Initiation (5 page)

A feeling of giddiness and relief swept over me. I couldn't have gotten luckier with my roommate.

We walked across the clipped lawn and up the sidewalk toward The Sweet Shoppe.

“Just a sec,” I said, stopping to pull out my BlackBerry. “Photo op,” I explained to Khloe.

I snapped a pic of the Shoppe and sent it to Chatter, writing,
So adorable! I think this will be my fave hangout spot.
J, as the picture's caption.

“This place is the best,” Khloe said. “They have killer desserts and they change with the seasons. Right now, it's slushies and ice cream.”

“Point me toward the slushies!”

The Sweet Shoppe was cute and old-fashioned- looking with a blue and white awning. A sign hung above that read
THE SWEET SHOPPE
in scripty font. Khloe pulled open the door for me.

“After you, dah-lin',” she said.

“Why thank you, mademoiselle,” I said, smiling. Khloe kept surprising me with her theatricality. I loved the way she laughed at herself and never took herself too seriously.

It made it easy to like her.

Inside the shop, there were blue and white booths, white tables with blue chairs and, in front of us, a glass counter filled with rows upon rows of cookies, with slices of cake and pie underneath. Behind the barista was a soft-serve ice cream machine and containers of sprinkles. A half-dozen slushie machines swirled different colors— pink, red, blue, green.

I peered at a chalkboard menu to see if I was actually reading it right.

“If that really says ‘watermelon,' you might never get me out of here,” I said.

Khloe laughed. “It does. Wait till you try their peach mango! If you ask for a flavor guide, the baristas give you one that shows how different combos can be made by
mixing flavors. I got pineapple-strawberry once and it was ahh-maze.”

“Ooh,
yum
.”

Ahead of us, a guy in boots and breeches waited off to the side for his order. His short, shiny black hair contrasted with his blue eyes—a deeper blue than my own. His skin was pale and flawless and a charming smile came easily to his face when he accepted a blue slushie from the barista.

Our eyes connected for a moment before he passed Khloe and me, as he headed for the door.

Chills.

Not that I was exactly ready to start
looking
at guys. Even though this one
was
cute. Very cute. Still, it was too soon after my ex-boyfriend, Taylor, and I had mutually agreed to break up when I left for Canterwood.

Khloe turned, looking back behind us, then stared at me openmouthed.

“Lauren!”

“What?” I said innocently, though I could feel my cheeks burning.

Khloe eyed me warily. “You are
so
crushing on Drew! Look at how red you are!”

I shook my head as we stepped up to the counter.
“Who's Drew? And no, I'm not crushing on
anyone
— named Drew or otherwise. Remember? I told you I left a boy to come here.”

“Yeeeaaah.” Khloe's eyebrows went up. “That conversation is starting the second we get to our room.”

She looked so serious that I almost laughed.

“START TALKING,” KHLOE SAID THE MOMENT
our door closed.

I giggled. “Okay, okay.”

We kicked off our shoes and Khloe sat in the middle of her bed, her back resting against the wall. I got on my bed—eyeing my box labeled
bedding
—and stretched onto my stomach.

“At home, I dated a really sweet, amazing guy for about five months,” I said.

Khloe leaned forward, taking a giant sip of slushie. “Name?”

“Taylor,” I said.

She squinted her eyes. “That's a good name. What does he look like?”

“Short blond hair, gorgeous green eyes, tan. Some freckles on his face. He's a swimmer.”

“Cute!” Khloe said. “Love jocks.” She looked at the ceiling. “And freckles . . . ah-dorable. Continue.”

“He and I were both athletes,” I said. “So he understood why I needed to practice riding so much. He
always
asked about my lessons and we talked about his swim meets, too.”

Khloe gave me a soft smile. “He sounds amazing.”

Just thinking about Tay made my chest hurt a little. I could almost smell the chlorine-slash-peppermint mix of his hair as if he was sitting in the room with us.

“He's
totally
amazing,” I agreed. “When I found out about my acceptance, we sort of . . . froze. Neither of us wanted to break up, but we wanted the best for each other. As much as neither of us wanted to admit it, ‘the best' wasn't staying together, hardly seeing one another.”

Khloe made a sad puppy face and I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. What was my problem? I'd been fine about the way Tay and I had left things. Hadn't I?

“Long-distance relationships,” Khloe concluded, “never work out. You did the right thing.”

“He deserved to have a chance to date someone he could actually go
out
with. And he wanted the same for me.”

Khloe sipped her slushie. “Wow. Not many guys would be that mature. It sounds like he really, really cared about you. It's probably hard being away from him?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “But breaking up was the right thing to do. One hundred percent. Which doesn't mean I can even
think
about him being with another girl yet. We decided to stay friends and had a fun summer hanging out. I can't not have him in my life.”

“OMG, it's
just
like
Pretty in Port Royal
,” Khloe gasped, clasping her hands. “Lovers forced to be away from one another because of distance. A boy and a girl secretly wanting each other, but agreeing to be friends instead.”

I shook my head, biting back my smile and taking a deliberately loud sip of my drink.

Khloe flopped on her back, her hand across her forehead. “Taylor will be away at Yates thinking about his quote—
friend—
unquote ex-girlfriend at Canterwood. Then, he'll see you over Skype and he'll want you back. Old flames will ignite—”

“ ‘Old flames,' ” I repeated. “You really
should
audition for a soap. Like, right now. That was exactly like a script of a two o'clock drama.”

“Seriously!” she insisted. “He'll want you. You'll want him. But wait . . . a Canterwood guy will be sure to start
paying some attention. Probably more than one—but there will be one you like back,” Khloe continued. “Then you'll be
torn
between a long-distance relationship or a . . . Hot. New. Fling.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I laughed. “No relationships. No hot new flings. Break,” I said, saying the last word slowly. “I haven't been single long enough to even
think
about other guys. And no way are Tay and I getting back together. I'm happy. He's happy. The end.”

“For now.” Khloe giggled.

“I think it's time the tables get turned.”

Khloe sat up straighter and tucked stray blond locks behind her ears. “Ask me anything.”

“Okay, what about you? Any boyfriends past or present?” I asked.

Khloe kicked her slushie with one last, long sip. “Over the summer, I met a guy through our mutual friend in Boston. Neither of us let it get too serious, though, because we both knew I'd be going back to Canterwood in the fall and that he'd leave for his own boarding school in North Carolina.”

“What about Canterwood guys?” I asked. “No big crush on anyone or an ex I should know not to like, out of solidarity?”

“Hmm . . .” Khloe rested her head in her hand. “I used
to like this one guy in my theater class, but he didn't feel it. He just looked at me as a theater partner.”

“What makes you so sure?” I asked. “It
was
a theater class after all. Maybe he was covering his crushing by acting like you were just a friend.”

“No way. We ran lines, we had scenes together—if he liked me, I'd have known. Plus, he had plenty of chances to ask me out.”

“Does he know you're interested?”

“Well, I've been kind of subtle . . .”

“You?”
I asked teasingly. “Khloe Kinsella, we may have just met—but already, I can say with certainty that there is not a subtle bone in your body.”

Khloe laughed until tears ran down her face and I raised my now-empty slushie cup to her. “A toast to the fact that we live in the now,” I said. “It's not 1940, which means we don't have to wait for guys to ask us out. We are totally in control of our own destinies.”

Khloe hopped off her bed and knocked her cup against mine. “Exactly. This year, we control our own fate. It's like our secret roomie pinky-swear. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Khloe knelt down in front her zebra-print suitcase. “And now that the roommate bonding has been sealed
with a slushie, the not-so-pleasant task of unpacking shall commence.”

When she unzipped her suitcase, it burst open like a clothes volcano. I couldn't believe how many things she'd gotten to fit! She must have had to sit on top of it to get it zipped shut.

As I opened each carefully wrapped and labeled uber-organized box on my side of the room, Khloe opened a couple of her own boxes. After a flurry of ripped tape and tangled box flaps whirled on Khloe's side of the room, she finally emerged from a tallish box on top of her bed with a handful of purple hangers.

“I learned my lesson last year,” she said. “It's best to try and unpack everything before classes start. Decorating, too. Once we're thrown into school tomorrow, we'll have almost zero free time.”

“On it,” I said.

I had to admit, no matter how chaotic Khloe's packing and unpacking might have seemed, there was a definite method to her madness. This clearly wasn't her first time moving around either. Because no matter how well I'd organized every item of mine that I'd packed, or how methodically I
unpacked
, Khloe and I appeared to be going at the same pace.

Mostly, we worked in a comfortable silence, only stopping to admire each other's stuff or ask each other the occasional question.

I worked my way through box after box—finally getting to the pièce de résistance—the oversized box marked
bedding
. I slid the scissors under the tape and carefully cut an opening along the top of the box. I pulled out my pale blue sheets, matching pillowcases and, finally, inside a thick plastic bag, my brand-new comforter. It was my favorite color: a tropical shade of blue with a gorgeous pink and white argyle print. It was the most gorgeous comforter I'd ever seen and I was so excited to use it!

I arranged alternating cotton candy shades of blue and pink throw pillows on top of my comforter that matched perfectly. Then, I folded up a white plush blanket and laid it at the foot of the bed. The cozy blanket was a fave of mine—perfect to read or study under.

I stepped back and looked at my new bed. I was proud of the bed I'd picked out. The look was preppy, but the colors and texture of the throw pillows gave it a girly-but-not-too-girly feel. Just like me. I'd put together a bed that was the perfect reflection of me—athletic and not afraid to speak out, but also a girly-girl who loved
fashion magazines and style icons like Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O.

“Wow!”

I had been so deep in concentration that when Khloe squeaked, it literally made me jump. I searched Khloe's expression, trying to figure out what she was thinking. She was staring at a spot just past me.

“Lauren,” she said. “I
love
your bed! It's so . . . you. I can just tell.”

I smiled, proud of my work and looked at Khloe's bed—an explosion of furry zebra-print pillows and every shade of purple imaginable.

“You too!” I told her, meaning it.

Khloe put her hands on her hips. “We are going to have the best-decorated room in all of Canterwood's campus.”

I liked the way she thought—and I genuinely did love Khloe's side of the room—it was gorgeous, soft, and just crazy enough to be totally chic.

“You know what?” I said. “I think you're right.”

Khloe put an arm around my shoulders. “I think we're going to
shop
very well together.”

“So true,” I said, thinking about the Pottery Barn Teen credit card my parents had given me over the summer. The card was “exclusively for shopping for my dorm
room”—
and
my emergency Visa card had come with a stern warning that if I got to school and didn't get good grades, I'd lose both, as well as any future allowance for a
long
time.

“How hard
are
classes here?” I asked. The thought of disappointing my parents—and, okay, losing my spending privileges—made me anxious. “I came from what
I
thought of as a pretty tough prep school, but Canterwood's summer homework alone was almost like a full-time job.”