My chin trembles a little, and beneath my breath, I say, “Thank you.”

He smiles, one that escalates with sincerity. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

8 PRESENT DAY – September

London, England

WILLOW HALE

Age 20

“Keep your door open,” Lo suggested. “It’ll be easier to make friends.”

That was my brother’s advice before I left Philly. Three weeks into the semester and I still haven’t taken it. Laughter grows outside my closed door as students walk down the hallway. The air always buzzes on Friday afternoons, classes ending for the week. Plans for parties springing up.

Not that I’ve been invited to any.

Pencil midair and textbook layered with scribbles and notes, I almost stand from my desk chair and open the door. Almost.

But the laughter grows even louder. What if I disturb the conversation outside? I could ruin someone’s joke, and then I’ll be known as the girl in room 301 who’s quiet and awkward and ruins fun. I’d be a literal buzzkill.

And what if they’re all friends anyway? My experience is that tight-knit friend groups rarely allow interlopers. And if they do, the interloper has to bulldoze their way in.

I am not a bulldozer.

I am more like a slow-moving turtle. The only friend groups that will allow me are the ones with clear vacancies.

Before I can settle on a decision—door open or closed—a bright green flyer zips underneath it and slides across my floor. Curiosity spikes and I abandon my textbook to grab the flyer.

Fall Into Film Bash

BYOB. Rooftop of Bishop Hall. There will be snacks and a screening of The Goonies.

Friday, 10PM

Okay…so I’ve officially been invited to a party.

But the party is tonight. I’d need a good week to work myself up to it, or at least have Garrison to go with. There are a lot of reasons I probably shouldn’t go. More reasons why I should. Maybe I just need a pep talk from my best friend. I check the clock and do the mental math to convert time zones. It’s not too early in Philly, so I dial her number.

Daisy answers on the second ring. “Hey, I was just about to text you. The last pic you sent looked beyond delicious. It literally made my stomach grumble. So either it was fantastic or your photo-taking skills have become extraordinary. Or both. Probably both, right?” I can hear the smile through her words.

My lips already lift. “Bangers and mash is really good.” Before moving here, I heard not-great things about the food in England, but so far I’m loving it.

I think it helps that Daisy and I made an agreement that I’d send pictures of each new meal, accompanied by a star-rating and review. Bangers and mash was a solid five-stars. Yummy yummy yummy was my official review. So it’s a good thing I’m a business student and not a professional food critic.

“Hey wait, let’s FaceTime.” She hangs up quickly and calls back just as fast. When I click into it, her bright green eyes hit mine. Blonde hair splayed across her shoulders and a wide grin. It looks like she’s sitting in her tree house, and her eight-month-old baby is curled up on her lap. Sullivan Meadows sleeps peacefully in a unicorn onesie, the hood complete with a glittery horn and all.