full of possibilities. For me, London was one big adventure—you never knew what to expect or what the night might bring. London was like a drug—an incredible high you never wanted to come off of. It made you feel like you could do anything, be anyone. You could reinvent yourself in a city like this.
This time last year I’d been nervous and unsure of myself. The International School had been a glamorous, intimidating place that made me feel like an impostor, playing dress-up and trying to fit in. Now I belonged.
“Going somewhere?” a voice called out.
I looked up and my gaze instantly connected with Samir’s.
Samir
I DIDN’T KNOW where to look first.
In the cafeteria I’d been afraid to sneak more than a glance at her, sure that if I did, the whole school would see what I wanted—who I wanted. But she’d left so quickly—fled when Fleur dropped her little bombshell—and I’d lost my chance. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. This time I looked my fill.
Her brown hair seemed longer than it had been