My Blackberry alarm begins to shriek. Instinctively, I reach to my right, but my arm falls and hits the side of my bed. I roll over and nearly fall off my bed. I jolt up and realize that I’m not in my queen size bed. I’m in a very narrow, squeaky bed.
I see Gigi’s black-and-white photographs in glossy, orange frames. Only her curls are visible from under her sheets. As I step out of bed, I automatically pull my sheets straight. I fold over the top of my comforter and sheets so my monogram is perfectly centered. I arrange, and rearrange, my pillows until I’m happy.
I am completely procrastinating doing the one thing I’ve been freaking out about having to do at college. Confession: I’ve been freaking out about a lot of things, not just this one. Taking a shower. There is something completely disturbing about having to stand on tiles that may or may not have been professionally and thoroughly cleaned. I glance towards one of the cabinets above my closet. “These rooms were not built for five foot four inch girls,” I think to myself as I drag my stool over with my right foot. I step up and grab my pink shower caddy. I slip into Tory Burch rubber flip-flops. I convinced Mom that these shoes would make showering dramatically less traumatic.
Gigi rolls over and catches me doing calming breathing exercises. She laughs and I groan. “Good luck Miss Adelaide. Go get ‘em tiger!” she exclaims with one part enthusiasm and one part sarcasm. I take one last big deep breath and brush away a stray tear or two. I crack the door and take a peek to the left and right to make sure the coast is clear. I shuffle down the hallway to the bathroom in my ribbon-adorned towel wrap.
Honestly, the shower was not as bad as I had anticipated. It was pretty much like the poolside country club shower sans chlorine. Gigi applauds me as I walk back through the door. I sheepishly smile. While I detangle my knotty hair, we discuss last night’s encounter with Luke. Confession: I’m so happy Gigi confirmed the event and that I didn’t make it up!!!
Gigi begins outlining the day, which typically I would have already done and included in my planner, but I can’t focus. Instead, I keep thinking to Luke’s strawberry blonde hair and the way it flawlessly swooped across his forehead. His jade eyes. The freckles on his nose.
I snap out of it and Gigi is now standing right next to me waving her hands.
“I know you’re thinking about the lax bro, but we need to meet our parents on the quad in, like, 30 minutes. K?” Confession: I didn’t hear the second part of her sentence. I didn’t even realize Luke played lacrosse, but now I remember his grey t-shirt and the crossed lacrosse sticks on it.
Gigi tosses the men’s boxers she slept in onto the already growing pile of clothes at the end of her bed. Confession: I wonder why she has a pair of men’s boxers in the first place. Are they her boyfriends??? I flip through the hangers in my closet until I land on a light blue seersucker dress. I slip into it, tie a navy ribbon around my waist, and tuck my feet into white sandals. I turn around to see Gigi in a loose skirt with tiny pastel flowers on it and a white ribbed tank top. Her feet are adorned with brown flats that buckle around her ankle.
After a mandatory, boxed-lunch picnic on the quad with our parents, Gigi and I both know we must say goodbye to our Moms and Dads. I cry. Mom cries. Even dad’s eyes gloss over. Mom touches the gold key around my neck, our secret code to remind me to follow my heart. Dad forces me to loosen my grip on his hand and they back away. I squeeze my eyes shut to force the tears to stop and by the time I open them, they are through the front gates and hailing a cab.
Gigi gives me a quick hug and drags me across the quad to Sinclair Hall. We have four hours of “fun” with our orientation groups ahead of us. Forty or so upperclassmen donning neon green shirts check the back of the nametags Julia gave us last night. Gigi and I aren’t in the same orientation group. Confession: There’s no way I’m going to make it through orientation without Gigi!