Barb searches her clipboard for my name, and I half expect she’s going to say this is all a joke and send me home on the next bus. But instead she makes a couple of check marks, riffles through the stack of manila envelopes, and slaps one into my palm a little harder than necessary. “You’re in Ramsey Hall. Room number, swipe card, and key are in here. Don’t lose them.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I say. “I’m very organized.”
“Company meeting tonight at seven. Cast lists’ll be posted at eight. Map, company rules, season calendar, and orientation packet are in your envelope. Read them carefully. It’s nobody’s fault but yours if you don’t show up where you’re supposed to be. Next!”
“Thanks for your help,” I say, but Barb doesn’t even respond; she’s clearly waiting for me to move along. I scoot out of the way as fast as I can, trying not to whack anyone with my huge duffel bag as I push out the door.
I’ve been to Allerdale a bunch of times to see shows my parents have worked on, but I’ve never been inside the dorms, and it takes me a while to find Ramsey Hall. As I walk, I catch myself staring at the trees and rolling hills in the distance with the same bug-eyed wonder as the Times Square tourists who drive me crazy at home. I’m only three hours upstate of the city, and it’s not like we don’t have plants in Manhattan. But New York City parks are more like urban spaces auditioning for the role of nature. It’s almost disconcerting to see the real thing.
There’s no air-conditioning in the dorm, and by the time I lug all my stuff up two flights of stairs, I’m disheveled and sticky. The hall is filled with people chattering and laughing and shaking hands, and I know I should make an effort to meet some of them, but everything’s starting to feel a little overwhelming. I’ve always had trouble connecting to the other theater kids at school, who are ridiculously competitive and gossip about each other constantly. I can fake it well enough that they consider me part of the group, but I’m not sure I can handle living with people like that for nine whole weeks. Maybe coming here was a mistake.
Put on your game face, I order myself. Allerdale is exactly what you need. I vow that after I put down my stuff and rest for a minute, I’ll come back out here with a big, bright smile and make some friends.
My room is near the end of the hall, and I unlock the door and drag my luggage behind me as I back inside. It’s not till I hear a surprised “Oh!” that I realize there’s already someone in the room. The first thing I notice about the other girl is her long blond hair, which almost brushes the floor as she leans over to dig through her suitcase. The second thing I notice is that she isn’t wearing a shirt.
I spin around so my back is to her. “Oh my God, sorry, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I thought this was 309.”
“It is,” she says. “I’m Zoe. You must be my roommate?”
I had no idea I was getting a roommate, but I’m obviously in the right place, or my key wouldn’t have worked. “Oh. Yeah. I guess I am. I’m Brooklyn. I’m really sorry about barging in on you. I should’ve knocked.”
“It’s okay. You can turn around.”
Zoe’s holding a red tank top now, but she comes over and holds out her hand to me before she bothers to put it on. Her hand feels cool even in the heat, and I’m impressed by how purposefully she moves in her shorts and pink bra. I’m pretty sure I never look that comfortable, even when I’m fully dressed. I shake her hand, careful to keep my eyes on her heart-shaped face. There’s a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and her eyes are big and blue with a ring of golden brown around the pupils. My mom calls those “sunflower eyes.” Zoe is way prettier than I am, but I try not to care.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” she says. She lets go of my hand and pulls on her shirt, and I feel a little less awkward once she’s dressed. “I put my stuff over there, but if you’d rather have the left side, we can switch.”
“No, this is fine. It’s good to meet you, too.” I plunk my duffel bag down on the bare mattress, which has a green stain near the end, like someone was eating a lime Popsicle as a midnight snack. “Are you in the apprentice company, too?” I ask.
“Yup, it’s my first year here. I’m so excited.”
“Me too.” As I start unpacking my sheets, I realize I forgot to bring my pillow, and an intense pang of sadness washes over me as I picture it sitting next to the front door of my apartment. “Crap,” I say. “Do you think there’s anywhere in town that sells pillows?”
Zoe laughs. “Have you been into town yet? There’s, like, a bar and three restaurants and a bakery, and that’s pretty much it. You can have one of mine, though.”
“Thanks,” I say, and she tosses me a pillow that smells faintly of grapefruit. “I’ll find one of my own soon so you can have it back.”
“Don’t worry about it. I think there’s a Target, like, thirty minutes away, but that seems like a long way to go for one pillow.”
“I don’t know how I’d get there, anyway,” I say. “I don’t have a car. I don’t even know how to drive a car.”
I have no idea why I said that to a total stranger, but Zoe’s face lights up. “Are you from New York City?”