LITMIR.BIZ

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to go bowling?”

      I stopped in my tracks. For like the millionth time today, Fleur had completely caught me off guard. “Excuse me?”

      “Bowling. Tonight. In Holborn. There’s a group of us going.”

      “Bowling?”

      “It might be fun.”

      “Okay, you’re asking me why I’m being weird? Since when do you bowl?”

      “George is going.”

      “George?”

      She flushed. “He’s nice.”

      “Sure he is.”

      I knew Fleur had changed after her overdose, but I hadn’t realized she’d basically had a lobotomy. If Fleur was going bowling, then hell had officially frozen over. Although I wasn’t sure what was weirder: that she was going bowling, or that she was going bowling with a guy like George.

      “He is nice. You should give him a chance.”

      “That’s not what I do. You either. What gives?”

      “I’m turning over a new leaf. Maggie suggested it. I think she may be onto something. Besides, you know how Maggie is. Once she gets her mind on something, there’s no turning back.”

      I did know Maggie. Maybe better than anyone. That was the problem. She was frustrating and exciting and confusing. She was hard to read and impossible to forget. And she was killing my sanity.

      “So are you coming or not?”

      I stared blankly at her.

      “Bowling?”

      Right. “Definitely not. I have no desire to bowl. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any amount of money you could give me to make me even consider it. Besides, George is not my idea of a good time. The guy’s less exciting than a trip to the dentist. I don’t care how nice he is.”

      Fleur glared at me. “Fine. The rest of us will have fun without you.”

      “Is this a group date?” This thing got lamer by the second.

      “I told you. Maggie’s the one pushing us to go out. She organized it.”

      Motherfucker.

      “So Maggie’s going?”

      “Yeah, it was her idea. She thought it would make George more comfortable to do something on his terms.”

      How was I going to tell her I wanted to go now?

      My resolve was crumbling. Maybe it had never been there to begin with. My efforts had been half-assed at best. At a school this small, it was difficult enough to try to avoid Maggie, harder still when I didn’t want to.

      “Makes sense.” I hesitated for a moment, not used to having to explain myself. “Okay fine, if everyone else is going, I’ll go.”

      Fleur stared at me like I had three heads. “Are you serious? After all that, now you want to go?”

      “I didn’t say I wanted to go,” I lied. “But I’ll go.”

      Fleur’s eyes narrowed. “Are you just going to make fun of George?”

      “No.”

      “Seriously, you have to promise not to make fun of him.”

      I was surprised she even cared—it was unlike her to be this concerned about someone like George.

      “Fine. I promise.”

      There was one reason I was going bowling and it had nothing to do with George.

      Maggie

      “YOU GUYS READY?”

      There were six of us—me, Michael, Mya, Fleur, George and George’s friend Max. Max was a year ahead of me and though I hadn’t met him before, he seemed nice enough. Hopefully his presence would make things a little less awkward for George.

      I loved bowling. Jo and I bowled all the time in South Carolina. I wasn’t any good, but it was a ton of fun. Plus I couldn’t resist the idea of Fleur in rented shoes.

      “We’re just waiting for one other person,” Fleur called out.

      “Who?” My body collided with someone. I looked up—

      “Me.” Samir grinned, and my heart lurched like a boulder tumbling off a cliff. “Sorry I’m late.”

      “You’re going bowling?”

      His smile deepened. “Yes.”

      “Bowling? Like rented shoes and pizza and eighties music? Bowling?”

      He laughed, the sound reverberating through my body, all the way down to my toes.

      “Why?”

      Samir draped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward the door. “It sounded like fun.”

      I looked up at him. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Samir?”

      Fleur laughed behind me. “That’s what I said.”

      Samir leaned down, his lips grazing my ear as if he were telling me a secret. “Maybe I’m not here for the bowling. Maybe I’m here for the company.”

      Our gazes met. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. There was something in his eyes that made me think he wasn’t teasing. This felt like full-on flirting. More than pretending to be friends.

      I let him maneuver me down the steps before he finally released me. I immediately missed the feel of his arm around my shoulders, of my body near his. I struggled for nonchalance, trying to put some space between us, trying to get my silly, racing heart under control.

      Mya shot me a look, linking arms with me. “Still sure nothing is going on?”

      “Nothing at all,” I lied.

      We walked toward Gloucester Road tube station, heading for the Piccadilly line to Holborn. It was late enough that the streets were crowded with people on their way home from work. We walked as a group, occasionally separated by the stray pedestrian marching toward the station. I spent most of the time talking to Michael about his semester. He had a new boyfriend and had been spending most of his time with him. The rest of the group was pretty quiet.

      We all piled onto the Tube, mashed against each other in the melee that was standard for London. I usually tried to avoid the Piccadilly line at rush hour when you got the truly awful combination of pissed-off commuters and wide-eyed tourists. Everyone sort of existed in a simmering rage, fueled by frequent delays.

      By the time we got to Holborn and up to the street level, I felt like I’d just run a mile.

      We walked toward the bowling alley, conversation picking up now. I checked out for a bit, my attention completely focused on my surroundings. I loved Holborn. For me, it was London at its most academic. It was the home of the London School of Economics, the Holy Grail of IR. They had these amazing lecture series that were open to the public; sometimes I’d go and listen to their world-class speakers. I’d sit in the audience and pretend I was a student there, doing a master’s.

      “Daydreaming?”

      I turned and grinned at Samir. He understood what this place meant better than anyone.

      “Maybe.”

      “Are you going to apply your senior year? You should.”

      “I might. It’s competitive, though.”

      “True. But you’re smart. You at least have to try.”

      He matched his pace with mine, walking beside me down the street. We’d broken off from the others; I wasn’t sure if he’d meant to do it or not. For a few minutes, neither one of us spoke. His shoulder brushed against mine a few times,

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