If Only by A. J. Pine Page B

history of the university. This far from home, I never thought about what it would mean to be safe, but suddenly the last thing I want is to be alone. I look down at my hand in Griffin’s—I’m not. But when I glance up, my eyes meet Noah’s. His eyes drop to our hands, mine and Griffin’s. Hailey’s fingers entwine with his. I exhale, my breath getting lost in the distance between us, though he’s close enough to touch.

Chapter Seven
    We emerge from the park onto a street that will take us right to King’s College in old Aberdeen, where most undergrad English classes are held. I see the campus long before we reach it and nearly stagger at the sight. If Duncan hadn’t confirmed that we were approaching the school, I would have expected to see knights garbed in medieval armor standing guard outside what looks to be a fourteenth- or fifteenth-century castle. But no. This is where I’m going to study Austen and Brontë and Shakespeare and Forster and all of the writers who have been a part of my life since eighth grade.
    That’s right. I read my first Shakespeare, on my own, when I was thirteen. It was actually to spite my mother. She wouldn’t let me watch the movie She’s the Man , not because of the nearly always shirtless Channing Tatum, but because I hadn’t read the play it was based on, Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night . I have to hand it to my mom. For a math teacher, she’s got incredible taste in literature. I remember walking away from her in a huff saying, “Fine! I’ll read the stupid play, and then you’ll have to let me watch the movie!” I did read it, and she did let me watch it. In fact, we watched it together and had the best time comparing and contrasting the soccer-playing Viola and Duke with Shakespeare’s counterparts. I credit my mom not only for my love of English literature but also that of Channing Tatum. He can do no wrong.
    “This,” I say to whoever listens as we approach the gray brick, the notched parapets, and pointed archways. “ This is why I’m here. This is where an English literature major studies English literature. In a freaking castle!”
    The crowd either joins my infectious giddiness, or the other tour-goers laugh at the silly American girl who has barely put a dent in her passport. I think of all I will see in this year removed from the safety of the familiar. After only hours in this place, time moves too quickly. How will I see it all?
    I don’t care who watches or if they stare. I dance in the street. That’s how much I don’t care. Because I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
    “Actually, the main structure of King’s College is a chapel, not a castle,” Duncan corrects, but he’s not bursting my bubble.
    “I’m still calling it a castle, Duncan. Let me have my moment.”
    With this, everyone does laugh, and Duncan gives me my moment with a fake castle.
    “Awrite!” he calls, bringing the group’s attention back to him. “It’s time for a wee hunt to find the important spots on campus.”
    Duncan’s enthusiasm is met with groans, mine included. While I may not be hung over as I’m sure others are, I was hoping that a tour meant tour, in the simplest form of the word—someone who knows where the hell they are going, Duncan, shows someone who is clueless, me, where the hell to go!
    But nothing fazes our most-likely-knicker-less leader.
    “Get the lot of you into groups based on your studies. Science folks with science and business folks with business—you get the idea. When you’ve found your group, send one of the lot to me for the list of what you need to find. You’ll have two hours. Make sure someone in your group has a phone to take photos. Everyone in the first group back gets a free pint at the Lantern when we’re done!”
    “Who’s buying?” Griffin asks, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. But I don’t reciprocate his intimacy with any act of my own. I’m too busy scanning the group for who else might be an