Halfway Valentine | Chapter II: Chaos

"Emily! Emily Fitch, oy!" Cook's loud voice made me drop my weighty luggage again at the base of staircase. "Ya gonna be at the party tonight?"

I held back a strong urge to let out a loud groan as the Irish lad rushed up to me. About two dozen people were engaged in various conversations around the first floor. For a moment I thought I had escaped and no one would bother me anymore. This was just very surreal. In an annoying way. To be honest, I had spent the summer back in Bristol haunted by the fear that I wouldn't make any friends in Kyoto. But I thought wrong. Somehow, my red hair had brought all these people falling at my tiny awkward feet. 

I puffed a breath and shifted my holdall onto the other shoulder. "I don't know," I mumbled with obvious reluctance. "I mean, I had just moved in . . . and I need to take care of some stuff."

"Like what sort of stuff?" Cook lifted his brows. "I'll help ya with whatever, c'mon!"

I glanced down grimly at the huge bright blue bag lying face down on the floor. "Like this bloody heavy luggage, for starters."

"Ya need help to get that up in yer room?" Cook leant against the railing and folded his arms.

"Well, it's obviously bigger than me," I answered, and he laughed. 

"If I give ya a hand with that, ya'd promise ya'll be there later?"

I considered his proposal for a second, then gave a one-shoulder shrug. "Do I have a choice?"

Cook grinned widely. "Awrite, ye've got yerself a deal, doll!" He quickly hoisted my luggage and carried it up with his two arms.

I followed Cook upstairs, feeling slightly woozy. How long can I keep this 'I'm the oh-so-cool Emily Fitch' act up? I wasn't sure if I had the stamina it took to be this instantly popular. All I'd done was walk from the staircase to the lobby and back to the staircase as I had remembered my luggage. It had taken me twenty minutes because I'd had to stop six times to talk to people.

Maybe I'll take a nap or make myself a mug of ice-cold chocolate milk or look for some familiar faces on Skype for comfort. I'd just arrived, but the idea of having to be popular for the rest of the day made me feel dead tired.

I quickened my step, hurrying after Cook. I'd go inside my room, put on my pyjamas, and lock the door to prevent further socialising. I wondered how Katie dealt with all of this. It made me more sure I would never want to be in her shoes.

The fourth floor landing was only a flight of stairs away. With any luck, I could go run up to my room without . .

"Emily! Wait up!"

My heart sank. I recognised Sean's voice immediately. "Hey, Sean." 

"I'll take it from here, Cook." Sean suddenly took the luggage from Cook's arms and lifted it effortlessly in one of his toned arms. A soccer ball was tucked in his other arm.

Cook grinned at me. "I would love to entertain ya some more, Emily babes, but right now I think my mate here is tryin' to extend an invitation to ya." He bobbed his head vigorously and gave me a squeeze around the waist. "Right so . . . see ye two later, yea?" He gave Sean a clap on the back. "Seanski my boy, be gentle an' don't scare her away, yea? And now, if ye'll excuse me, I have a bit of romancing to do meself." He took off after a tall, statuesque Brazilian brunette.

"Poor girl," I commented.

Sean smirked. "Oh, I wouldn't necessarily feel sorry for her. Some people go for inappropriateness. And anyway, Cook is so charming."

"Not to mention quite an effective talker," I added dryly.

"How could anyone forget that?" We both watched as Cook chatted up the brunette who didn't seem to appreciate his straightforwardness. Then we shared a fit of laughter and continued on up the staircase.

Sean refocused his attention on me and gave a tentative smile. "So. I've read a lot about you."

I smiled uneasily. "I'll bet you have. You and everyone else."

Sean stopped, his cheeks turning crimson, and studied the wall behind me. "It's not as bad as it sounds like, believe me. It's not like—but okay, I told you there's this list that Cook started, right? Well, we sort of rank girls based on their hotness points—shaggable points as Cook puts it . . ."

"What's my final score?" I asked drolly, starting up the stairs again.

Sean gave a little sheepish grin. "Well, erm, I can't answer that now 'cos we haven't asked the other guys yet. But you're way up there, if you know what I mean. I mean, you seem really cool. And you're cute. And charming. And you look real sweet. And you play football which won you plus awesome points."

I smiled at him, my face glowing with pleasure now. "You really said some nice things about me, didn't you?"

"And they're all probably true," responded Sean. Then we reached my door and he parked my luggage on the floor. "So, you comin' to Keith's Pub later?"

"If I manage to get around the place by bus or whatever, yes. I haven't got a bicycle yet."

Sean smiled. "No problem there. I could give you a ride—a back-ride on my bicycle. I have pretty strong sense of balance."

I quirked a brow. "Did you just mock me?"

"I did not." He shook his head, chuckling. "No. Not at all. I actually thought the klutzy scene at the stairs was so damn cute." He gave an easy grin. "So, wanna go together?"

"Well . . ." I suddenly stiffened as I caught a glimpse of Naomi having a chat with this Taiwanese lad named Jake in front of the floor restroom. She was eyeing me in the same icy manner. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. It seemed like I was a walking bad news to this girl. Every time she spots me, she just turns into a total cunt. Perhaps I reminded her of an old foe or some tart who stole her boyfriend. If I stay in this hallway for a longer time, I swear I would be frozen from her stares. To escape in the shortest way possible, I looked up at Sean again and nodded. "All right," I said quickly, and inserted the key into the door knob.

"Sweet. If you need any more help, I'll just be downstairs." Sean grinned, spun the soccer ball on his finger, and ambled away.

When I turned my head sideways, Naomi had already disappeared into the restroom. Thank God. I opened the door to my new room, smothering a yawn. My head was really starting to hurt. It wasn't on my checklist to remain a wallflower—but after today's events, I had decided that being a wallflower was really underrated.

Katie stood in the middle of our room only in her underwear, a pile of clothes at her feet. She examined a hot pink mini-dress, decided against it, and tossed it into the pile along with the other rejects.

"For Pete's sake, Katie, it's a funeral, not a rave party." I frowned at the webcam.

Katie paid no attention to me. "Maybe your navy silk dress," she said. "Nice but proper." She went over my closet and plowed through the neatly hung clothes until she found what she was looking for. She held the dress up in front of her. "What do you think?"

"Katie, they're burying your boyfriend's grandmother. As much as I loathe Danny, I still think he loved his Gran dearly and he's mourning right now. How can you be so concerned about the way you look?" I tried hard to keep my voice level. I was really looking forward to gushing and rambling about tons of things to my sister but instead it turned out to be The Katie Fitch Show. I wanted our first Skype session to about me—my twin asking me about Japan, my dorm, my new friends, my new room, or if I had met a girl I really like—but I should've predicted another Katie Fitch drama would surface.

Katie darted a glance of annoyance in my direction. "Emz, please. This is too much. I give Danny, like, comforting hugs and kisses whenever he bawls like a fucking baby, I wipe his nose, give him water, tell him that it's gonna be okay, listen to all his granny sob stories—all that concerned girlfriend bullcrap, but I can only take so much. I deserve, at least, to wear a fabulous outfit and feel good about myself while I sit among a throng of depressed people in dark suits and boring dresses. I'm actually tempted to be a no-show."

"You've got to be joking," I said with utter disapproval. "Danny's grandma just died. Imagine what he must be going through right now. Think about it, Katie. Danny needs you by his side. Treat him as a charity case for now. He's wounded, fuck's sake." I couldn't believe I was talking like this. Danny Guillermo, Katie's arrogant yet fabulously wealthy boyfriend who's an international model, was my least favourite person in this world, yet I had the capacity to think about his welfare.  

"He's a bore. That's what he is right now. Whimpering and moping and being such a downer these past few days. God, he can put me to sleep in about three seconds." 

"He's been arranging a funeral, Chrissakes. What do you expect?"

"And he might be arranging another one soon 'cos he's boring me to death. Plus the fact that he screwed up big time again last . . ." she trailed off and muttered a "Shit." Then I saw her swallow and started examining her hands with intense concentration. She changed the subject abruptly. "What do you think of this new shade of nail polish I got? Too bad-ass?"

"Katie . . . you don't really think you're going to get off that easily, do you?" Katie might be four minutes older than me, but it seemed like—and everyone we know would agree—that I was the older one by fourteen years. I fixed her with a hard stare.

"Emily, I hate it when you look at me that way," she groaned. 

"Just tell me."

Katie zipped up the navy dress and surveyed herself in the full-length mirror on the back of our door. "I forgot to tell you—well, no. I chose not to tell you," she said. "Danny fucking cheated on me a week ago. I didn't tell you because I know exactly how you would react and you'd tell me to break up with him and judge me harshly for the gajillionth time. Brooke caught him with that fucking frisky ex-girlfriend of his, Allie McGee, having a tongue duel in a phone booth."

"But you still took him back," I said with a scowl of disbelief, my hate toward Danny intensifying ten thousand-fold. The caring Emily Fitch was suddenly gone.

Katie bit her lip. "Well, he said that he was at the weakest point of his life where he's questioning his sexual marketability. He said it's normal for guys who are in long-term relationships." She looked in my jewelry box and selected a pair of tiny gold hoop earrings.

"What about that time when you caught him in a club with another bimbo in his arms only a month ago?"

"Danny said I was being a nag. And he, like, needed an escape from some sort of relationship hell. It's also a common thing men do, according to him." 

I was almost white with rage. "Katie, do you hear yourself right now? You're being stupid. He keeps on doing this because he could always get away with it." I sank further into the swivel chair and folded my arms. "Don't defend him and don't allow him to make excuses for all his bullshit and stupidity and pure arseholeness. It's not a joking matter. Christ, Katie, please wake up!"

Katie jutted her chin up and straightened her shoulders. "All right then, I'll fucking dump him. After the services, I'll get rid of him for good." 

"Yea, right," I snorted in disbelief. "As if you could survive ten seconds without a poor boyfriend to choke and wheedle shopping money from."

Katie gave me a little wave, as if to dismiss the subject. She went over to my closet again and selected a pair of grey heels. 

"Hey, what about your own shoes?" I asked. "The ones you just bought? What's wrong with those?"

"But, Emz, these go perfectly with the dress. Can't I wear them?"

"Katie, you spent a month's allowance on your blue shoes."

"Whoa there, missy." Katie held a hand up. "They're not just 'blue shoes.' They are Louboutins. Delic suede Lou-fucking-boutins," she said matter-of-factly. "But okay, if that's the way you're going to be . . ." My sister disappeared from my laptop screen—probably heading toward her own closet.

But a moment later she was back. In her hand Katie held one blue pump. "Fuck. I can't fucking find the other one," she wailed.

I had to crack a smile. "Frankly, Kates, I don't know how you managed to find one shoe in that mess." Katie's side of the room was in its usual state of disarray, looking as if it had been hit by more hurricanes than the South Sea Islands.

Katie continued to stand in front of the computer, a pleading look on her face. "All right already." I sighed. "Wear my fucking shoes."

Without hesitation, Katie slipped into my grey shoes, and the corners of her mouth turned up. Story of my life. As usual, my twin had gotten what she wanted.

"What do you mean you can't tell?" Cassie trilled into the phone.

"I told you I can't," I repeated for the third time, pacing around the phone booth area at the dorm basement as far as the telephone cord could allow me.

"How hard can it be?" She let out a snort. "Does she have any tatts? Like one of those lesbionic interlinked female symbols or a nautical star? Is she wearing a rainbow-coloured bracelet or something? How many piercings does she have? How about the fingernails? You have to take note of the fingernails!"

"I haven't noticed."

"Well, is she available?"

I ran a hand through my tangled hair. "I haven't asked."

"You silly hobbit! What is wrong with you?" my best friend exclaimed. "God, you're such a wimp. These things aren't to be considered lightly, Emily. You need to get your arse movin'!"

"Calm down, okay?" I hissed into the phone as Cassie laughed. She just loved getting on my nerves. "We've only been acquaintances for, like, four hours. And it’s not very clever to say to someone you’ve just met, ‘Oh, by the way, are you single? Because I think you’re unbelievably hot and we belong together.’"

Cassie giggled on. "I’m sorry. I’m just too fucking thrilled for you, babe. And pleasantly surprised to anticipate a lot of action."

"Yes. But not with the Blonde Babe. She seems to hate me." I nibbled at my fingernail nervously. "I think I’ve made quite a bad first impression on her. Shoot me now."

"Jesus. Do you even know her name? Like, full name? And what room does she stay in?"

I stopped in my tracks. "Her name is Naomi. Naomi . . . and she stays in . . ." I trailed off twice, and looked at the wall in front of me as though the answers might appear to me in writing. "Nope, I don’t."

"Jesus Christ! How can you track her?" Cassie burst out, laughing. "You are an incompetent little creature, Emily Fitch. You’re moving two miles per hour!"

I lowered my head and strummed an index finger on the phone cord. "Whatever," I mumbled, feeling rather humiliated and, yep, wimpy.

Despite that, I have to admit it was so comforting hearing my best friend’s voice, to have a stirring normal conversation with her.

After sitting through half an hour on Skype listening to an upset Katie Fitch go on about some boy drama for the bazillionth time in my life and talking to my nosy, irksome mother on the phone, I desperately needed all the good vibes and support I could haul out. I needed someone who would actually listen to me and not just pester me with bollocky problems or bombard me with nagging dos and don’ts.

From inside the lounge, I could hear voices chattering in different languages. The metal door opened and a couple of familiar faces—Thomas and Panda—emerged laughing together. It was a cute sight. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something going on between the two. I wouldn’t be surprised if there indeed was.

"Hey, Emily!" Thomas beamed upon seeing me.

"Blooming 'eck! We were just talking about you!" Panda chimed in brightly.

I gave them a quizzical look. "You were?"

"Yea!" Thomas responded with a friendly grin. "Well, I just had a chat with Karen and she agreed to organising a hike up Mt. Yura. She also suggested doing yoga and Pilates on the mountaintop. Sean told us that you are quite sporty so I thought you’d be up for it."

I frowned and shifted on my heels uncomfortably, yet willed myself to decline. "Erm—"

"It’s gonna be wicked fun!" Panda clapped her hands happily. "The boys are gonna be all half-naked and sweaty!"

Thomas noticed the handset in my hand and gave an apologetic smile. "Oh, sorry, Emily. I didn’t realise you were—" He held up his hands shamefacedly and started walking backward, "but okay, don’t worry ‘cos I’ll be giving you an orientation and a brief training first." He took Panda’s hand and off they went toward the end of the hallway. "I’ll just give you a heads-up, all right? But it’s definitely happening sometime this week or next week just before school starts to get toxic!" he added before disappearing up the staircase.

"Yea, can’t wait!" I called back.

I put the phone back in my ear and spoke, "Hey, Cass, sorry ab—"

"Oh, my God. You are such a terrible liar," responded Cassie with a snort of laughter. "Even from six thousand miles afar, I could hear you faking it, you know."

"I know." I let out a sigh, feeling a slight throbbing sensation in the back of my head just above my neck. "God. I hate this. This is too much, Cass. Thomas and Panda are cool. But, I don’t know, I feel all this pressure bogging me down around them."      

"Maybe they just like you."

"Well, then, they like me for all that I am not," I said miserably. "I hate hiking. I hate yoga and Pilates. And above all, I hate seeing half-naked blokes. Just the thought of it makes me sick."

"Erm . . . I refuse to comment on that." Cassie’s contrasting opinion was palpable and there was silence for a moment. "Uhmm . . . What about this Sean guy that you mentioned earlier? Why’s he a problem?"

The throbbing in the back of my head got worse. "Everyone thinks we’re an item," I blurted out with as much annoyance as I could.

"So what? I see no reason to get huffy. I mean, I know you’re a full-fledged muff-diver, Emily, but I also know you’re no man-hater either so where is all this hostility coming from all so suddenly?"

I cupped a hand over my mouth so anyone couldn’t hear me. "He’s being a tad too friendly—bordering on freaky flirty at times. Which was funny because—and I . . . I know this is stupid—but I sort of let him because I don't want to spoil my first day here in Japan by broadcasting to everyone that Emily Fitch, the ‘fit Fitch’," I lowered the volume of my voice even more as the words tumbled out in a rush, "only goes for tits and fannies. I bet some people would love to make a big fuss out of it and I will automatically wind up as an outcast."

"And why would that happen? I mean, you’re in a different world now. They wouldn’t give a shit."

"Here's a fact, Cass: Homosexuals here in Japan are so not in. So, no, they actually give a shit. It might also sabotage my already ailing relationship with the Blonde Babe. So, yea, I can't afford that. And so when Sean offered a back-ride on his bicycle to the pub later tonight, I didn't hesitate to say yes. And when all these guys flirted with me, I sort of flirted back. Just a little."

Cassie let out a whistle of awe. "Wow. I must say, this is all very baffling. But you know what you gotta do? You gotta embrace your newfound image, Ems. You’re a starlet there, Chrissakes! Rejoice!"

"A straight, slutty starlet," I deadpanned.

"Still a starlet. Now go out and celebrate! It’s a blessing to not have to struggle to fit in. Some people have to work on that all their life."

I twisted my mouth to the side. "Okay. Maybe I’ll—"

"I’ve got to disappear, Ems. My romantic roving eye is telling me to go pop by The Downs. There’s this guy with mismatching socks who jogs there every Sunday morning and he is fucking fine as hell. Plus, I see him as a potential in the background. Even though he’s never said or done anything to give me that impression."

I stood in the hollow hallway, my voice echoing as I spoke. "You’re stalking another boy again?"

Cassie let out a gasp as if she’d been insulted. "I’m not stalking, excuse me. I’m actively forgetting a boy named Adam and the patch of zits on his forehead and actively seeking potential autumn distractions. You should, too."

"You mean a potential heartache?"

Cassie cleared her throat loudly. "Emily Fitch, I hereby pronounce you free from your past," she declared dramatically as if I were being tapped on the shoulder and being knighted.

"What the hell? I am so over Taylor," I protested.

She only ignored me with a sniff. "Look around. Pick a girl you want. You don’t have to fall head over heels for her—you just have to like her."

Leaning against the wall, I hmmmd out loud. "Well, that is quite a challenge, considering that—"

"I’m sorry, Ems. I really gotta go. But best of luck with the Blonde Babe and juggling beards, yea?"

"Wait. What are you—?"

"Ciao!" she said before hanging up.

I scowled down at the receiver. My best mate was a quick hanger-upper. I found that to be the third most annoying thing about her. After her potty mouth and her guy-infested brain, that is.

With an audible sigh, I replaced the receiver. My best friend was right. I needed to go out and explore and get a feel of the whole place. Maybe I could deal with my rumbling stomach too. Was there any possibility that there will be a complimentary Japanese dinner available in the kitchen? If so, I wanted to get my fair share of some legit Japanese dish and green tea. I needed to fortify myself. It was going to be a hectic night. The Multiple Personality Starlet was going to need her bloody strength.

Karen was putting a bowl of potato salad on the table as I entered the large, porcelain-tiled kitchen. Freddie was at the table, quietly eating a Fuji apple, with this Nirvana lad who sat silently like a seasick turtle—his head bowed. A giggling Japanese girl was in front of the stove, cooking something that looked like fried noodles. I should’ve guessed from the loud clattering of pans and utensils that the kitchen would be crowded.

Sweet. Was this the complimentary dinner I’d been praying for?

“Hi, guys,” I greeted in a barely audible voice. Nirvana guy looked up, wide-eyed. The Japanese girl and Freddie responded with wide gracious smiles.

“Sit by me, Emily,” Karen commanded right away as she took her seat, patting the chair between her and Freddie.

Without protest I removed the strap of my tiny turquoise blue sling bag from around my neck and sat down. From the corner of my eye, I saw the shaggy-haired guy eyeing me oddly and noticed that there was a Nerf gun tucked in his arm. What is wrong with these people?

Karen pushed the bowl of potato salad toward me. “You hungry, beautiful? Here have some salad. Freddie made it. And Ayami’s making yakisoba.” She gestured at the slim Japanese girl with fabulous black wave locks and a prominent mole on her chin over at the stove. “That’s Ayami, by the way—our dorm buddy. She’s super nice.”

“Hi.” The slender girl gave me another one of her friendly smiles. “Nice to meet you, Emily-san.”

In the pre-arrival guide, I read that there will be a house buddy and that person will be our ‘mediator to the dorm manager’ or ‘personal translator.’ But I was thinking more along the lines of ‘partner in crime’ or ‘Japanese homework 911.’ Smiling, I bit down my lip at my own wickedness. “You, too, Ayami,” I returned. “Glad to meet you, too.” And the girl refocused on her cooking.

“Well, well, well. First day and you’re out to show everyone that you’re one helluva brainiac.” Karen was staring, slightly amused, at the thick Japanese literature book I set down on the table. “Very impressive. And slightly intimidating.”

I gave a bashful lopsided smile and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the brunette said, flipping through the pages of the book. “We need more actual brains in this place. Everyone’s just obsessed about their cocks, if you know what I mean. It’s unsettling, really.” Then she snapped the book shut and turned to look at me. “So how do you find Casa Gaijin so far, Emily?”

“Overwhelming.”

Freddie looked up, the way his scruffy dark hair fell just enough over his face for me to consider him mysterious, but not enough for me to think he was against socialism. “It’s definitely at first. But you’ll get on,” he put in, giving a little smile.

I smiled back at this. “Well, erm, it’s certainly not a hellhole, I can say this for sure.”

“Right? It’s the promised land!” Karen exclaimed enthusiastically. “Things can’t get any better here.”

And before I could even open my mouth for a reply, the brunette fired another question.

“You’re single, right?”

“Uhh . . . yes?” I hesitated.

She placed a hand on top of my leg, smiling wickedly. “Awesome. ‘Cos it sucks to be unavailable in this place, you know,” she said, giving me a meaningful wink. “Especially since you’re very attractive, Emily Fitch—really easy on the eyes. You don’t want to waste all the possibilities.”

Toying with the pendant of my necklace, I felt my face heat up. “Uhhh . . . thanks, I guess.” I managed a stiff smile back.

“Just be extra careful of the men inside this building. If idiots can fly, this dorm could turn into a fucking airport.” She snatched the apple off Freddie’s hand and took a loud, crunchy bite. Then, to my utter shock, rose from her chair and whipped off her T-shirt without a shred of self-consciousness, revealing a racy black bra-top. A gasp was heard from Nirvana bloke and Ayami giggled at this.

“It’s too hot in here. I need a beer,” the brunette announced, moving toward the refrigerator. I got quite amused with the fridge which was like something from Star Trek—all chrome with an ice-maker and water fountain in the door. 

I leant toward Freddie and whispered, “Is she always like this?”

Freddie smirked. “You mean, annoying?” he said, pouring hot tea into my cup. “Yes. I’m so sorry about my sister.”

Bam. The refrigerator door was slammed shut so loudly by Karen.

Freddie looked at his sister who was now chugging a can of beer. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re gonna make an ass out of yourself tonight, Margaux?” he said, arms crossed over his chest and one brow raised.

“I have no idea.” Karen took another bite of the apple, then her attention went straight back to me. Narrowing her eyes at me, she purred, “So, Emily. We have nudist parties here. Ready to go skinny-cooking?”

I blinked, unsure I’d heard her right. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, not right now.” Karen waved. “Usually it takes a couple of beers before everyone is loose enough to drop their boxers.”

“Skinny-cooking,” I repeated, laughing the joke off. Then when no one seemed to be laughing with me, I added nervously, “That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

Karen drew back, hand on chest. “Oh, you didn’t know that we have that here in the dorm? Sort of like an initiation. Everyone did it.” She nodded toward the Nerf gun the shaggy-haired lad was holding. “After that, we generally play with water gun.”

I felt as though my head was spinning. Was I hearing her correctly? First, communal shower. And now, cooking butt-naked?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Karen’s rich laughter.

“I was messing with you!” she hooted. “Do you honestly think I’d go skinny-cooking with my brother around? Ewww! That’s so fucking gross!”

I felt a red-hot flush work its way up from my neck to my face. “I knew you were joking.”

Karen eyed me over her beer. “You did think I was serious! Oh, that’s freaking hilarious!”

The nonstop-giggling Japanese girl appeared by the table. “Here you go, guys. Douzo.” She placed down several plates of yakisoba on the table and a few pairs of chopsticks and plastic forks. “Bon appétit.”

I twirled some yakisoba noodles onto my fork—I didn’t want them to see me pathetically struggling with the chopsticks yet—then popped the bite into my mouth. The strong sauce sent smooth comfort through my body, into the parts that for a while seemed empty. While quietly eating with the boys and relishing that peaceful moment when Karen got preoccupied talking to Ayami about dorm-related stuff—again, I couldn’t follow as their Japanese was ultra-fast—I busied myself a little by glancing around the kitchen which was big and square with a window overlooking a shallow, maple tree-lined canal that was laced by arched bridges. 

Suddenly Karen was sitting beside me again. She shook her can of beer and eyed me with interest, and I felt a ripple of nerves. “So, Emily, tell me about you,” she said, clearly determined to draw her silent guest into the conversation.

“There’s really not much to tell,” I said, opting for another bite instead of sharing more information.

“There’s always something to tell,” she said, taking the bowl of potato salad and dishing up a heaping portion on her own plate before passing the bowl to me. “Like, are you into gay porn? What are your secret fetishes? Do you practice Wiccan witchcraft? Have you tried eating s’mores with no hands? Do you believe in God? Do you, like, secretly fantasize about purple aliens abducting you?”

“Karen, will you leave her alone?” Freddie said, throwing her sister a disapproving scowl. “Chrissakes, you’re scaring the new girl. Can’t we just have dinner peacefully?”

Karen snorted. “Peacefully? Don’t be silly. You know that adverb is not valid here in the dorm, brother.”

I stabbed my fork into a plastic container filled with some weird-looking moss-coloured gooey thing, the plastic fork bending under the pressure.

“Oh, don’t eat those. They’re nasty,” Karen warned, making a disgusted face. “Just stick with the yakisoba. And maybe some beer?” She offered me her can of beer but I waved it off.

“No, thank you,” I said, reaching for my cup of tea instead.

“Why not? It’s the very first step in skinny-cooking—”

“Karen. Go easy on her, please,” Freddie chided her sister again.

Karen sipped on her beer can nonchalantly. “What do you mean, dearest brother?”

“You know what I mean. Just let Emily get used to everything and everyone before you start in on her.”

Karen cackled. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?” She dipped her hand into shaggy-haired guy’s pack of salted nuts.

“I’m just sayin’ that she might not understand your humour,” Freddie said.

“Well, that’s her problem. Right, Emily?”

“Yea,” I mumbled, fiddling with my fork.

“See? Everything’s well.” Karen dusted salt off her hands. “So. You and Sean.” She gave me a couple of nudges with her elbow and wiggled her brows.

My brow furrowed. “What about me and Sean?”

“You two seem to be getting friendly, eh.”

I brushed an imaginary crumb off my skirt then nervously sipped my tea. “Yea, he’s a proper bloke. He’s sound. I like him.”

“Oh, I bet you do. I bet you really do.” She gave me a knowing wink. “Anyway, I’ll be off,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table and getting up. “I’ll be late for my shift and I have to talk to my idiot manager. I’ll just see you guys later at the pub, yea? Ciao!”

As soon as Karen was out of the kitchen, Freddie turned to me with an apologetic expression on his face.

“Don’t let her scare you,” he said.

I sank deeper in my seat and sipped on my tea, now that I was beginning to feel more comfortable. “I’m trying not to.”

He gave an easy grin. “You’re just so charming, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying not to.”

This made him laugh.

“I’m Derek Grunwald, by the way.” The shaggy-haired guy waved a hand, smiling tentatively. “Grunwald for short.”

I smiled back and gave a wave. “Hi. Emily.” His smile turned into a wide grin.

Ayami refilled my cup with hot tea. “Do you know how to cook, Emily-san?” she asked. “I mean, not skinny-cooking.” The lads laughed at this.

I couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. “Nope. I’m a hopeless cook. Domestically useless, unfortunately.”

“Don’t worry,” the nice Japanese girl said, smiling. “I can help you with that. And Flaviana from 311—she’s Italian. She cooks the best pasta. I heard Naomi’s talented in the kitchen as well—”

“Oh, no. Not Naomi Campbell.” Grunwald has his hands up in a frightened gesture. “Not her, please.”

“Naomi Campbell?” I echoed in an amused tone. I almost burst out laughing.

“I know. A bit ironic, huh?” Grunwald said. “Naomi Campbell. The Aussie from 405. My next-door neighbour. She’s hot, but oh-so-vicious.”

Freddie let out a snort and rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. I mean, who could blame the girl? This bastard’s noise polluting with his Stratocaster all day until late night hours. Naomi’s just being a concerned citizen.”

“She told me she’ll murder me, dude,” Grunwald said in defence.

“She told you she’ll murder you if your strumming goes over 70 decibels and it did, Grunwald,” Freddie said. “Plenty of times.”

“Did I hear Naomi’s name? Naomi’s really nice,” the Taiwanese lad from our floor put in, appearing in the doorway. “Look. She just gave me this.” He held up the big pack of Milo powder he was happily hugging.

Smirking, Freddie crossed his arms over his chest. “Case in point.”

For a while I watched the people in the room, with an amused smile on my face, as they laughed and made fun of each other—all of whom were my friends now. Whatever this was, I suspected I could get used to this.

“Guys, we should be going.” It was Sean in the doorway, flashing us his boyish grin. “People are waiting for us at the lobby.”

Freddie and Grunwald stood up immediately from their chairs.

Sean turned to me, his smile bigger. “Emily, whenever you’re ready.”

“Right. Okay.” I acknowledged him with a smile and a nod.

I'm ready for a beer now, I decided as I grabbed my stuff and pushed myself off the chair. I waved “bye” and thanked the gracious group in the kitchen before heading out.

“Have you finished unpacking?” Sean strove for small talk as we started down the hallway.

I gave a small friendly smile and nodded. “Yep.”

Awkward silence.

“What are you reading?” He gestured at the book I just put inside my bag.

“Genji Monogatari,” I answered, zipping my bag shut. “I’m sure you’ve heard of this.”

He looked blankly at me for three seconds then said, “Nope.”

“The Tale of Genji?”

Sean scratched his head, obviously clueless. “Nope.”

“Okay.”

Awkward silence. It was weird. Just earlier, Sean seemed like a really cool, confident guy. But now he was just acting differently. Nervous. And sort of shy.

“Nice rooms, yea?” the Canadian lad, again, attempted to make small talk.

Though I found being with him absolutely boring, I settled for an “Um-hmm. Very nice.”

Awkward silence.

“The curtain colours are nice too,” he then added lamely.

“I haven’t noticed.”

Awkward silence.

He thrusted his hands into the pockets of his jeans, trying to act all casual. “Are you excited to ride me—I mean, r-ride with me?” He looked away for a moment, probably mentally slapping himself for his little Freudian slip. I heard him mutter a self-scolding “Shit.”

I only gave him an odd look and an amused, stiff smile. An uncomfortable hush fell over us again.

“Okay,” Sean said, in a final effort to break the ice. “This is fucking awkward, I know. I'm sorry. I'm just really like this when I'm around really cute girls.” He looked at me as if expecting me to flirt back.

I managed to laugh the compliment off. “Erm, okaaay.” Another bloody awkward silence.

When he realised that the conversation was going downhill, he just looked down at the carpeted floor and stayed silent as we slowly walked. 

Sean was pretty cute and really nice. And if I were into cocks, I would probably consider dating the guy even though he had no game at all. But I was not, and so everything felt incredibly weird for me. I hadn't realised how long I had gone out on a date with a lad. It was four years ago when Katie forced me—no, more like tortured me into dating one of his guy friends who'd never been in a relationship as well. And during our date, we found out that we’re actually both gay. He even became a really good friend of mine after that hilarious yet enlightening rendezvous. After that I never went out with another boy again despite Katie's incessant prodding. It was just a waste of energy.

Sean could be a mighty fine beard, though, I thought, glancing at the tall guy toddling beside me. In case I chicken out from coming out or something, he could be of great assistance.

“So. I—uh . . . I’m constructing a random poem in my head. Do you—do you think that Ellen rhymes with Magellan?”

I stared at him blankly. Or maybe not.

This guy had the appropriate conversational gambit of a timid, socially-inept six-year old boy. Jeez.

“Oh, never mind.” Sean smiled sweetly and took my arm, as we continued on toward the stairs. I laughed lightly, choosing to ignore his weirdness.

Just as we were about to reach the stairs, I heard a door slam shut behind us.

I turned my head round to look over my shoulder and saw her. It’s as though I’m magnetically attracted, drawn to her. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t stay away from her.

Cue the delightful sounds of birds chirping as my knees wobbled. And sweet mother of God, how hot she really was. Her blond hair gorgeously framing her face, her luscious, soft-looking lips accentuated by light lip gloss, her magnetic light blue eyes highlighted by the simple eye make-up that had been applied perfectly. She was wearing a green sleeveless knitted tunic, very skimpy denim cut-offs, and brown booties. There was a printed wool sweater tucked under her arm and a dirty white canvas bag hanging over her shoulder. She smelled fantastic too—like lilies or something. When the blonde and I locked eyes, she abruptly looked away. The chirping sounds came to a stop. I heard her mutter a “Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, Naomi,” Sean greeted the unfriendly-looking girl. 

Naomi acknowledged him with a little nod of her head and a very dry “Hey.” She put on the fake smile people give the neighbours they hate but put up with for the sake of fence peace. Then she eyed the two of us warily.

“Hi,” I said, a bit shy and a little breathless—like how I would normally act around girls that I fancy. 

She just regarded me very briefly—not to mention, very coldly—and reached inside her yellow canvas bag for something. 

“You joinin’ us to Keith’s Pub?” Sean asked the blonde.

“She’s Australian, Sean,” I chimed in, trying for a speck of humour. “You know they’d love a drink and they drink to get drunk.”

Naomi’s eyes snapped toward me at this. And boy, were they venomous. My smile instantly collapsed. Then she shook her head and returned to looking inside her bag. “Maybe,” she muttered frostily, acknowledging Sean’s question and not mine. “I’m not sure. I gotta take care of something first.”

“Oh, okay,” Sean said. “Well then, see you there, if ever.”

Feeling guilty about my lame joke, I took a step toward the blonde. “Hey, listen,” I began shakily. “I know I—”

“Oh, shit,” she said to herself, biting her lip.

“—got off the wrong foot—”

“Shit,” the blonde repeated, ignoring me on purpose. “Where did I fucking put it?” She went on rummaging in her bag. Then she patted down her pockets and gawkily looked around. 

“Need a hand with something?” I asked.

“No.” It was a curt response that virtually felt like a slap. And I only swallowed back a heaping serving of annoyance.

My gaze flew down to the floor and I instantly spotted a shiny silver bicycle key. A triumphant smirk curled my lip. I moved toward it and picked it up. “Is this what you're looking for?” I asked the blonde, holding up the key.

She quickly snatched it from my hand, brushed past me without even dropping a nice little “Thank you,” then bolted down the stairs. I felt my grin falter, my face redden with indignation. My good mood suddenly suffered a wipeout. I was sick of Naomi playing the cold-hearted bitch.

Pissed off. I was definitely pissed off. I felt my jaw grow tight and glared at the blonde’s retreating figure. What a nightmare! Why does she have to be an absolute asshole to me?

I felt Sean’s gentle hand on my arm, urging me forward. “Hey, let’s just go. Don’t mind her.”

I blew out a long breath and followed him down the staircase. Fucking hell. I might be dealing with a complete cunt of an Arctic Ice Queen here.

“Sean? Do you think there’d be enough beer for me at Keith’s Pub?” I asked the Canadian lad when we reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You know, I think there just might be,” Sean confirmed, gazing at me a bit cautiously.

“Good,” I said, my jaw clenched. “I could use a vatful. Maybe get right in there and take a fucking cold bath.”

I didn’t say a single word during the back-ride on Sean’s bicycle and the first few minutes of glowering inside Keith’s Pub. I was too busy working up a curse that would send Naomi Campbell to Kathmandu. Maybe Siberia. No, better yet . . . Transylvania. I could use a few bloodsucking vampires to swipe that attitude right off her beautiful face.

I stared at the snappy yet ridiculously stunning blonde who was sitting across the table from me. Her face was a little red, as if she was feeling conscious and a tad uncomfortable with my leering. We were seated around a long table, on swivel leather bar stools only a few feet apart. And I was blatantly gaping at her.

“You all right, Emily?” asked Sean, touching my arm with a worried look on his face.

“Yep. Never better,” I said, giving him a halfhearted smile then taking a gulp of beer, but I could sense that Sean didn’t buy it.

I was still annoyed. And being sandwiched by flirty Sean and pervy Cook certainly wasn’t helping at all. I thought of turning to Freddie to seek solace but he looked busy puffing Marlboro sticks whilst watching Effy—who looked rather bored with life.

“You look like ye’re always seasick, Emily babes. What’s wrong?” Cook slung his arm on my shoulders. “C’mon, babe, light up a li’l.” He gave me a little shake. “You, too, Miss Stonem.” He grinned at the American brunette. “What is wrong with ye, ladies? Aren’t ye having fun yet?”

“It’s jetlag, I guess.” I gave a lame shrug.

“An’ Naomikins, ye look a li’l dry,” the Irish lad added, chuckling in amusement, gesturing to the blonde who seemed a little tense.

“And you look like you’re gonna get gouged in the eyes by someone who looks a li’l dry,” Naomi shot back, deadpan, then took a short gulp from her beer bottle.

This only made Cook laugh all the more. “Wow. Fierce. I really like this woman,” the Irish lad said loudly, pointing at the prickly blonde.

“And I really like you to shut up,” Naomi rejoined.

Cook was laughing so hard; he almost spit out his beer. “Fecking fierce, like I said.” And Naomi just rolled her eyes at this.

I took a sip of my beer and adjusted the back of my stool so that I had a better view of the blonde and the pub.

The legendary Keith’s Pub resembled ordinary English pubs but tamer. From my seat, I could see the pool table and darts corner. Several guys and girls were gathered around the bar, sipping drinks and bopping to the beat of “99 Luftballons.” A replay of an old Champions League El Clásico match was being shown on the wide screen television.

“Thank God, you’re here already,” Naomi greeted the grinning wimpy-looking curly-haired lad who approached the table. “Let’s go.” She got up from her stool.

The guy drew back. “But I just g-got here, Naomi.”

“I meant to the bar,” Naomi said, grabbing his arm.

He gave a nod. “Oh, okay.”

Sean regarded the curly-haired lad, and gestured toward me as if introducing me. “JJ, have you met—?”

“Let’s go, Jay,” Naomi interrupted, tugging him.

JJ flashed me a wide smile. “Hi there, would you like to see a cool magic trick—?”

“JJ, c’mon,” Naomi cut in again. “You feel like having a ciggie break, yea?” She raised her brow.

The stuttering lad scratched his head. “B-but I don’t smoke. Neither do you, last time I remem—”

Naomi turned away and muttered, “Shut up and just come with me.”

The poor lad nodded again, then scratched his head in confusion. “Uhh . . . okay.” Then he turned to us. “Catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Cook started cackling. “Oh, that’s right! Give the Aussie lovebirds some alone time. That’s the synonym for quickie, GayJay! Ye lucky bastard!” He gave JJ some ruffling in the head before the lad quickly trailed after Naomi.

Cook turned to face us as he laughed on. “Oh, man. Who would’ve known that little wimp is getting some mighty fine ass?”

“Do you think Naomi’s into him, though?” Thomas wondered, chin on hand.

“Lord knows,” Cook snorted. “The lad’s a big joke an’ his magic tricks are focking lame. But they’ve been inseparable since day one, I noticed.”

“Well, then, best of luck to our brother JJ.” Thomas laughed lightly. “‘Cos Naomi looks like a lady who shows no mercy.”

Too bloody well right, I agreed silently. I pressed my lips together and breathed through my nose. It was clear that I was infuriated again. I sneaked a look at the Aussie pair over at the bar. Naomi was now laughing at something JJ said, looking all innocent and chirpy. She has a great smile, I noticed. I shook my head a little bit to break out from my Arctic Ice Queen fixation.

Jeez. Quit it, Fitch, I scolded myself, returning to cranky mode. But how can that gorgeous person be even the same species as the thing that insulted me this afternoon? I wondered as I glared at her. If glares could set something on fire, the blonde would have been reduced to ashes by now.

I reached for my bottle again, took a sip of the icy liquid and then let out a heavy sigh.

“Look around. Pick a girl you want. You don’t have to fall head over heels for her—you just have to like her,” Cassie had advised.

Well, liking Naomi Campbell was hard labour enough. How much more falling head over heels for her? This was an impossibility.

And why was she even here? I thought she was allergic to people.

“Heads up!” Karen appeared from behind me and placed two buckets of ice-cold beer on our table and the place suddenly boomed with cheering. Turns out that Karen bartends here four days a week and everybody loves her so the manager allows her to give insane discounts to her mates and now she’s off duty to celebrate with us.

“And some fish and chips on the house!” The bald creepy-looking bloke behind her put down two big platters on the table. More hooting ensued.

“By the way, this is my boss, Keith’s Pub manager, Mr. Wolcott.” Karen did the introductions. “Mr. Wolcott, my dearly loved dorm mates.”

The old bloke gave us a slimy smile which made my hair stand. “Good evening, everyone. Nice to see quite a few fresh faces here.” Then he regarded Karen with a flirty grin and crazy eyes. “And how many times do I have to tell you, Karen, just call me Simon.”

I leant back in my seat, watched and listened on as people drank beer, told jokes and laughed. There were seventeen of us, I mentally counted. So many unfamiliar faces. Seemed like some people turn up only when there’s drinking involved. 

Sean leant his face close to me. “Hey.” He lightly nudged me with his elbow. “Like I said, maybe Naomi’s just on her period or having a bad day. So just chill, a’right?”

“Chill? You saw how she treated me, Sean,” I told him bitterly. “It was nasty. And with malice intended. You can’t just act like that towards a person you just met.” I let out a sigh. “I really think I remind her of someone she hates.”

“She hates people, in general, period,” he said, making me smile a bit at the accuracy of his claim.

I took a few more gulps from my beer, hoping the liquid will work its magic, hoping it will make me stop thinking about the blonde. For a while it did. People’s faces were turned to Karen, showing appreciation, looking like they were in heaven and Karen was the Goddess who had taken them here. And the French girl—seated on the stool next to Naomi’s—looked like she’d had a bit to drink. Not a good sign.

Jesus. What a fucking zoo. It looked like a Budweiser commercial, to be honest. Aside from the fact that I was underage and the whole thing was illegal.

I turned my head to the other side and caught Effy staring at me, looking bored and intrigued at the same time. I swear I think she’s some supernatural being. I gave her a weak smile then grabbed my bottle again to take a gulp.

And I just couldn’t help it. My gaze keeps going back to the Aussie blonde by the bar counter. I sneaked a look at her again. At that exact same moment, Naomi looked at me. Our eyes met. Her face grew noticeably warm, and she looked away. What the hell is she playing at?

A hand touched my shoulder. “Want to get stronger drinks?”

I looked up. It was Effy.

I smiled up at her. “That’s just what I need.” I slid off my stool and followed the tall brunette to the bar.

As Effy ordered our drinks, I awkwardly stood behind an oblivious Naomi who was talking to JJ—or more like venting her frustrations out. JJ grinned at me and waved a hand.

Naomi noticed this, looked behind her and tensed the moment she saw me. She jerked head back to the counter, then I followed her gaze to the exit. I was sure she was planning on escaping again.

Her phone started ringing. She ignored it. It kept on ringing. She finally pressed Reject Call, then went back to chatting with her fellow Aussie.

Soon her moby went off again, eliciting a grunt of annoyance from her. She stabbed the Reject Call button six times.

I leant forward to her, offering a sympathetic smile. “You can always turn your phone off, you know,” I said, over the loud chattering and music.

“And you can always mind your own business.” Naomi tossed the phone into her bag.

I straightened up, my jaw clenched. “You’re right. I don’t know why I waste my time on caring about an iceberg like you.”

Her answer was a frigid stare and a pair of raised brows.

I felt ice-cold again. It had been a mistake, thinking that there was a chance I could put the puzzle pieces together.

“I was surprised to see you here,” I said, instead of surrendering. I knew I shouldn’t let this particular bull intimidate me. If I flinch, she might just keep right on tormenting me.

“I don’t know why,” Naomi said stiffly. “I’m from Australia. We are alcoholics, remember?” She gave a sarcastic smile.

Effy jumped in, handing me a mojito. “I also remember how much you hate being around a lot of people,” the brunette chimed in.

“Well, maybe you two don’t know me as well as you think you do,” replied Naomi. Then she turned on her stool to face the counter, but Effy put her hand on the blonde’s arm. The Aussie looked behind her at the American brunette, but her blue eyes were cold.

“Maybe I know you even better than you know yourself,” Effy said with that smirk of hers as she calmly took a sip of her Jack and Coke.

Naomi got up and stood right in front of the brunette who was just as tall as her, looked her up and down, and sneered. “We’ve only had a single conversation in our entire lives,” she said. “So the idea that you know me is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?”

The smirk on Effy’s face was priceless as she let the ice cubes rattle in her glass. “Oh . . . I know you, Naomi Campbell. Believe it or not, I know exactly who you are.”

She raised her brows and snorted. “Oh yea? What are my advocacies?”

Effy gave a half shrug. “Beats me.”

“The South American peasants?” I put in, and I earned a derisive snort from the blonde.

Naomi raised a challenging brow at Effy. “Tell me about my family, Elizabeth Stonem.”

JJ was going to put himself between us three but the stubborn brunette took a step forward. JJ gulped in fear.

“I can’t.” Effy’s provoking smirk seemed to be permanent on her face.

Naomi’s lip curled in a nasty smile. “Then you really don’t know me, do you?”

“Yes,” Effy said in a challenging tone, putting down her glass on the counter. “I do, in fact.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Campbell. Deep inside you’re really a sweet, sensitive person, but you like to maintain a Miss Arctic Ice Queen exterior. You have a hard time trusting people so you build a lot of walls around you and put on this front. Maybe someone broke your trust or something. Something’s bothering you inside. You’re selective when it comes to people, still, ‘cos of your trust issues. How am I doing so far?”

As Effy’d spoken, Naomi had grown pale. Interpreting a direct hit, Effy rested her elbow on the counter and stared at her. “You want me to go on?”

“No,” Naomi said, tightly clutching her glass of pure vodka.

“Forgive me if I’m being too intrusive, but I was right, wasn’t I?” the brunette went on as she grabbed her glass of Jack and Coke again and coolly sipped the drink. Good God Almighty, what was Effy thinking getting a rise out of this girl?

Naomi exhaled sharply. “No.”

“No?” She couldn’t help it. She just wouldn’t stop.

“No.”

Effy arched a brow. “Where was I wrong?”

The blonde’s gaze darted away, and we knew Effy’d struck a nerve. Then instead of answering, she stepped to the side and started to walk back to the table where our friends were seated. “Leave me alone, you two. And we’ll all be better off.”

I felt my blood boil, but chose to not let anger take over me. Yet. I followed Effy and JJ back to our table. I squeezed into our now rapidly tightening table and slid back onto my stool.

For a while I only unenthusiastically munched on nuts and toyed with a tiny bottle of Tabasco. Not exactly mouthwatering, but good energy foods for this tense night. Dealing with Naomi Campbell certainly required a lot of energy. As I finished off my mojito, I heard JJ and Naomi giggling and I froze. Casually I looked up. Naomi’s eyes locked on my face, unflinching. For a moment I caught her gaze flicker down to the vinyl miniskirt I was wearing. When she noticed I was still looking at her, she quickly turned her attention back to JJ and proceeded laughing. It was an intimate laugh that made my hair stand on end.

This was it. My shoulders tightened, my whole body rigid with annoyance. I wondered if anybody else could see the steam coming out of my ears. You could down your drink and head for the exit, I told myself. So what if you don’t have a bicycle? You can take a cab. Or you can always walk. God knows you will really need to walk this sort of anger off. This is only unnecessary drama. This place was too crowded for me. I took a deep breath and was about to get up when Sean placed another open beer bottle in front of me. Arse.

What’s even more surreal, I noticed, was my inexplicable effect on Naomi Campbell. It wasn’t the blonde’s fault we had some weird vibes going on between us. I probably looked a bit doe-eyed and pretty obvious with my perving. I had probably scared her off. And she was probably just being blatant about being straight and not interested. Double arse.

Sean began whispering things into my ear that made me giggle simply because I was ticklish and not really because I was actually listening to him or he’s making any sense at all. I was quite sure he was just speaking gibberish. We were all well slammed in one way, I could tell.

After a couple more bottles, my irritation at the Arctic Ice Queen had completely evaporated, but replacing it was curiosity. I swear I had caught Naomi sneaking glances at me—sometimes with a scowl—and I was absolutely positive about this because I was not that drunk enough to lose count on the number of times she had checked me out.

Fourteen times, actually. Fourteen fucking times and most of those took place when I was either (a) laughing at someone’s joke; (b) munching on boiled peas and displaying a look of utter disgust with every chew (which never failed to make her chuckle, by the way); or (c) flirting with Sean. I told myself that I would gladly challenge her come her 15^th stolen glance. 

Then again, I was also a bit bothered about her and this curly-haired Aussie boy also known as JJ getting all friendly and so-happy-together in front of me.

I sighed, dipped my head, looking at my beer as I swished it around in its bottle, feeling dorky and disillusioned.

She might not be attracted to me. But I’d like to think so. Why I thought Naomi was single and not straight was still a mystery. The best answer I could give was because I wanted her to be. All my views were filtered through my brain and therefore were twisted to suit my own desires. And where did this leave me now?

In between glances, she would turn her attention back to JJ and shamelessly flirt with him which I found quite intriguing and confusing. And fucking annoying. Was she deliberately trying to make me jealous? Because she had definitely achieved that now. Hell, I was pissed off as fuck. I fancied Naomi so much it hurt. Bollocks. I’d just have to ignore the blossoming relationship between the two Aussies all night and get over it. Not that easy when Naomi Campbell practically lived inside my head.

So . . . fifteenth stolen glance, come to Mama . . .

Apart from a very wasted Sean and Cook having a sumo wrestling exhibition on the floor, Thomas and Panda—the weird, emotional Swedish girl I had briefly encountered this afternoon—sloppily making out beside me, a very bored Effy taking photos and videos of people throwing up, another outrageous thing that has been happening now is Karen staring at me like a tigress waiting for her prey. 

Something happens to time in Kyoto. One minute you’re chatting away and it’s only eleven at night and the next time you look at your watch, or watches if you are seeing double, it’s nearly four in the morning and the person in front of you is looking at you in a very creepy way. Like mad creepy. I could tell by the way Karen’s lips were devilishly twitching, she was planning on doing something crazy and I don’t know if I should either be thrilled or terrified.

Karen took a sloppy sip of her beer and set the bottle down on the table with most of the liquid splashing onto the table. Her sixth or seventh bottle, I guess. “Je dois te prévenir, j’ai l’alcool mauvais . . .” she slurred as she stared on at me.

I gave her a confused look. “Huh?”

“I should warn you, I’m a crazy drunk,” she said, waving a bottle of beer around in the air.

Suddenly Karen got up so quickly, it actually had me blinking. She staggered, shattered beer bottles and all, whilst crawling across the table to land beside me—the spot where Sean was previously seated. The other bar patrons were looking at her like she was a freak show.

“Putain de merde! The fuck?!” cried a startled and fuming Freddie. “Easy there, Margaux!” He tried to steady Karen on the seat next to me. He muttered some French words I couldn’t understand but it looked as if he was spitting out not so very nice things to Karen and the French girl’s not looking impressed.

Karen began yelling in French at her brother. Oh, ground eat me now. I was seriously embarrassed for her.

In a flash Karen turned her attention back to me, looked at me with crazy eyes and murmured, “Mon dieu! You are really fucking beautiful, Emily Fitch.” She had her hands on both my cheeks, caressing my face as if I were the precious ring and she was Gollum. I was certain my face had been shifting colours from scarlet to pale white from mixed embarrassment and fear. Okay. Now I'm terrified. I was already on my way to the hangover hall of fame but that did not weaken my ability to detect when someone was morphing into a psycho loon.

The French girl struggled as she got to her feet to walk aimlessly. I ended up being her fucking 'human crutch' and we wobbled quite a few times. We were both drunk—her way more drunk. 

“Karen! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Freddie was seriously appalled. “You’re out of your mind!”

“Je t'emmerde!” she spat back to the lad. “Leave me alone!”

I tried to steady the both of us when her eyes—darkening and wanting—bore into mine and she leant in and whispered in my ear, “You wanna hit to the loo?” Then brushing her lips against my earlobe, “’Cos I fucking want your pretty lips all over me right now, Emily.”

I looked around and apparently, she expressed that idea louder than she had intended to. Everyone in their sober state of mind cast us a variety of looks. Effy had that mysterious smirk on her face; JJ was gawking at us as he got locked on in stupefaction; Freddie looked absolutely flustered; and Naomi? Well, let’s just say her face was indecipherable.

Karen then tried to drag me into the restroom with her and I stopped her just before we reach the door, and managed to calmly reason out, “You are pissed, Karen, and we are in your fucking pub.” Jesus Christ! What is up with these French people and their unquenchable desire for passion?

Then all of a sudden she pushed me against the wall and attacked me as if she needed my lips and neck to stay alive. It was not gratifying at all, despite the fact that she was what Cook defines as shaggable. I had to fight her off but I was too tiny and weak for Karen’s bigger and tougher physique.

I was helped by Freddie who yanked vampire Karen away from my badly bruised neck. 

“Putain!” Freddie growled. “Karen, what the hell were you thinking?”

A much hammered, almost asleep Cook enthused, “Well Jaysus, I might be focking gee-eyed right now but there’s spare arse as far as the eye can see!” Then he blacked out on the floor.

Freddie shot him a glare whilst he was struggling to keep Karen upright. He was still sputtering French words that sounded like curses.

“Let me gooo!” Karen cried as Freddie tried to keep her under control until she passed out.

I was left standing in the middle of the pub, shaken, caressing my aching neck, and noticing a very tense looking Naomi who was trying to look at anywhere but me.

I was surrounded by utter madness. A pissed-beyond-repair vampire Karen was carried out of the pub and into a cab by Freddie, Effy and Sean. JJ was freaking out in one corner, talking to himself. The balding pub manager was undeniably infuriated and I wasn’t sure if he was willing to let this fucking mess off. Cook, Grunwald and a couple of German guys were on the floor snoring like bloody trains. This gigantic Indian girl Mandy and a Taiwanese girl were getting into an argument with a feisty curly-haired Mexican chick. Panda and Thomas were still snogging their faces off sloppily. Effy shook her head, as if marveling at the stupidity of men and craziness of women.

We could all probably talk about this in the morning—if I could talk in the morning, my head was already starting to feel like a bass drum.

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Ladies and Gents, this is exactly how you define chaos.

I squinted into the morning sunlight, feeling a bit queasy. The shrill ringing of my alarm clock didn't make me feel any better. Getting rid of the comforter that covered my already-sweating body, I pushed myself up and sat on the bed with my back against the headboard. My temples instantly throbbed and all the smoke swirling around the pub seemed to have drifted to my entire body.

"Oh, God," I groaned, bringing my hands to my temples and started massaging. The joined forces of hang-fucking-over and jet-fucking-lag.

The only thing that made me feel a little lighter was the dream I was having just before the alarm exploded and I was snapped awake. It was a sequence of romantic scenes that involved a strikingly beautiful blonde. No, it was not Marilyn Monroe. Neither was it ScarJo. This one was closer to my heart—like literally closer. Naomi Campbell, yes. And let's just say it was hot and intense and mind-blowing.

I stood up, struggled a bit with my balance, and dragged my feet to bravely face my possibly-hideous clone in the mirror.

"Fucking hell," I muttered to myself. The tag team of bloodshot eyes and nasty bruises is so not attractive.

Last night . . . Last night was pretty eventful, I have to say. Some parts, probably the wackiest ones, were a blur though. I touched the marks on my neck and had to cringe from the soreness. Then I stroked my assaulted lip, winced from the slight pain, and reckoned, quite certain, in fact, that I was going to be a walking gossip around school. 

Fucking Karen and her bloodsucking ways . . . I took a deep breath and released it unhurriedly. Hadn't I just wished it was the Arctic Ice Queen who should be banished to Transylvania?

Karma at its finest.

I sighed. Instead of plotting revenge by the walking dead, I needed to focus on what I came here for. School. Studying. Learning Japanese. Gathering extra knowledge and experience that would help in moulding my goals and career. I should stay on course and chuck out the deadly distractions. I picked up a book, turned to a bookmarked page, and skimmed a list of Japanese vocabulary for some last minute reviewing but stopped shortly when I heard my tummy grumbling.

Grabbing a Fuji apple from the fridge and a loaf of bread, I made my way to the door. Today, we were headed for Hamada University and all of us were going to have to go through a series of exams to determine what level we could be squeezed in. I was not expecting to ace the tests but I suppose my knowledge of Japanese was sufficient enough to at least be considered as average. But for the mean time, I had to make myself some breakfast and take a shower because I was starving as hell and stinking like a dead rodent.

I gripped and twisted the doorknob, stepped out of the room and was instantly startled by the blasting music surrounding the hallway.

It's seven in the fucking morning, for crying out loud! With a loaf of bread and an apple in my hands, I aimed for the floor kitchen which was situated almost directly in front of my room.

I stepped into the kitchen and—lo and behold!—there sat a very cute-looking Naomi innocently spooning some yoghurt whilst reading a magazine. And within her spitting distance, there rested the source of the early morning noise. I stopped dead in my tracks, then fought off a scornful smirk and a derisive snort. Innocent? Hah. Do not be fooled, Emily, I warned myself. She's a goddamn cold-hearted bitch. 

"Heya!" the curly-haired boy aka JJ who was Iron Chef-ing in the corner sang out. "Emily, right?"

Naomi . . . and JJ. A heavy sensation sank down into my gut. Ugh. The Aussie lovebirds together. Again. I think I'm going to throw up.

If it weren't for his innocent-looking face, I would have punched JJ in the face because he was always causing this weird knot in my stomach every time I spot him within a thirty metre-radius of my Naomi. Wait. Did I just call Naomi mine? Fuck.

So I nodded civilly, shone him a tiny smile, and chirped a pleasant-sounding "Hello" and hoped it actually sounded pleasant.

He was preparing some sort of omelette when he wiped his hands with a towel, and then spoke easily, "I believe we haven't been formally introduced yet." He held out his right hand to meet mine. "I'm Jonah Jeremiah Jones. JJ, for short. From Sydney," he said, with another genuine smile, and I cheerfully shook his hand. 

“How old are you, Emily?” he asked. “I heard you’re the youngest here.”

“Nineteen.”

“Let’s see . . . Freddie, Thomas and Ayami are 22. Cook will be 22 soon as well. Jake, Karen and Sean are 21. Panda’s 20 . . . Naomi’s—” He was cut short by a loud clearing of throat from Naomi Campbell herself. I couldn’t suppress a smile.

JJ grinned. “Anyway, yea, you’re so young, Emily. The baby of the group.” He gave me a swift but sweet friendly hug. “Aww . . .”

Again, why do I hate this bloke so much? Oh, yea . . . Because of the strikingly beautiful blonde who was in the same room with us, ignoring me like I was not even there. Then again, I should be angry at her for being such a rude little cow to me yesterday.

Yea, right. If she told me right now to take my clothes off and spread my legs for her, I would. In a heartbeat. My merciful God. What was it about this girl that made me feel like I was so bloody powerless?

I moved past the table toward the kitchen counter just across the room. "So . . . what's for brekkie, JJ?" I casually inquired whilst grabbing a couple of sliced bread and tossing them into the toaster. I had decided not to concentrate on being pissed off at the blonde as that would only bring nothing but bad vibes to my day. I wanted to be in my best mood during the placement exam and orientation later. 

"Uhm, some—uh—frittatas, I guess," JJ stammered, and then looking at me apprehensively, he continued, "Erm—I dunno if I have the right to ask and I don't wanna sound like a stickybeak but it seems that - uhm - it's appropriate," he gulped, "Well, I'm not sure since—holy dooley—whatever happened must be 'cos both of you got pretty rotten last night but—"

"Out with it, JJ," I suddenly burst out, laughing a little. I just had to stop him from beating around the bush like this. I had never actually heard JJ like this before. I just learnt from Freddie and Sean that JJ goes freaky mental at times—getting locked on, according to them—and now I fully understand what they were talking about.

"Right—erm—how's your neck?" he finally asked, slightly hesitant. I noticed Naomi fidget a bit in her chair whilst trying to focus on whatever she was reading.

"Well," I said, "it still freaking stings like hell, thankyouverymuch." I snorted, then chuckled a little. 

JJ replied nervously, "Uhm . . . s-sorry."

How come I'm threatened by this wimpy kid? There was no way in hell Naomi's interested in him. Clearly, JJ had to grow some balls first. Or should I? Because Naomi could be straight as a fucking flagpole.

"Nah," I said, trying to lighten up the mood. "That girl has some topnotch incisors, I'm tellin' you, JJ. I don't know how I'd be able to walk around the campus without being called a slapper behind my back, left, right, and centre."

JJ tittered a little before going back to fuss over something in front of the stove. I then glanced at Naomi who I was pretty sure was sneaking glances at my neck and listening intently to our conversation. My toasted bread did a flip flop and I gleefully munched on it. Leaning with my back against the counter, I let my head freely swing to the music.

In spite of the speakers' deafening volume, I actually fancied the music they were playing. It sounded like an indie rock band. Perhaps, an Australian one? Because I haven't heard these songs before. And I was a huge sucker for indie rock and was familiar with most of the British bands so . . . yea, I was digging that kind of music. Is this Naomi's playlist? Or JJ's? I wondered.

"The hickey doesn't look that bad, by the way," JJ assured with a smile. "You're still spunk as heck. Maybe, you could—erm—wear a scarf around your neck or something, yea?" he suggested.

"Are you kidding me? With this heat? No, thank you," I replied disbelievingly and then started laughing.

I heard Naomi chuckle. See? She was actually paying attention. I finished my toast and crunched it thoroughly, hoping I could suppress the big dopey grin wanting to break out on my face. So what if the blonde was cute and gorgeous and perfect? She'd just practically called me a shallow girl to my face.

JJ was now struggling to fry something I didn't even want to know what. I suppose he was carefully choosing his next response. I might have been a tad too snappish to poor JJ but someone had to prove she's also got some attitude, right? Christ, how on earth did I suddenly become the ballsy Emily Fitch? This might be The Campbell Force.

I shifted my attention to Naomi who was seated at the table straight ahead. Everything about her was mesmerising. Even when she was merely flicking thoughtlessly through the magazine pages, even when she was simply toying with her spoon. And the blonde—clad in a white tank top and baby blue cotton shorts—I could get used to her wardrobe. Her golden hair was pulled back, making the flawless features of her face stand out all the more.

I glanced down to Naomi's mouth as she went on silently reading. And she was doing that effortlessly sexy thing with her mouth—biting her lower lip. I wanted badly to feel her lips just like when I was a little girl and would fight back the forbidden urge to run my fingers along such beautiful things inside museums. It was maddening.

Now, being in the same room as Naomi, I had a similar impulse. It was senseless. Totally, absolutely, and in all other ways wrong. Naomi had been so blatantly bitchy to me the night before. In fact, she'd been nothing but rude and sarcastic to me since the moment we'd met. And she was obviously guarded—hopeless to get close to even if I tried. And she was the kind of lost, scarred soul who felt the compulsive need to tear everything down or build barriers around her because she thought it made her look tough or invincible.

But I'd never been so physically drawn to anyone before, not like this. It just didn't make any sense. Plus the fact that we had only met. I couldn't just jump to conclusions that Naomi Campbell was the love of my life or my knight in shining armour or anything. It was just absurd. But, still, there's no price to pay for wishful thinking.

Before the blonde catches me drooling, I knew I had to make a move.

Grabbing my apple from the countertop, I moved to the table and pulled out a chair directly in front of Naomi. Of course, it was no shock that her mood wasn't exactly sunshine and roses. She was always just bizarrely wary and huffy around me. When she didn't even lift her head to acknowledge my presence, I morphed back into a wussy Emily and hesitated for a moment. But eventually I thought I couldn't let Naomi intimidate all the time. So I coolly lowered myself into the chair, which for some bizarre reason caused the blonde squirm a little.

"Hi," I said whilst casually tapping my fingers on the table, harmonising with the drum beats of the song.

Not lifting her head, Naomi finally regarded me from beneath her long lashes. Her eyebrows arched up, somewhat amused.

"Hey," she returned, piercing me with her cold, blue eyes for a moment. The sound of her voice caused my skin to tingle. Then when she probably figured out that I had gotten tongue-tied—which was actually true—her eyes quickly returned to the magazine. I lowered my head and simply stared at the table, pointedly keeping my eyes from the cold blonde and hoping that she didn't see my cheeks suddenly growing pink. I was mentally smacking myself round the head for being such a weirdo in front of her.

For a moment I just sat there in awkward silence. So did she, although I didn't know how awkward she might be feeling in comparison. Feeling really stupid merely staring down at a coffee ring on the table, I moved to get up but sat back down almost immediately, thinking that leaving would only make me look ten times more of a retarded wuss. I needed to make my next move.

I coolly took a bite out of my apple, trying to suppress the nerves inside me. "So," I cleared my throat, "what band is this?" I asked her, attempting to sound casual. But I was pretty sure I fumbled with my words.

She lifted her head then, narrowed her eyes at me and replied just as casually, "Klutz Pinkies."

I almost choked on the apple. "What?"

"Klutz Pinkies," she repeated.

"Klutz Pinkies?" I echoed, laughing as if it were a joke.

"Yep. An Aussie indie rock band," Naomi said, with a proud smirk. "They're pretty spiffy."

"Hear, hear. They're flaming spiffy!" JJ chimed in, pumping his fist in the air.

"Yea, 'cept for that time when they all got fucking high on weed and decided to name their band after a tranny doll." I snorted. "Klutz Pinkies. Spiffy, indeed." I doubled over laughter, shaking my head wildly in hilarity.

Naomi and JJ simply laughed with me. And I found out that Naomi had a rich, melodic laugh, the kind that said she appreciated a simple joke and wasn't above a few of her own. I felt the little strands of my irritation at her completely thaw out. God, the blonde had the ability to transform my insides into warm honey. She was really just glowingly beautiful when she loosens up a little. I could see myself having this kind of moment with her forever. As I was shaking with laughter, the apple slipped from my hand and fell to the floor.

It rolled on the kitchen tiles toward the direction of Naomi's bare feet. I knelt down on the floor and instantly caught sight of the blonde's killer long legs. For a long moment I couldn't move. I vaguely realised that I should reach for the apple, but my pounding heart was the only part of me capable of movement.

I heard Naomi's chair creaking, then saw her squat in front of me. Her eyes traveled slowly downward. Suddenly I was acutely aware of the super-short girl boxers I was wearing. I grabbed instinctively at the hem of my loose T-shirt and yanked it down with both hands.

I had the strange sensation of being totally exposed—and not just because of how I was dressed. It was as if Naomi was seeing some part of me that nobody else could see, a part I barely knew was there. Something in her expression—something I didn't understand but that I sensed in my gut, or maybe in my heart—told me that she understood things I could only guess.

And just as I was about to believe the two of us had made this incredible, unique connection, Naomi abruptly picked the apple up and gave it back to me. "Here."

My mouth had gone bone-dry. "Thanks," I finally managed, hoarsely. "This will go straight into the trash, anyway." I let out a nervous chuckle.

Naomi only smiled then got to her feet. And that struck me as surprising. The blonde actually had a chivalrous bone in her body.

Slowly, shakily, I got up but not before stupidly hitting the table with my head to which the blonde laughed. I stood in front of her and for a moment I was only stroking my head that hurt like a bitch for real. Then after an exchange of giggles, I twisted on my heel.

What the fuck just happened? I wondered as I moved to the garbage bins. I was sure I had looked like a complete loser before her.

"Perishable is on the left," she reminded me. 

Okay. So she's an eco-whacko, I thought as I tossed the half-finished apple in the appropriate waste bin.

I gave myself a shake, then started back to the table. I felt already full but I just wanted to spend more time with Naomi. It was ridiculous how easily I had forgotten the fact that she had been nothing but a bitch to me from the get-go. But I felt positive that this was going somewhere. At least, I felt we were going somewhere.  

I sat back down and Naomi was then silently eating her yoghurt and reading some horoscopes in the magazine. My heart sank right away. The conversation, it seemed, was over. Suddenly Naomi flipped her magazine closed and put it down on the table. Then her blue gaze whipped back to mine and she bit her lip, and I only stared back in anticipation.

She shifted in the chair. "Listen, Emily," she began, "I'm sorry about yesterday."

I blinked, clearly surprised by her apology.

"I'm really sorry," she repeated. "I know I was a bit of a tit."

I drew back slightly. "A bit of a tit?" I scoffed flippantly. "You were a complete tit, Naomi."

"I know and I'm sorry," she said genuinely rueful yet smiling very cutely. "I was simply out-of-sorts that time, just a little stressed out with the shitty phone calls I've been getting and other shitty stuff."

"Must be a real shitty day for you then, eh?" I frowned briefly. "It’s okay. I completely understand." I smiled with real consideration.

She cocked her head sideways—which I thought was very cute—and smiled. "So I'm forgiven?"

"You're forgiven," I said, grinning.

The blonde grinned back. "Thank you."

Two words, two curved lips and bam, I was back to teetering on the edge of Lake Lusting.

For a moment, it seemed like we were back to that staring match. Only this time, we were both smiling—with Naomi, nipping her lip between her teeth while doing so. The fluttery sensation reappeared in my stomach. I thought her eyes twinkled in an unusual way. It looked as if she was having an internal struggle within her. Emotions flitted in her eyes like a film on fast forward. I wanted to tell her—assure her—that she could trust me with them. I wanted her to know that she could climb down from her fences and open herself up to me. So I flashed her the sweetest smile I could give. She seemed to have felt moved by it as she abruptly looked down and went on eating her yoghurt.

Suddenly I felt a throbbing pain in my forehead, and I instantly rubbed the space between my eyebrows. The hangover fairy was waving her wand.

"Are you all right?" Naomi asked worriedly, and I was dumbfounded for a moment. "Okay. That was fucking stupid of me to ask. Obviously you are in pain. So, uhm," she got up and walked toward the refrigerator, "I got some tomato juice here. It's a good anti-hangover, you know."

I smiled, genuinely pleased and still very much baffled. "That would be awesome. Thanks," I said. "I have a cunt of a headache right now."

Wow. She does have a heart, I realised, as I watched her grab a carton of tomato juice from the fridge. And a swarm of bees buzzed inside my tummy. I was on the verge. On the verge of really falling.

"Seems like it," I heard Naomi mumble. After grabbing a glass from the cupboard, the blonde walked back to the table. She poured some juice into the glass and handed it for me to drink. "Here you are . . ."

"Thanks. Again." I took it gratefully and just before taking a soothing sip, I noticed a drip of yoghurt under Naomi's chin. "You got some yoghurt right here . . ." I reached out and brushed it off with the backs of my fingers.

As soon my skin brushed against hers, I withdrew my hand and studied my fingers for a moment. Suddenly I had a vivid flash of the dream I'd been having when my alarm went off. Naomi and I . . . There had definitely been lips and fingertips involved. It was like that slight contact sent electricity rushing into my nerves, tingling my senses. I looked up at Naomi and saw her staring at me, then I heard her muffled gasp.

"Knock, knock!" Freddie stuck out his head from the kitchen opening. "Sorry to interrupt. But I'd just like to glimpse into the workings of the female mind . . ."

"Hey, Frédéric," I greeted back, managing a grin in spite of myself. I was very, uncharacteristically happy today—all because of a very, uncharacteristically warm Naomi Campbell. And still very, unusually dazed today—all because of a very, unusually sweet Naomi Campbell. I was actually thankful that Freddie entered the scene as I didn't know if I could survive another second without fainting in front of the blonde because of too much giddiness.

Naomi went back to her seat and the chiseled French lad stepped further into the room. He walked over to the table, pulled out the chair next to me, lowered his lanky body into it, then examined my neck.

"Merde," he muttered under his breath. "Sorry about this, Rouge. Karen could be a downright dirty cow at times. Christ, she was completely out of it last night."

Wow. First time in Japan that someone used a pet name on me. And make that a French one. Sweet.

"Is she all right?" I asked, genuinely concerned about the repercussions of her misbehaviour last night.

"Yea, she'll be fine. Though she claims she feels a little sick," Freddie answered. "But I'm guessing that's just her excuse for not having the guts to see the lovely mess she's created, you know," he huffed. "And, uhm, good news, her manager didn't fire her after all. So Keith's Pub still is our boozer."

"Good on her. But it's not a shocker, Freds," I told him. "I did sense the balding man has the hots for Karen."

"That might be true," Freddie acknowledged. "I did catch Baldy sniffing through Karen's extra clothes in the locker. I was tempted to punch him in the face."

Naomi scowled. "That's fucking creepy."

"Incredibly creepy," JJ agreed, putting down a couple of plates filled with riotous omelettes on the table. "I even saw Baldy looking at Karen's Employee of the Month photo and caught him jacking off to it."

Everyone made a disgusted face. "Eew!"

A hearty Irish voice echoed from the kitchen entrance. "Feed me, ladies, will ye? I'm about to gnaw my own focking leg off here."

"Fuck off, Cook!" we all barked in chorus.

That morning in the kitchen went incredibly light and hilarious as we joked around and exchanged gossips with one another. I couldn't really focus as I would sometimes notice Naomi glancing at me. I bet she felt my eyes on her, too.

There was even a moment when we would look at each other and just share a private smile. She would look away first. But it didn't matter if she still felt awkward around me or that she was probably still weirded out by me, I was content with the fact that I had actually carried on a conversation with the notorious Naomi Campbell. And even more shocking, I had enjoyed it, right down to the nervous hammering of my heart. It had been . . . exhilarating. Liberating, somehow.

And frightening.

I just wasn't sure what I was scared about: her presence, or my own reactions.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

More omelettes came, the laughter went on, the topic shifted smoothly. But towards the end, I felt Naomi zoning out. Cook was telling one of his epic pranks yet Naomi's attention seemed to be floating somewhere else. 

My amusement fled when I suddenly saw the moisture brimming in her pained blue eyes as if a terrible pain just struck her chest. I looked at her, a bit alarmed and incredibly worried. I wanted to just rush to her side, snatch her into the comfort of my arms and tell her that I would be willing to help her heal whatever was that heartache she'd been feeling, but I was afraid I would just be pouring salt on her what-seemed-like fresh, open wound. When she lifted her head and saw the look on my face, she immediately straightened up in her seat and blinked back her tears. Her jaw tightened and tightened until she suddenly pushed her chair away from the table, got to her feet and left the room without a word.

The conversation ceased in the kitchen right away. I stared, slightly taken aback, at the retreating blonde. Fucking hell, I thought, suddenly feeling discouraged again. The Arctic Ice Queen did it again! Bravo, bravo.

Here's a fact: Naomi Campbell changes moods as fast as Ennio Marchetto changes characters in a one-hour show. 

Freddie leant in and nudged me with his elbow. "You know what happened to Naomi?"

I expelled a long, slow breath and shrugged. "I don't know," I said, "yet." And I was planning to stand by my words. I would crack the mysteries of this girl . . . soon.

JJ's head appeared between ours. "The workings of the female mind, I'm telling you," he said. "The unfathomable female mind."

I hurried down the hallway of the basement, my mind still floating with thoughts—the placement exam, love bites, meeting more people, my awesome new set of friends . . . and Naomi Campbell.

I couldn't believe what I had become in a span of twenty-four hours. I wasn't like this, twenty-four hours ago. I wasn't able to construct coherent sentences in front of the Aussie blonde, twenty-four hours ago. I wasn't this at ease with mingling with new people, twenty-four hours ago. I wasn't this confident, witty, vibrant Emily Fitch, twenty-four hours ago. And I knew I could be so much more . . . so much better: a stronger, freer, and braver Fitch twin.

I noticed the shower room without the lights on. Perfect, I thought. I can shower alone. Having communal shower rooms meant you have to take a shower and dip in the same bathtub with a bunch of other naked girls. Being a muff-diver, it might seem like a stroke of luck—an ogle-all-you-can opportunity—but I was not at all ecstatic with this set-up.

First of all, I honestly don't find a bunch of naked girls orgasmic or something. 

Second of all, I am not comfortable with displaying my body for all to see. I guess you could never totally eliminate Emily Fitch's coyness. However, I think I could make an exception. Naomi Campbell was the only exception. I suppose I could handle doing all sorts of unimaginable things with her in the shower room. 

Mmm . . . Maybe . . . Anyway, these are just thoughts. Smutty thoughts. Banish! After giving my head a proper shake, I opened the door into the shower room, closed it behind me in a swift motion then spun round my heel when—

BAM! 

"Shit." I bumped into a very, yep, very naked Effy. And now we've both collapsed on the bathroom floor with me on top of her, my hands on her breasts. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. My head was reeling. We just stared into each other's eyes and I was drowning again in a pair of blue pools—a different set. It might only be the product of my imagination, but I swear I saw one corner of her mouth curl up in an amused smirk.

Then I heard a soft grunt from her.

"Uhm—uh—s-sorry," I stammered, sucking air. Hastily I pulled my hands off her full mounds, pushed myself up off her, and tried to compose myself. I was fighting the urge to help tug her up but I already saw her beguilingly pulling herself together. I couldn't take my eyes off her . . . and her perfect body. Oh, my. Jesus take the wheel! I fixed my eyes back on her face and I saw her with that smirk—the kind of crooked smile I always catch her with whenever she was looking at me. It was bordering on creepy, every so often. I squeezed my eyes shut. This is a dream—a bizarrely vivid nightmare—and when I open my eyes, she'll be gone.

I did, and she wasn't. Elizabeth Stonem was still standing in front of me, wearing nothing. I had to remind myself to breathe.

"I'm sorry. I just . . . uh, I just . . ." I trailed off, unable to formulate a coherent sentence. The stony American girl had definitely caught my eye yesterday the first time I saw her. I thought her mysteriousness only made her ten times more alluring. So I did daydream about her for a bit during the dorm tour. Before I met Naomi Campbell, that is. But I had never imagined her quite like this—beads of water dripping from her long brunette hair onto her glistening shoulders. Quite a jolt to the heart for a Monday morning.

"Impressive moves, Fitch." Effy's blue eyes were piercing.

"W-what?" I sputtered, wrenching my gaze from the freckles on her chest.

"Second day and you've already established you're quite the Femme Fatale here," she said.

"Huh?" I said, genuinely at a loss.

But the Great Elizabeth Stonem only smirked, quietly slipped on her robe, and turned for the door.

I guess we just all have our crazies, I thought, as I watched her step out of the shower room in a swirl of steam, also leaving my head in a swirl of steam.

It was quarter to ten in the morning. I stood, nervously fingering the huge sheet of paper Ayami just handed me, in front of the Great Takeda Hall where the Hamada University Exchange Program (HEP) Orientation and Campus Tour would take place in exactly fifteen minutes. I was informed by Ayami that the ryuugakusei or exchange students will have all their classes in this building. Well, to be frank, I’m not complaining. The structure was massive and if you could rate school buildings, I’d give this one 7 stars. Hands down.

“Hey, Rouge. You forgot to remove your bike key.” Freddie appeared next to me, handing me the silver key.

“Right. Thanks, Freds,” I told him, smiling my gratitude. I pocketed the key, pleased by the fact that I already have a bicycle. A shiny, red one. To my utter delight, Ayami was able to find one for me this morning. And I cycled to school with the usual suspects: Freddie, Sean, Effy, Thomas and Panda. And true enough, Vampire Karen didn’t come to school today and the HEP staff didn’t mind since she didn’t really have anything to do anyway. She certainly didn’t have to go through the orientation again. And even though she needed to take the placement exam—in her case, it’s simply for formality—the professors knew she would kill it. She’s just that brilliant, I heard.

I bit my lower lip and watched a horde of unfamiliar people run up the steps to the building. There was definitely a sign of a huge crowd gathering. And I wasn’t really used to dealing with a lot of people. I had a severe case of stage fright and had the social skills of a tuning fork.

“Emily, you ready?” Sean put his hand on my shoulder and I nodded.

He gave me a sheepish lopsided smile. “Well, I’m not,” he admitted. “But I hope we end up in the same class.”

“Yea, that would be awesome,” I said, trying to hide my nerves.

Wow. This is it. This is really happening.

I folded the paper, stuffed it into my bag, headed for the sliding glass doors of the building and slid into the back of a huge crowd. The number of exchange students was impressive.

“Hey, Fitch-san! Over here!” Someone motioned me over with a big wave. It was a tall, stylish Japanese lad with black-rimmed glasses. Ayami was standing next to him, obviously helping him out with recognising people.

As I walked toward the guy, I spotted Naomi with JJ again chatting in a corner and my heart sank at once. I couldn’t help but think there was really something going on between those two. And I felt funny. I felt annoyed at the funny feeling because I couldn’t help it.

I realised we were being split into several groups; there must be about thirty of us, new students. And I was grouped with eight other people—seven of which were complete strangers to me. Sadly, Naomi wasn’t in my group and I was stuck with an incredibly bothersome Cook. What a pig! Waggling his tongue and eyebrows, he begged me to re-enact the whole scene with Karen especially for him. Is it my bloody fault that last night all he did was make love to the floor? I chuckled at the thought. Cook was now holding another girl in his arms, obviously echoing his indecent proposals. Un-fucking-believable.

The Japanese guy grinned at our group. “Hi, everyone! I’m Ichiro. Your HEP Buddy. And I was assigned to give this little fun group a tour around the campus.”

I stayed at the back as the troop moved, and didn’t really attempt to get to know the people in my group. We followed Ichiro down the hallway toward the automatic sliding doors.

“First stop, the library.” Ichiro’s voice announced the itinerary.

We entered the library. It looked modern. And heavenly. I have to admit, the idea made me extraordinarily excited. Yea, I know; I’m such a nerd.

“Wowzers! This library is just freaking insane, innit?”

The voice was so loud, I had to hold my breath to keep from jumping. I glanced over my shoulder and found a dark-haired Asian girl with a very eye-catching and weird sense of style smiling at me. She was only about half an inch taller than me and looked about around my age. “Hey there!” she greeted me as we were face-to-face.

“Oh. Um, hi.” I gave an awkward nod.

“Holy shitballs! I can’t believe you can, like, print-all-you-want in here for free,” she gasped, eliciting a few snickers from some people in the group. This girl had a way of getting your attention.

Oddly enough, I was the only one who bothered responding. “With the money these kids are spending, I’m actually surprised the school doesn't give them printers on the house as well.”

She laughed, then gave me a bright smile. “Anyway, how do you find the whole campus? Massive, right?” Then her eyes bulged and she gave my hair a flip. “Wow! That is hella fierce! I love that your hair is, like, so red!”

“I like yours, too.” I gestured at her dark hair with crazy colourful featherlocks.

“And your shoes! Very trippy.” Her eyes were wide with awe as she stared down at my sparkly, starry deep purple galaxy-inspired Vans.

“Thanks. My sister designed them.”

“That is very cool! Anyway, where was I again? Oh, right, the school!” God, she was babbling. “I heard they’ve got, like, a really popular hiphop dance circle here. I’m thinking of joining. How about you?”

Christ. This girl was so hyper. I probably needed six gallons of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream worth of sugar in my body just so I could keep up with her.

“Uhm, I’m not sure yet,” I replied. “I haven’t seen the list of clubs here.”

“Oh, they have lots!” she said in an enthusiastic tone, her psychedelic purple feather extensions swinging from side to side. “It depends on your interest. Like what stuff are you into? There are clubs for comic book enthusiasts, J-Rockers, double-dutch, divination, stargazing, kite-flying, ramen lovers, alcoholics. I already made a list of the clubs I plan to join, you see. There’s also a bunch of music clubs and sports clubs. I’m thinking of joining some of them, too. There’s a cheerleading team where the cute, popular girls are in, but they suck. Like, they really suck. They suck so bad, I’d rather watch the stargazing dorks gaze at stars, you know.” 

Then she suddenly slapped herself on the forehead, and I noticed her colourful glittery fingernails. “I’m such a freaking dummy!” she exclaimed. “I’m, like, rambling about these random things and I don’t even know your name yet.” She thumped her forefinger against her left temple. “What a ditz, huh? When you have a million brothers and sisters, you tend to hog the conversation as much as you can. And yes, that’s also why I’m so loud, if you were wondering.”

I laughed. This girl was definitely entertaining. “Are you loud? I hadn't noticed.”

“Yea, right. So . . . ,” she said, moving her hands in a rolling motion. “Come on. Out with it. Name, age, nationality, relationship status, favourite colour. And don’t forget the name. Especially the name.”

This made me chuckle. “I’m Emily. Emily Fitch. Nineteen, English from Bristol, I’m single, and as for my favourite colour, it’s blue.”

The adorable girl grinned gigantically, revealing a set of perfect, commercial-worthy teeth. “I’m Halo,” she said, holding out her hand for an enthusiastic shake.

“Halo? Wow. What an exceptional name,” I said, beaming as we shook hands. “Is it your real name or just something people call you?”

“Yea, it’s not my real name. It would be so cool, though, if it were,” she answered with a giggle. “Name’s Heaven Lopez. Halo, for short.” She grinned.

I grinned back, truly delighted to meet such a bubbly, ultra-pleasant person. “Exceptional, still. Heaven, Halo . . . Are you like an angel or something? Because, Jesus, you must be holy, with names like that,” I said, making her chuckle a little more.

“Oh no. You didn’t just say that!” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you just hit on me?” she asked, which made me stiffen instantly. Fuck fuck fuckity doody fuck.

When she saw my reaction, she laughed loudly. “Oh, God.” She pinched my blushing cheeks and hooted, “I was just kidding, Emily! Boys use that as a pick-up line all the time and, trust me, it never works.” She then hooked her arm around mine. “Now, c’mon, let's check out the multi-media room!”

As we chatted whilst dawdling around the massive building, I found out that Halo stays in our dorm as well and, sadly, she was only going to be here for a semester like Sean. She’s only a year older than me. Also, she’s half-Filipina half-Scottish, born in the Philippines, but spent most of her growing years in Canada. I also learnt that she was classmates with Sean back in UBC and they pretty much have a love-hate relationship. As we strolled around the university grounds, we chatted about a rake of things: jet lag, culture shock, homesickness, our comfort food, our favourite TV shows, our cool dormitory, our crazy dorm mates, our posh school, the upcoming placement exams and the Welcome Party later at our dorm which we hoped would be action-packed. Anyway I’m happy to say that Halo and I seemed to be getting along well and I think I may have found a cool new friend who’s also a one-woman pep squad. I mean, we’ve got so much in common. We’re hooked on the same TV series, we like the same flavours of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, we adore kids, we both love karaoke, and we are hopeless cooks. Isn’t that an incredible coincidence? In fact, her birthday is a week before mine. Amazing! We complement each other, too—she only eats the pizza body and I only eat the crusts.

“What did you do on your birthday this year?” she asked half an hour later as we strode across the quad toward Great Takeda Hall in the afternoon sunshine.

“Nothing special. I had a house party organised by my sister, with a guestlist of seventy. 62 of those I don’t know personally,” I told her. “You?”

“I laughed all day,” she replied happily. “And what do you plan to do on your next days here?”

I gave a half shrug. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”

“Well, what I can tell you is that you would want to surround yourself with lots of people and do lots of things and try new things.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, the best way to avoid being homesick is to busy yourself with tons of fun things—like making friends, exploring Kyoto and getting the feel of the Japanese culture. We could go to the castles and shrines and temples and check out all the kimono shops. I’ll do some research, look around, and let you know. We can explore together, yea?”

“That’s brilliant, Halo,” I said with real excitement. “You’re on.”

“Well, good luck, Emily Fitch.” She gave me a cheery wave. “Hope we get to be classmates!”

“Yea, me, too,” I said, as we parted toward different wings of the building. “Good luck.”

I pushed open a door and was instantly facing a huge panel board showing our exam schedule—each test having a time limit.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Yep. Good luck, Emily Fitch.

Our placement exam was a three-stage process where one has to undergo a written test on Japanese Grammar, then another exam on Listening, and, finally, an interview. I had finished everything in three hours, more or less, and I suppose I did well enough. Those innumerable units of Intensive Japanese course I took at University of Bristol's Centre for East Asian Studies had surely paid off. I'm just crossing my fingers that I get into a class with Naomi; I don't care whichever level that may be.

After the placement exam, all the new students and the HEP buddies had a Meet the HEP Buddies! get-together in one of the building's spacious conference rooms. There, I met HEP International Programs coordinators, Doug and Harriet. I found out that Doug's also British so we kind of chatted for a while, musing over the greatness that was our homeland and, of course, the magnificent Premier League.

The party was, sadly, uneventful. We all had to be in our most pleasant behaviour given that we were surrounded by Japanese people and big shot blokes who were probably the ones responsible for bestowing us these scholarships. We cannot fuck up. The classes, after all, haven't started yet. The only highlights of the party were probably Cook, being the usual filthy bastard again—trying to crack onto as many Japanese girls as he can, this Spanish girl Sofia teaching me how to dance the flamenco, and Naomi, looking all huffy and agitated.

What was she dealing with? Who was this person who seemed to have fucked up big-time? Why was she being so weird toward me? What reason, I wondered, could she possibly have for acting differently whenever I was in the same room as hers? If it wasn't annoyance, what was it?

I was still asking the same question when I stepped out of the building with Freddie.

“Jesus Christ, I’m glad we’ve ditched the party—or whatever that was,” Freddie said as we made our way through the parking lot to our bicycles.

I breathed in the cool night air, relieved to be away from the harsh white walls and the glaring fluorescent lights of the stuffy elegantly-decorated conference room in the Great Takeda Hall. “Yea, that was boring with a capital fucking B.”

“There were a few interesting people, though.”

I knelt down next to my bicycle and fumbled with the lock. “I don’t know. Haven’t been looking around.”

Yeah, right. I knew very well that a certain blonde was suddenly nowhere to be found in the room. Perhaps she went to the restroom. Or maybe she just took off like what Freddie and I just did.

“You want to get some beer at Family Mart then chill in the kitchen while waiting for the dorm party?” Freddie asked as he kicked up his bicycle kickstand. “Start early with the drinks?”

I finally managed to unlock my bike and gave the French lad a thumbs-up. “Sounds like a great plan.”

Just as we were walking our bicycles over to the gate, I heard a familiar voice from behind a big trunk of a ginkgo tree.

“No, forget it.”

I moved my bicycle closer to the tree, not wanting to miss a word of her phone conversation.

“Listen, you little dick,” Naomi was saying, “I'm starting to have a little respect for myself for the first time since you fucked up beyond actual repair.” There was a pause. “I don't fucking care what you think.” The blonde’s voice grew sharp. “I think I've got a good thing going, and I don't want to mess it up.”

I shuddered. What was this all about?

“And, Dave, I don't want you to mess it up, either. Don't you ever call me again, you understand? Go fuck yourself!”

Naomi snapped her phone closed so hard. Quickly she moved and stopped short when she saw me. She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “What now, Fitch? Do you get a kick out of eavesdropping on other people's conversations?”

“No, no. Not at all,” I said defensively. “I was just—”

“Eavesdropping on other people's conversations?” The blonde snorted, raising a brow.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my cheeks getting warm from embarrassment.

The blonde let out an irritated sigh, shaking her head, before turning around to grab her bicycle.

I straightened my shoulders as I took a step toward her. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but . . . has anybody ever told you you’re an incredibly bad-tempered person?” The words just tumbled out of my lips.

Naomi looked back, a bit surprised, her hands holding the handlebars. “I am not bad-tempered,” she said.

“Yes you are,” I countered. “All you’ve done, all day—well, since I met you, is bitch about things. I find you very irritable and rude.”

“I am not rude,” she said.

“Yes, you are.”

An amused smirk played on Naomi’s lips. “Boy, you’ve got some balls to say this to my face, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just being real. Friends are supposed to be honest to each other.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really now, we’re friends?” she snorted derisively.

“See? You’re being rude,” I said, and she let out a short chuckle.

“Hey, whoa, ladies. Ease up.” Freddie appeared between us, acting as the referee. “Let’s chill out, okay? We’re supposed to have fun tonight. Play nice.”

Naomi folded her arms on her chest, condescendingly. “I am playing nice.”

“And I’m just being real,” I said, and the gorgeous blonde only rolled her eyes at this.

I looked at Naomi for a while, her eyes staring into mine, and as I felt my face begin to flush again, Freddie spoke.

“Okay. Are we gonna leave or should we wait for you two to sort out this little girlie drama?”

Naomi let out a sigh. “Fuck it. We’re leaving.” She pushed her bicycle forward, and the three of us walked our bicycles toward the gate.

“But I have to say, I love it when you’re angry,” I said when we neared the gate and were ready to hop on. “I kinda dig your grumpy face. You should dress up as a gnome.”

That did it. Naomi burst out laughing. “Get outta here, you little pom.” She gave my shoulder a little shove.

“I’m serious. I love it.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, blushing visibly and obviously enjoying our banter.

“Yoo-hoo!” a voice yodeled behind us. “Foooockers! Ditching this pile of shit of an event without me? How brutal is that!”

Cook appeared, jogging toward us, his eyes glittering with humour. “And French Breadster, my mate, wheel me home, will ye? Tire’s flat.”

“Oh Jesus, here comes trouble,” Naomi muttered.

Cook gave his dark blond hair a quick ruffle as he sidled up to us and casually threw one arm around my shoulders and the other around Naomi’s. “Me? Trouble?” He adopted a tone of pure innocence.

“Yes, you, James Cook,” I said, pulling away from him and giving him a look of disgust. “I'm pretty sure they had you in mind when they invented the word.”

Cook threw his head back and laughed as he hopped on the rear seat of Freddie’s bicycle. “You're one funny redhead, Emily Fitch,” he said. Then he handed me his can of beer. “Now drink up, babes. This is going to be a long focking night.”

Before we mounted our bicycles, I saw a smile plastered on Naomi’s face. A smile that I might have planted there.

Yep. Maybe things won’t be as bad as I thought.

Word Count: 19,858