name?”
“Claire.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Stefan. I live in Dunster House, down by the river.” He moved as if to depart and then snapped his fingers, remembering something. “Actually, wait a second.” He checked the front of the suite door, where their names were written on bright orange construction-paper balloons, courtesy of their resident assistant. “That’s right, Mercedes lives here, doesn’t she? I need to ask her a question. Is she around?”
“You know, honestly, I have no idea. Hold on.”
Claire uncurled herself from the couch and knocked on Mercedes’s bedroom door. No answer. She looked toward Stefan and shrugged.
“Well, thanks for trying. Good to meet you. And if you see Sherry, would you tell her I stopped by?”
“Sure thing.”
Claire turned back to her stack of flyers, trying not to feel envious. Why was it that some girls just attracted guys like static electricity, while others—like her!—were more likely to be considered a pal?
Sighing, she turned her attention to her calendar. Okay. There were three singing groups she was interested in, an a cappella group and two choirs. She was leaning toward the choirs since she could get academic credit for those and would probably get an A. She noted the audition times, which were coming up quick.
Next she pulled out the flyers related to special study classes and professional clubs. Most had history department labels. The Friday brown bag luncheons featuring well-known guest speakers looked especially interesting. One special-study class involved field trips to early colonial sites, and another—offered in connection with the divinity school—studied the “Origins of World Religion,” taking field trips to“religious centers” around Boston. What did that mean?
Claire looked at the final flyer in her stack. What were the chances that her parents could afford another three thousand dollars this semester so she could go on the joint history/anthropology/business department Machu Picchu trip over Christmas break? Claire laughed to herself. What were the chances that her parents would let her be gone over Christmas, period?
She shuffled the flyers into a file and pulled a few others out of her backpack. The top flyer advertised the first meeting of the Harvard Christian Fellowship next Friday night at six. She had been delighted to see a booth with the word Christian on it.
Other dates were noted in her calendar: a service club that worked in Boston on Saturday mornings, an intramural volleyball league, and a dinner for all students from Michigan. Maybe meeting some Midwesterners will make this place feel more like home .
The dorm room door creaked open. A stack of books walked in, eclipsing the trim form of Claire’s roommate. The pile was leaning ominously.
“Sherry, what are you doing?” Claire laughed and hurried to help.
Sherry glided faster and faster toward the couch, barely making it before the stack collapsed. Heavy textbooks thudded onto the cushions. Claire’s bulletins went flying in all directions.
“Whew, am I glad you were here! If the door was locked, I never would’ve made it.” Sherry grinned and swept up her straight brown hair, fanning her neck.
“I’m very impressed with that balancing act.” Claire bent to pick up several of the flyers that were now scattered around the room. “Those things are heavy. Why didn’t you get some help?”
Sherry’s gentle Southern accent grew exaggerated as she placed a delicate hand against her breastbone. “Oh, I found a sweet young man to help me out.” She knelt to gather more flyers into a ragged pile and grinned up at Claire. “He carried the books over here from the Coop, but he had somewhere he had to be, so I figured I could handle getting them up the stairs and into the room.” She glanced at the jumble on the couch. “Barely.” She handed over the stack. “Sorry about the flyers.”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
“Hey, what’s this?”
“Claire.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Stefan. I live in Dunster House, down by the river.” He moved as if to depart and then snapped his fingers, remembering something. “Actually, wait a second.” He checked the front of the suite door, where their names were written on bright orange construction-paper balloons, courtesy of their resident assistant. “That’s right, Mercedes lives here, doesn’t she? I need to ask her a question. Is she around?”
“You know, honestly, I have no idea. Hold on.”
Claire uncurled herself from the couch and knocked on Mercedes’s bedroom door. No answer. She looked toward Stefan and shrugged.
“Well, thanks for trying. Good to meet you. And if you see Sherry, would you tell her I stopped by?”
“Sure thing.”
Claire turned back to her stack of flyers, trying not to feel envious. Why was it that some girls just attracted guys like static electricity, while others—like her!—were more likely to be considered a pal?
Sighing, she turned her attention to her calendar. Okay. There were three singing groups she was interested in, an a cappella group and two choirs. She was leaning toward the choirs since she could get academic credit for those and would probably get an A. She noted the audition times, which were coming up quick.
Next she pulled out the flyers related to special study classes and professional clubs. Most had history department labels. The Friday brown bag luncheons featuring well-known guest speakers looked especially interesting. One special-study class involved field trips to early colonial sites, and another—offered in connection with the divinity school—studied the “Origins of World Religion,” taking field trips to“religious centers” around Boston. What did that mean?
Claire looked at the final flyer in her stack. What were the chances that her parents could afford another three thousand dollars this semester so she could go on the joint history/anthropology/business department Machu Picchu trip over Christmas break? Claire laughed to herself. What were the chances that her parents would let her be gone over Christmas, period?
She shuffled the flyers into a file and pulled a few others out of her backpack. The top flyer advertised the first meeting of the Harvard Christian Fellowship next Friday night at six. She had been delighted to see a booth with the word Christian on it.
Other dates were noted in her calendar: a service club that worked in Boston on Saturday mornings, an intramural volleyball league, and a dinner for all students from Michigan. Maybe meeting some Midwesterners will make this place feel more like home .
The dorm room door creaked open. A stack of books walked in, eclipsing the trim form of Claire’s roommate. The pile was leaning ominously.
“Sherry, what are you doing?” Claire laughed and hurried to help.
Sherry glided faster and faster toward the couch, barely making it before the stack collapsed. Heavy textbooks thudded onto the cushions. Claire’s bulletins went flying in all directions.
“Whew, am I glad you were here! If the door was locked, I never would’ve made it.” Sherry grinned and swept up her straight brown hair, fanning her neck.
“I’m very impressed with that balancing act.” Claire bent to pick up several of the flyers that were now scattered around the room. “Those things are heavy. Why didn’t you get some help?”
Sherry’s gentle Southern accent grew exaggerated as she placed a delicate hand against her breastbone. “Oh, I found a sweet young man to help me out.” She knelt to gather more flyers into a ragged pile and grinned up at Claire. “He carried the books over here from the Coop, but he had somewhere he had to be, so I figured I could handle getting them up the stairs and into the room.” She glanced at the jumble on the couch. “Barely.” She handed over the stack. “Sorry about the flyers.”
“Oh, that’s okay.”
“Hey, what’s this?”
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